12th April 2009
Six weeks ago we started. They had asked me—me!—to come and take the lead. I couldn’t believe my luck.
I had just figured out what I wanted: to be part of a startup adventure, develop cool things, shake up the Internet, conquer the world. Suddenly, this adventure was handed to me on a plate. I said ‘yes’, of course, and I’d sure as shit show them how one does that, take the lead.
The adventure is called Buzzplaces. Buzzplaces is destined to be a website that gives people a real, inside look at companies.
‘Because these days,’ Steven had told me, ‘we can so easily get a sneak preview of everything we’re curious about: holiday destinations, restaurants, houses for sale, films… you name it. Thanks to the Internet, everything’s becoming more transparent.’
Photos of holiday destinations, restaurants, houses and films were projected onto a screen. When the screen went black, I returned my gaze to the two men sitting opposite me.
‘Everything’s becoming more transparent,’ Steven repeated, ‘except for work and employers. Almost every job posting on every job site tells the same story, so as a job seeker, you really don’t know what kind of company you’re dealing with—until you go in for an interview. But since you’re only finding meaningless information on the Internet, there’s a big chance you’ll visit companies that don’t suit you and miss the ones that do.
‘We think this is ridiculous. With all of today’s technology, how can it be, for something that plays such a big role in our lives, that we’re still groping in the dark?’
From the corner of my eye, I saw the screen light up again. I turned my head and saw blue letters on a white background.
‘Buzzplaces is a working name,’ Michel said. ‘We don’t yet know what the name’s going to be. We do know that we’re going to make a kind of Facebook for companies and businesses, but different from Facebook. And different from LinkedIn, because we think LinkedIn is boring. People should be able to see—really see—through photos, videos and honest reviews, what it’s like to work somewhere. In this way, we hope to make it easier for people to find their dream job.’
‘And the question’s not, Are we going to do this?’ Steven added. ‘We believe in this. And how we’re going to do it? We have no idea yet, but there must be a business model we can build around this. Our developers are enthusiastic; you’re the first one outside our company to hear about it. Because we want you to take the lead.’
Okay, let’s pause for a moment. Who are Steven and Michel?
I didn’t know either, not really. Steven, I’d met only once before; Michel, I’d known for less than ten minutes. They, however, seemed to know who I was, because they had just asked me—me!—to come and be their leader! The charge of flattery coursed through my body, and I nearly bounced off my chair with enthusiasm. Everything I wanted was here, now, ready for the taking, ready to take off.
We agreed I’d sleep on it, but I already knew my answer.
A month before this meeting, my cousin, after hearing me about my fresh startup dream, had connected me to Steven. We met in a former bank building that now serves as a startup space. I was immediately enchanted. Steven spoke like I’d never heard people speak, he listened in a way that was new to me, and whenever my mouth stopped talking, he seemed to wait for words to come out of his.
He told me about his core idea. ‘Put the right people together under the right conditions, and talent will naturally rise to its highest potential.’
To put this idea into practice, he had started an entrepreneurial collective called Yaiks. ‘Yaiks’, because entrepreneurship is filled with scary excitement, even when all the conditions are right.
We sat down in his office and he asked me about life beyond graduation. I told him that I’d started working as a freelancer, using my spare time to figure out which commercial company would teach me the ropes, realising in the process that I didn’t want to be learning ropes in a big commercial company.
‘Okay, so let’s suppose everything’s possible,’ he said after another silence, ‘what then is it that you do want?’
—‘To be here.’
The words were out before I knew it. I was stunned. Never had I said something like that. And how could I? What did I know about Yaiks? I’d been there less than an hour!
I didn’t explain myself, and that, too, felt new. I simply felt a warm, logical sensation in my chest, and that was enough. I wanted to be here, period.
Steven showed me around the office and introduced me to his co-entrepreneurs. A little over two hours after we had shaken hands, we said goodbye with a hug. Again something new—hugging a man—and again, that warm, logical feeling.
We had agreed not to agree on anything, and a month later, Steven sent me an email to ask if we could meet again. For politeness’ sake, I said ‘yes’. Someone had just offered me a job, and I was going to take it, so this second meeting with Steven would be the last, for now.
‘Thanks for your honesty, Mundo,’ Steven said as we sat down again. ‘Well, maybe we can still convince you. Wanna take a walk with me?’
My heart started pounding. Convince? my mind asked. Man, sounds important!
