This ain’t a scene
I’ve wanted to start this post so many times, but I could never figure out what the message was - just that I owed an explanation for why the startup journey ended. I wish there was a deep and complex reason, but there isn’t. It just wasn’t what I thought it was.
If I can use a little analogy, the journey went a little something like this:
It’s Thursday. You’ve had 3 long, grueling days at work and you’re on the verge of breaking. The help you asked for was denied, so you decide to take Friday off and go on a trip to reset.
Sipping coffee at the cafe with your friend, you confided that you don’t know what’s next. He shares that he needs company for an exclusive party tomorrow and asks if you would join him. You’ve heard of the party but have never been. You know it is such a rare opportunity, and this coincidence feels like it was meant to be, so you agree.
The next day, you find a dress and a pair of heels for the party. The dress hangs loose in some places and the shoes are a size smaller, but they’re the best you have. You squeeze yourself in and pray they are good enough. You feel silly as you share the news with your friends and even strangers about your get-up and the fun you will have. Your friend arrives and you set off to the event together.
As you thought, it was enchanting. Everything is pristine and graceful - champagne flutes, delectable entrees, and an a-class waitstaff. You begin to feel more confident and at ease, despite the growing abrasion on your heels, because you can lean on your friend. You decide to grab a glass but the waitstaff informs you that you need to fill out the registration forms at the table across the hall before you can get a glass. Off you went.
Your tummy starts rumbling and you catch a whiff of fresh baguette floating down the room. The host informs everyone to get to their tables. You see an envelope with a task, inviting you to take a nice picture of yourself with your friend before you can get food. You catch your finger in the bottom of the picture but the host helped you crop it out so you’re good. You got a toast.
The night went on with more forms to fill, strange little tasks, and a lot of walking on your increasingly calloused feet. Your friend is trying to hold you up and be supportive, but you noticed that he has started limping too. The hunger and pain have made you both irritable. The glimmer wears off and you take a slow hard look around.
You noticed that the new attendees are all looking a little worn down and uncomfortable, while the alumni are chatting away with smiles that don’t reach their eyes. Pictures are taken and everyone looks amazing with the filters on, despite the ill-fitting costumes. Everyone is here for the promised Japanese A5 Wagyu steak that has been 'coming right up' since 2 hours ago. And you’re famished. The host is trying to help you and 76 other people at the same time. You turn to your friend and the stark realization dawns: you are not the company he would enjoy a steak with, just coffee at a cafe. There is no place for you here.
You wonder why you even came. Oh right, the steak. You see some of the attendees digging into their meat and what you thought would be overwhelmingly satisfying is now a little too heavy and nauseating. So when they tell you that you haven't dressed well enough to earn the steak, what you thought would be heart-breaking is all that, but also a deep relief. You feel sorry to your friend, the host, and the dashed dreams but it doesn’t change the reality that the party wasn’t your scene.
