Small Business

Ordinary.

May 31, 2016 · By Amy Swift Crosby

I caught a glimpse of my ordinary life the other day - thanks to filmmaker Eric Eason.

Too many options.
Not enough options.
We haven’t been paid.
We can’t pay them yet.
No one showed up.
No one signed up.
No one spoke up.
They never replied.
Not enough chairs.
It’s a Chinese holiday.
They missed the deadline.
No one can find us.
The link is broken.
Does anyone care?
I care too much.

These ordinary problems are the best kind of problems. They are small crises that pale in comparison to the bigger ones life can throw. Pema Chodron has this to say:

“The ordinariness of our good fortune can be hard to catch…the key is to be fully connected with the moment, paying attention to the details of ordinary life. By taking care of ordinary things – our pots and pans, our clothing, our teeth – we rejoice in them.”

I would add making the bed to her quote. For me, this simple, daily chore reminds me that I have room in my life and a healthy physical body that allows me to do something simple and meaningful – that closes my subconscious life – to begin the conscious one. We don’t have much control over what happens when we sleep – however we can be awake, yet totally asleep.

Here’s to making the coffee! Mowing the lawn! Drop off! Pick up! Unsubscribes! Delayed prototypes! Overdue invoices! Legal bills! Bookkeeping snafus! Cash flow! Life is so good.

Kenny.

May 24, 2016 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Unlikely gurus: Kenny Shopsin

I used to go to Kenny’s restaurant when I lived in New York City. One reason I loved it, besides the six pages of comfort food offered on the menu, was that it had a lot of idiosyncratic rules; I saw real estate brokers get kicked out for talking on cell phones and bankers get asked to leave for thinking they could sit more than four in a group. I saw uptown ladies get schooled by Eve, the co-owner and waitress, about the uselessness of “dressing on the side,” and celebrities enjoy long lunches – undisturbed – because inside Shopsins, they felt safe. The main rule was Don’t Be An Asshole. That’s a heck of a mission statement.

I love how clear and unapologetic Kenny and Eve were about who could pay them, and who could F%ck off. I use that language because that’s how they talk – whether you’re a New York Times food critic or a condo broker. Being a customer was something you earned, not something you became by using a GroupOn. Here are a few gems from Kenny:

1. The most profitable item on the menu, out of hundreds (not a minimalist, but still an essentialist) is iced tea. And what is iced tea but basically …water. The margins on an item that almost everyone orders are enormous. He knows it and gives free refills. And still makes money on it. (Where are your easiest, biggest margins?)

2. A milkshake, once perfectly thick, will never become thicker. It just can’t get better than it is, it only goes downhill if you try. So don’t. (This is a don’t guild the lilly kind of thing. You don’t have to make something good even better. With so much pressure to evolve and recreate and entertain our audiences, sometimes a good thing can stay exactly, precisely the way it is.)

3. Running a restaurant (for him) is about running a restaurant. It is not a means to get somewhere else, like so many endeavors. (OH. THANK. YOU. Why must evvvvvverything be a means to a show or a book or… a whatever?) I’ve always had ambition fatigue. He’s refreshing.

In a time where “customer acquisition strategy” is part of our everyday small business vocabulary, Kenny, for me, is a beacon of hope. Make good food. Keep your good customers close, and let the others find somewhere else to eat. And… don’t mistake fancy for elevated. Shopsins is a 5-star establishment in my mind. You don’t need a white tablecloth to be extraordinary.

Enjoy…xo

Happy Faces.

April 12, 2016 · By Amy Swift Crosby

I don’t like to compare the way men and women do things. I like and appreciate our differences, and I’m even good with most of our gender-specific approaches to things. But some thing is happening to us (women) that I need to talk through. Enter…

Exclamation points!
Emojis of any kind.
Prefacing.
Apologies.
“Maybe it’s me, but…”

Many of us are apologizing for having an informed, gut level, professional or otherwise valuable opinion. And we’re doing it in a way that is quiet, and a little bit insidious. It feels like we’re just being nice – but what we’re saying to our teams and ourselves is, our involvement requires a preamble, excuse or pardon. I don’t see men doing this.

Is it okay to not agree? Does delegating work require so much permission/explanation/exhaustion? Is a little debate cause for anyone questioning whether people like them? Yikes. Are we all getting that sensitive?!

Besides just being the right thing to do for better, clearer, more honest communication, the more each of us propagates this false sense of “don’t-worry-I’m-not-mad-but-I-feel-this-way” digital falsity, the more the rest of us sound tone def – as though we might be insensitive, too brutally honest, or my favorite…bitchy.

No. We aren’t anything. We are doing business, and kindly, respectfully putting thoughts into the world that will hopefully move something forward.

Let’s check our intention, then weigh it against the best and highest expression of the thing at stake. Then write emails/texts that mean what we say, without a giant mattress under each one lest someone on the receiving end have an emotional crisis and fall down. I’m all for thoughtful and considerate – but these have become everyone’s crutch (and expectation) and constantly feel like an unnecessary apology.

Get more creative. Articulate yourself. And remember that sentences end with a period, not a happy face.

Have a great day!
(And I mean it.)

