Entrepreneurs don’t have a special gene for risk—they come from families with money

THIS! I have seen it so often, some child of privilege starting a business with funding AND coaching from their parents. Starting a new business is a wonderful thing and it takes a lot of strength of mind, but that’s not the biggest factor. It’s important to acknowledge the roll of this built-in safety net.

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Thoughts about Cheering.

I am at my desk at work. Imagination wanders like a ranging herbivore. Back of the herd. Eye out for predators.  Flick my tail at stinging flies.

Imagining running my first half marathon. Heart pounding. Feet over the ground, stride after stride. Sweat in my eyes. Finish line ahead.

When I run, I forcing good words thru my brain: you can do it, keep going, there it is, you can go faster, keep going. There’s calories in your system, sure, but it’s those thoughts that make you burn. All that fuel goes nowhere without the words.

And in my mind, in this imagining, I hear people screaming. They have seen me.  They were waiting and now they see me. (I am having a hard time typing for tears right now.) I hear my daughter, my boyfriend, his siblings, my friends, they have lost their minds cheering me on. I want to do them proud and I find it in myself to run faster.

Cold thoughts pull me back to my desk: Who’s to say these people would be there? I don’t know if anyone would care if I ran like this. The chill deepens: They don’t give a f**k if I joined a race. They have better things to do than to wait around for me to finish running some race.

These kinds of thoughts are how depression bursts back into my life.

I catch myself and I force these next words thru my mind: This cheering and encouragement and excitement is EXACTLY how these people feel about me, EVERY DAY.

I start to cry, because as I tell myself this, I realize that it is true.

When You’re Weird

…you forget yourself, sometimes.

Dinner the evening of 4 July 2015, I’m sitting at the outdoor dining table with my boyfriend and his family. We’ve eaten and we’re waiting for darkness and fireworks.

A little black bug walks across the table. Its tiny antennae, slender legs and neat, lacy wings captivate me.

The person to the left of me tries to flick it away, and it walks my direction, fluttering its wings repeatedly. Without thinking, I pet it.

“Who’s a little bug? Who’s got wings?” It walks in front of me, flicking its wings again. I hold my paper napkin in its path and on the third try, get it to climb aboard. “Oh, who’s a cute bug?” I hold it up for my boyfriend to see. “Look, I have a pet bug!”

He smiles and I place my napkin back on the table. I continue to pet it and coo about its adorable little black face and smart little feet. Then I hear, “…is she talking to that bug?” And I remember, Most People Do Not Speak to Bugs. I pet it one last time (so it doesn’t think I don’t like it anymore) and return to human conversation.

Weirdness. I has it.