Who wants to ride the bus?
a lesson on your startup’s inner circle
‘Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.’
-Oprah
So I’m on the bus.
When I got on the bus, I honestly believed I was going for a few stops across town. It’s been almost 18 months. Still. On. The. Bus. Apparently it’s a one way ticket on a steep, bumpy, poorly paved, wandering road with more twists and turns than KingdaKa at Six Flags. Like KingdaKa, sometimes it’s adventurous, exciting, and fraught with anticipation. Other times it just makes you want to puke up your lunch and pass out.
Like KingdaKa, [starting up] is adventurous, exciting, and fraught with anticipation. Other times it just makes you want to puke up your lunch and pass out.
So of course, I’m thinking about what my particular bus looks like. Tour bus? Nope, I’m too practical. School bus? Nah, too predictable (and also leaves the imaginary potential for short bus, which is not where we want to be). NJ transit bus? Crappy branding. My bus is retro— one of those vintage green and steel ones you see in movies like Forrest Gump (or more strangely, in Call of Duty Zombies, which I am witness to for hours on end as my son plays and I sit here, typing).
My co-founder/husband/baby daddy rides the bus with me. Always has. Has given me the fare when I didn’t have it, has snuck on with me when we both were broke. Changed a flat or two (okay, so I change the flats and he watches… city kid), and made sure we make any necessary detours that would result in a better roadside-food-stand meal. Best. Travel companion. Ever. That being said, we’re still on this goddam bus and we really, really want to be in the limo. (disclaimer: his visualization is actually a yacht, floating in the mediterranean. A yacht that’s gigantic enough that he wouldn’t get sea sick. Mine is a vintage Mercedes convertible, alabaster white with brown leather interior. These visualizations are not mutually exclusive, however, as a big enough yacht would allow my Mercedes a permanent parking spot on deck, and an onboard crane to deftly place my rubber to the Italian road at mere request.)
Surprisingly, there are a good handful of people hanging out on the bus with us. They’re taking the ride, hanging around— I mean, it’s not a short bus, and we already established that we’re following the best food. These are people who are intrigued by us, interested in our constantly over-scheduled, unpredictable lives, our willingness to ‘fly by the seat of our pants’ indefinitely, and our innate ability as ‘power couple’ to take anyone’s idea, tear it to shreds and find the million dollar possibility lying at the bottom of the pile. Some are friends, many are family, a few Facebook connections that we haven’t seen in decades (omg, we’re old enough to say we haven’t seen someone in decade…S).
I can’t remember whether I was lying on the pavement in the heat of summer, underneath my bus changing yet another tire (used of course), or if I was swiping my credit card at the gas station for (yet another) pricey tank, crossing my fingers the charge would go through, when it hit me.
I want to trade in this bus. Like, YESTERDAY. Preferably for a limo (read: yacht + onboard mercedes). Eye on the prize, I’ve got to get us there. I pay for the gas, dammit. I change the tires. We’ve gotta shed some weight. Go faster. Conserve fuel. You know how they say that muscle weighs more than fat? Not in this case. I’ve got to weed through these traveling companions, keeping only the one that Bear Grylls would admire. The one whose aspirations rival Richard Branson’s. The one who will know how to haggle with border patrol, in the native dialect, with cash. You can only stay on this bus if you’re earning your keep. You can only stay on this bus if you’re going to uphold the visualization of the limo/yacht/mercedes so the karmic collective consciousness of the universe tips ever so slightly more in our favor to keep us moving forward on paved, flat highway, for One. More. Day.
I’ve got to weed through these traveling companions, keeping only the one that Bear Grylls would admire.
I don’t ever advise riding the bus alone. It’s a crazy world out there. But choose carefully. These are the people that are going to have to make the best of it with you when the limo breaks down, and it will. The right crew will brainstorm a replacement for the limo— not sit around whining while you track down another crappy bus. And don’t be afraid to leave someone in Milwaukee at midnight— trust me, they’ll find another ride.
So— Who’s on your bus?
