You've Been James Robinsoned

I’m supposed to be working on The Business Plan right now, but I’ve been working on it all day and think for my general mental health that I should take a break and write a blog about it instead. Well, it and what else is going on in my life and see if anyone can relate.

As an update from my last post, I have not talked to my brother directly about the coffee house because a) I’m yellow as a chicken, and b) I’ve taken the safer and, I’ve convinced myself, more effective route of short, direct questions. Example: What have you done today? Is the menu done? Why not? I follow this up with the list of things I have been working on/accomplished. It seems to be working. He’s done a bunch more research of his own volition and done pricing and we have a sandwich menu! And he finished the advertising and marketing plan. I'll post our entire menu once I've finished the soup/salad portion (now whose butt isn't in gear?).

Of course, he’s also understandably disgruntled (one might even guess as disgruntled as he would be if I would just man up and have the dream/momentum/feelings conversation with him) every time I use this new tactic on him. But all I care about is results. Who cares if I’m creating an unhealthy pattern of interaction for the future business partnership? Right.

Since I’m practically out of money, I’ve been concentrating all my efforts into finalizing the business plan—the one thing that doesn’t earn me any money. It’s an investment in a future job that might not ever materialize. Right. My logic is that if I can just get that pretty much done, then I can go get a job(s) and when/if we finally do find a location, it’s ready to go and I don’t have to stress about it while I’m working full time.

We go on a walkthrough of a location in the Plaza tomorrow. I’m pretty excited to see inside the building and hear what an architect/contractor has to say about the space. I’m a visual person, and seeing a location where I can visualize the coffee shop will go a long way toward curbing my anxiety and hopefully revitalizing my enthusiasm.

In other news,

>I have visited a church twice and managed to talk to only one person total (the pastor made a beeline for me upon my second visit)

>I went with an acquaintance who I hope will become a friend to an unexpectedly awesome (I expected good) show in Norman (The Wurly Birds and Deer People)

>I made some pretty cool animal broaches

>I finished Will Grayson Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan and began Anna Karenina by Tolstoy

>Grant convinced me to join D&D (I’m a fox Hengeyokai rogue [scoundrel version]) (i.e., nerd badass)

>I volunteered at the Plaza Festival, which was practically rained out but not a total bust because, boy, did I meet a character!

James Robinson is the character of which I speak, and once I have a moment to sit down and really write (as opposed to blog), y’all are going to hear all about him. He’s going to end up in my gypsy books. He has to. His long, pointed fingernails and beard balls demand it.

Until then, fill me in what weird hobbies/adventures you’ve been getting tangled up in! Normal’s for the birds.

Entrepreneurial Spirit – It Takes a Charismatic

Blarg. ß This is how I feel. My brain has emitted this noise—albeit internally—ever since my brother and I began writing the business plan for a coffee house that might eventually one day be a reality. I can feel my forehead growing wrinkles. I say that because I haven’t been able, literally physically capable, of unknotting those muscles. My expression is one of perpetual perplexity. It doesn't help that I’ve misplaced my reading glasses.

Writing a business plan, starting a business, is not only scary, it’s humbling. Because you realize how dumb you are. And boy, am I dumb. I haven’t used the dictionary this much since I took geology in college. White boxing. Build out. Financial projections. Demographics. Market analysis. Triple net lease. SBA. Term sheets. It’s terrifying diving into something that is so financially threatening when you don’t know anything.

It’s as if you’re staring out across a lake and see an island you’d like to swim to. But there is no nice, easy, soft, sandy beach to ease into the water. The lake is surrounded by cliffs. Sheer drop offs. The water is full of terrors. And you don’t know how to swim.

Dotting the cliff tops are tents. The labyrinthine tent hands out free lifejackets, but you find they have heavy weights attached. The colorfully striped “professional” tents give expensive verbal and written lessons on how to swim, but no practical swimming lessons in water are to be had anywhere. And in the other tents—some grand and impressive, some less so, and some lean and drab—you find swimmers, folk who have taken the plunge and survived to tell the tale. These experienced swimmers will sometimes share tips they learned from their experiences, but some do not. Some are more helpful than others. And some speak so much jargon you can’t glean a single inkling from the conversation.

Since the dive and swim are so perilous, you feel you need as many lessons and as much equipment and as much information as these tents have to give you. But you only have so much money. The advice can only go so far. And to frustrate you even further, the counsel you receive is contradictory and vague. There isn’t an end to the tents. You’ll never feel fully prepared to dive in, and you’ll never run out of tents to visit.

To conclude, right now I feel overwhelmed, stupid, and utterly out of my depth. And repetitive. I feel rather redundant as well. There’s so much I don’t know, and there’s so much information to be had, learned, assimilated, and forgotten.

Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, and for some part of it I will be revising the front page of our business plan to focus on concept so that we can move forward in our bid for a sweet location for the coffee house. A not-for-profit association bought the building we hope to lease from them. So board approval is involved. By the time we get an interview with the big britches, we’ll have talked to bankers and have a firmer idea of how we’re going to fund this song and dance. That’s when we’ll have a proposal that focuses on finances. (Oh here’s a laugh. When I asked our accountant when we should get the loan, before or after signing the lease, which order do they go in? He answered, well ideally simultaneously. I had no response except to knit my brow together.)