Steven led me into a dark presentation room. In the middle stood an oval-shaped table. On it were a laptop and a buzzing beamer; seated at the table was someone whom I didn’t recognise from my previous visit. He introduced himself as Michel, co-owner of MARS media, one of the startups in the Yaiks collective. Thirty days later, I sat down behind my new desk, chock-full of enthusiasm, let’s go, and yeehaa!
Today, we’re six weeks down the line and I no longer know where to find any let’s go and yeehaa. I’m sitting at my desk, holding a large sheet of paper with notes from a brainstorming session I organised two days ago. The sheet’s supposed to tell me something—it was a brainstorming session, after all—but all I see are letters and doodles, dancing and spinning.
My hands are sweating, my belly’s aching and I feel a wet mess coming out of my armpits. I just came back from a round trip to the toilet, having tried to take a shit, hoping that would solve my belly ache, but alas, of shit no sign. For days, there’s been no shitting.
Yesterday evening, I felt panic rising; this morning, after a sleepless night full of pushing panic down, I went to yoga class and re-found my let’s go.
Yes! I thought. Let’s get this show on the road again!
Filled with new courage and a newly found set of amazing ideas, I rushed to the office. Just before I arrived, there it was again: panic.
Let’s go!—Panic—let’s go!—Panic… For weeks now.
Two evenings ago, after the brainstorming session had ended and everyone but I had gone home, I called my dad. It was close to midnight, but he immediately picked up. I didn’t know what to say and started crying. Half an hour later, he opened the door for me in his bathrobe. I felt burdened and grateful.
Dad made tea, and we sat down. I still didn’t know what to say or where to start. He asked questions and I crafted answers, but none of my words felt real.
‘Mundo,’ he said after a while, ‘aren’t you simply in need of a holiday?’
—‘No, I’ve just been on holiday.’
Another robot answer. ‘Man doesn’t need a holiday when man has just had a holiday.’ Dad stopped asking and I was done for the night.
‘Thanks, Dad, for letting me come over.’
Exhausted, I cycled home, hauled myself up the stairs, and fell into bed. Tomorrow’s another day.
Yesterday was another one of those days.
Today looks to be another one of those days.
I lay the brainstorming sheet on my desk.
OK, I firmly tell myself, I’m going to walk around once more—shortly, because I’m here to be a leader, and then…
I do a quick lap, come back to my desk and pep-talk myself into action.
Come on! Grab that brainstorming sheet and concentrate; I can do this!
My belly’s aching, I’m sweating all over the place and I see letters and doodles, dancing and spinning.
What the fuck is this?! This is what I wanted, isn’t it?!
The noise in my head doesn’t stop me from hearing shoes making their way across the office space. I look up and see Steven, with next to him, someone I don’t know. As they pass me, Steven’s eyes catch mine. A smile forms on his face and
What? Is that a chuckle? Is Steven chuckling at me?
I feel my head turning bright red, which I really don’t want, so I bow down and glance over the sheet again.
I stare and see everything spinning, and I don’t want it to do that, so on I go, urging myself, Come on, come on, come on, COME ON!!!
Suddenly, all is quiet.
‘Let it go.’
What the…?
‘Just let it go.’
Wait, those words didn’t come from outside.
I didn’t say or think them.
Yet…
‘Let it go, Mundo, you don’t have to do this anymore.’
My hands let go of the sheet. I stand up and walk towards the kitchen—or better said, something lifts me and walks me towards the kitchen. There, I see Steven talking to a colleague. I wait. Our colleague walks away and Steven looks at me.
‘Steven, can we sit outside for a minute?’
—‘Yes, of course.’
I find an emergency exit, push open the door and step onto a large, raised terrace that overlooks the business park of which our building is a part. On the edge, there’s an emergency staircase leading down. I approach it, put my feet on the first step and sit. Steven takes a seat next to me and stays quiet. I don’t know where to start, and I don’t need to. Looking out to the plethora of office buildings, I simply hear the words coming out.
I start crying and become flooded with grief… and relief.
What I just said might be the most genuine thing I’ve ever uttered.
My head drops onto Steven’s shoulder. He puts his arm around me.
‘I can’t do this anymore…’ I sob, ‘I don’t want to anymore.’
Again I hear a chuckle. It doesn’t sound like a piss-taking chuckle, more like a ‘I get you, brother’ chuckle.
We sit silently for a while.Then Steven asks, ‘Do you want to go back?’
My mind has no idea what Steven’s asking me, but inside, I know exactly what he’s asking me.
‘No, I don’t want to go back.’
