Every theatre kid has a moment (or many moments) when they consider pursuing a career in acting.
I had my moments. Every few months or so for the decade between middle school and college graduation (the heyday of my theatre career, as life would have it), I would threaten my parents with pursuing acting. I even declared a second major in Theatre second semester of freshman year (which I later demoted to a minor).
I remember the popular maxim that often accompanied these ambitions: “You should pursue a career in acting if you can’t do anything else.” It wasn’t until several years post-college that I learned there were actually two interpretations of this adage.
I had always interpreted the phrase to mean that you should pursue acting if you couldn’t breathe without it; if you felt as though you would truly perish from asphyxiation, choked by your own unfulfilled potential on the screens and stages of the world. (I was a little bit of a drama queen, and perhaps prone to hyperbole.)
Another friend interpreted it more literally: you should pursue your thespian ambitions if you simply have no other skills with which to barter in the game of Life. If that is your one talent, then you may as well play your hand. If you can do something – really, anything else – definitely do that instead.
I still like my version better. It has poetic conviction: give me the Backstage listings or give me death!
In any case, my theatrical ambitions didn’t pass muster by either definition – I loved (and still love) theatre, but felt I could be happy leaving it as a hobby. In fact, I feared the opposite: that I would rely too heavily on the art as a meal ticket, take parts I didn’t love in shows I didn’t believe it, and slowly start to resent it altogether, the way people spoke of being sickened at the sight of ice cream after a summer scooping sticky globs of the stuff. And supposedly, after four years of a good college education, I had other marketable skills to lean on. (Time will tell, I guess.)
I spoke to a young(er) entrepreneur-in-waiting last week, and he told me he had a list of about a dozen business ideas he was thinking about pursuing. Without seeing the list, I told him none of them was the right one. He asked how I knew, and I said that when he found the right problem to solve, he would unquestionably know it to be the one to pursue. He wouldn’t be able to do anything else.
Two years ago, that is how I felt about a problem that I later started Allovue to solve. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I felt certain of my impending death, crushed by the weight of regret (there’s that hyperbole again!) It’s a feeling not so unlike lovesickness. I couldn’t do anything else.
I think founding a business is a pursuit worthy of hyperbole. There’s plenty of rejection, the odds are not ever in your favor – it’s really not so different from a career in acting, when you think about it. For every break-out celebrity, there are thousands of people getting typed-out all day. For every Uber, there are thousands of wantrepreneurs honing their “Uber for X” pitches. Unless you’re Richard Branson or Elon Musk, you probably can’t just pick an idea off a list.
You should only pursue your business idea if you can’t do anything else.