Let’s start with a story. A friend of a friend has the Child Madness. You know what I’m talking about. She’s expecting, and she’s read or is reading every word ever written on the production and maintenance of very small people.
She’s got every child-rearing trend on lock, annotated with ten arguments for it and twelve against. She may be knitting things. And of course – to judge by my own online experience, I’m pretty sure this is federal law for parents-to-be – she’s Facebooking every last bit of the above.
Quite right, too. Having a child is a BIG DEAL. I don’t even have one of the little creatures. All’s I got is a considerably littler sister. It’s not even the same thing, and real talk: she’s got a great boyfriend (which, being the protective older brother, translates to “boyfriend I don’t want to tase unconscious and FedEx to space”), a job that probably paid more last month than I’ve made this year, and I still spend a solid 51% of my RWM – that’s Random Worrying Memory – on her wellbeing. Raising that to the level proper for a person you created? I can’t imagine. Literally. Wigging out is called for.
Thing is, FoaF is also a business owner. Roundabout the same time she was burning through baby books and cranking classical for her lower abdomen, she asked the friend we had in common how to put together a P&L sheet. She’d been in business ten years. Not long after, our friend asked what email client her business used. They do 40% of their business through email. She didn’t know. What?
I’m not equating the value of a child to a business. To my knowledge, I’m not a sociopath. But it did get me thinking, and I spotted a lesson.
Why not worry about one the way you worry about the other?
Is there a better example, anywhere, of all-out borderline compulsive prep work than expecting parents? Seriously, spend five minutes on Facebook. I’ll wait. Books and classes, diet and exercise, and it all starts on day one, part of the process the moment the appropriate thing turns blue. “Eh, I’ll wing it” ain’t exactly best practice. Say what you want about the Child Madness: nobody cares more about the creation of something new.
So if you want to build something, take the tip. Next time, instead of sighing or snickering when an unduly detailed update on somebody’s Child Countdown flits across the Internet, follow their lead. I mean, not Mozart and yoga, unless that’s your thing. But read up. Take classes. Get with people who have already done what you’re doing. And – this is the important bit – do all of that before you start.
You won’t know what’s coming until it’s come. Such is the nature of creation. Ask a parent, or an artist, or an entrepreneur. But ask them again and they’ll tell you, preparing the ground and learning best practices from people who have been where you are is your best shot at coming through the unknown with a happy result.
>When you want to build, give yourself a little Child Madness. It works.
Matt Salter is a writer and former fundraising and communications officer for nonprofit organizations, including Volunteers of America and PICO National Network. He’s excited to put his knowledge of fundraising, marketing, and all things digital to work for your reading enjoyment. When not writing about himself in the third person, Matt enjoys horror movies and tabletop gaming, and can usually be found somewhere in the DFW Metroplex with WiFi and a good all-day breakfast.
