Editor’s Note: This post was originally published on Seattle 2.0, and imported to GeekWire as part of our acquisition of Seattle 2.0 and its archival content. For more background, see this post.
By Sasha Pasulka
I have, in my life as an entrepreneur, been blessed with fantastic employees. I have hired on talented people who have come to identify with my company, to love and nurture it as though it were their own, and who regularly go above and beyond their job descriptions. I believe this is, in part, because my philosophy is to hire ridiculously talented people and then let them do generally whatever the hell they feel like doing. It is also in part because I’ve been very lucky.
After four and a half years of running my own company, and a successful exit, I currently have a job. Working for someone else. I don’t need the money; I took a job on purpose. I took a specific job with a specific company because I wanted the opportunity to be mentored by people who were more experienced than I am, who knew more than I did, and who would push me to be better, faster and think harder.
While I was running my company, I had plenty of opportunities to notice my own shortcomings, to feel myself hitting brick walls and having no guidance as to how to scale them. (This is, in theory, the role an angel or a VC would have played, but I never sought investment.) I was young when I started it, and it became successful quickly, in part because of my hard work and talent, and in part because of luck, which took the form of phenomenal support and advice from people who, today, I can’t even begin to thank properly. (You know who you are and I know you’re reading this: Thank you.)
Running a successful company at a young age, ironically, left a lot of gaping holes in my skill set.
During a career period where most people hate their bosses but are quietly learning everything from them, I was calling my own shots and making a lot of money doing it. I was the envy of all my friends. But at some point, I noticed that my friends were becoming markedly better at their professions, year over year, and I was stagnating. As an eternal overachiever, it was my turn to be envious. And very, very frustrated with myself.
After I sold my company, I knew I couldn’t start a new one right away. I had to take a job. And it had to be the right one – a job that would help me hone the skills I lack, so that when I start my next company I will be able to grow and manage it exponentially better than the last.
The transition
I found the perfect job. I respect and like the people I work for. I learn just from watching them; I am slowly filling in the gaps. They push me to think critically, to think harder, to think again. They respect me and what I do, they think I’m talented, and they tell me that often. I work on accounts that a lot of people would pay to be on. It’s a dream job, and I don’t know how I got lucky enough to stumble into it.
But it’s not my company.
The dangers of hiring an entrepreneur
I work my ass off at that job, because I am grateful for it, I’m excited about it, and I’m not someone who half-asses anything. I put in my best effort every time. I listen to the clients and I listen to my bosses; I try to always be learning and to stay on the ball.
But … it’s not my company. It’s never going to be my company. And it’s hard to feel like it is my company – like I’m 100% invested in everything that goes on – after previously being in a situation where I am, literally, 100% invested in everything that goes on.
I sit in meetings and I think to myself, “How nice that this isn’t actually my problem.”
And then I think to myself, “Wow. I understand why people are wary about hiring entrepreneurs.”
I remind myself to keep my ego in check, that I have a ton of room for growth, and that I’m working for people who know what they’re doing better than I do. I remind myself that I’m doing this because I want to be doing it, and that I’m getting exactly what I wanted from the experience. But somewhere in my gut I’m always thinking about how I’m going to apply what I’m learning to my next company, about what’s next for me. About my next big thing. Because I’ve succeeded at it before and now I’m certain I’ll do it again.
I think about how grateful I was that my own employees behaved like it was their company, that they invested themselves in its success, and how directly that contributed to my own success. I wonder if I can ever do that for someone else’s company.
I can tell you this for sure: when I do start my next company, I’m sure as hell not hiring an entrepreneur.