Mr.Sullivan

April 5, 2016 · By Amy Swift Crosby

If you’re a business owner, service provider, maker, freelancer – you (hopefully) invoice regularly. Just as I love a peek inside someone’s closet or refrigerator or supplements cabinet, I also love to notice how different people submit invoices. It says a lot about you, funny enough. What you’re doing, on a deeper level, is saying “I’m offering you the best of what I can do, and this is how much it costs.” It’s kind of intimate, actually. So why, at times, are invoices such an afterthought? Why have I gotten so many of them from freelancers or interns or vendors with wonky spacing, typos, incorrect math…it’s the most overlooked aspect of what is actually part of your brand, and surprisingly, an aspect to your marketing.

I got this typewritten gem from my painter the other day. I love it because someone, somewhere, took the time, on a TYPEWRITER, to send me a $200 bill. Not much money, but a beautiful service provided, all consistent with the gentleman who owns the business, who puts a Mr or Mrs before addressing anyone, including himself!

It doesn’t matter so much that you take a fancy digital approach to submitting fees for products or services rendered, or a more old school one like the above, or even a hand written one – as long as you do it with the thoughtfulness that this exchange very quietly demands.

You did something. For someone. Make the last gesture of the transaction as lovely or at least as consistent, as the quality of your work.

And…here’s to paying bills and sending bills. Paying them means you’re using your money. Sending them means you’re generating it.
All of it’s good.

Alone in the Field.

February 9, 2016 · By Amy Swift Crosby

We all find ourselves alone in a battle once in a while. Whether you’re on a team as part of a project, as the owner of the business trying to get something right with a vendor, a sales person, a retailer, a manufacturer, a partner – it’s not that fun, but not that uncommon, to find yourself alone at the table trying to persuade, convince, edit, modify, evolve or otherwise impact something that needs attention.

There are ways to do this that feel like a bulldozer. And ways to do this that feel like a gazelle. I aim for the latter, even though my emotions can feel like the former. Here’s how I try to approach a difference of vision when I feel alone in my convictions:

1. Take as much responsibility as possible for why things are the way they are. It may not feel natural, and it may not feel totally true deep down, but honestly look at how you got here. Usually there was a lapse in clear communication along the way. Condescension and “it’s me, not you” won’t work. You have to make this assessment genuinely. Others will sense it if not (and then, game-over.)

2. Don’t make anyone wrong for what they’ve done or haven’t done (unless you’re managing an employee, which is a different dynamic.) No one likes to feel wrong – not a friend, not a husband, not a partner, not a service provider – not one person ever in history. I’m hugely imperfect at this – but I try to see the rightness in what HAS happened, and take that tone to change what’s not working.

3. Most of us have a colleague or companion of sorts we can confide in. But here’s the key – try not to be temperamental, defensive or even bitchy in your complaining about the problem. The tone you take in unpacking and bemoaning and explaining it to your confidante will inform how you think about fixing it. Talk about it with the level of maturity you hope to use in solving it.

It takes a lot to fight battles among people who you like and respect. I don’t like to call it fighting really, but it’s defending or promoting an aspect that isn’t getting the attention it needs. But to be an effective champion for any change, you have to start with how YOU got the train to the station. And it can’t be a strategy – you have to see your part, and mean it when you say it. These ideas come from the head, but have to be led with the heart.

Here’s to being alone. It will happen. But if you’re lucky, you’ll have a quiet (but loyal) companion to help you through.

Portraits.

February 3, 2016 · By Amy Swift Crosby

Jen blurry (art). Jen clear (commerce).

If we took as many selfies of our businesses as we did of our faces, we might make more honest assessments of what needs to change. But we fear feedback – giving it, receiving it. We’re sometimes even scared of the people who work for us, but don’t want to admit it. We shudder at the thought of auditing people and processes because that means disruption, potentially being wrong, hurting feelings, being criticized. Our small companies often function on rocket fuel – adrenalin from an exciting client, a pitch, an opportunity, the “what-if’s” that make every day as a creative or entrepreneur or talent so fun and full of hope.

Pausing is hard. Forward motion is easier. But have you ever just stood and looked yourself in the eye – for an uncomfortable amount of time? Looking into your own eyes, you see things. Personal things. Memories. Curiosities. Tendencies. Truths. When I created SMARTY in 2008, I was running on the adrenalin of leaving another women’s network as the editor in chief, wild-eyed and sleep deprived from the rigors of childbirth and breastfeeding, and the excitement of corralling a small team of people who could help me launch a different kind of business network for women. But we moved with such speed (ahem, seat-of-our-pants-ness) that I rarely took the time to assess our state of the union. Looking at P&L’s is one part of a businesses story – but really the overall picture was hard to capture. I wanted to look smarty in the eye and ponder it – but that would take too long and I was fielding too many potential land mines that I just Kept. It. Moving. I didn’t take selfies when I should have (which is why the model is now changing!).
If we can effectively turn the camera on our businesses – we could get past the discomfort of the long gaze and transcend beyond survival into relevance.

Here’s to more starring at ourselves in the mirror (no filter). The entrepreneurial selfie requires a deeper look. And one that takes feedback.