WonderPlay Coaching

I'm writing about entrepreneurship (in my case, solopreneurship) today, in all of its gory glory. I find that I've hesitated to share these thoughts publicly, because my story seems unfinished to me. I suppose that's a good thing, because my story will continue after this! But it's more than that. I'm not the poster child of a “successful entrepreneur” - at least not yet. “Struggling entrepreneur” or “surviving entrepreneur” seems to be a better fit right now. I don't see myself as having “that success story of a six-figure work-from-anywhere winner” that will inspire people to quit their 9-to-5s. I do get to live an ignited life full of passion for what I do every day - and I’ll be the first to point out that that alone does not generate income. Why share NOW, then, when my career change isn’t neatly wrapped up with a pretty bow? One of my friends said it well - when we share (ok, sometimes more like admit) our challenges to each other, we humanize...

I went to a concert on Friday. I was excited to have a night out with a friend (being social! Not working!), and I was interested to see how this experience would go: this was a band I had barely heard of, but came with the most glowing praise from a friend. I hadn't planned on working, but I found myself inspired to write on my experience. The band ( Gogo Penguin ) was great. Better than great, they were incredible. They were a delicious meal for my musician brain - a stunning flow of energy with incredible creativity and precision. Their individual skill was staggering, and their partnership was seamless. Their exploration of their art and craft was gorgeous and intriguing. But this is not an essay about a great concert. It is a reflection about all concerts, great and otherwise, and inclusive of other powerful public shares: recitals, plays, speeches, shows, circuses, spectacles, protests, and everything at the huge end of the spectrum - and then on the small end, even ...