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It was a Friday the Thirteenth. October 13, 1995. Funny, I can't remember the date we decided to start our business. I can't remember any of the details of that day, but I sure remember a lot about Friday, October 13, 1995. Closing a business after more than 15 years. Finding out that the group that agreed to buy the business was literally pulling out of the deal at the 11th hour. Realizing that time had run out and that it was time to surrender to reality.
There would be no Hail Mary pass, no happy-ever-after ending. No being able to say laughingly (in the future), "We escaped that one by the hair of our chinny chin chins." There would be the 20 employees that had to be told they would be losing their jobs, effective immediately.
By nature, I don't spend a great deal of time with the woulda coulda shoulda's of my life. My nature is to focus on today and the future. I don't get much joy or solace from reviewing the past. I'm not a subscriber to the belief that I am wiser, for the important life lessons learned. I didn't need that particular lesson, thank you very much.
Despite my inclination to avoid the rear view mirror, there are times when I am forced to think and remember. This year, as small business owners faced their own Friday the Thirteenths, I have been thinking a lot about what it means to say good bye to your business.
The statistics say only 50% of all businesses survive after five years. According to the Small Business Administration (pdf), half of all workers are employed by a small business. As of 2008, there were almost 29 million small businesses in this country.
It may be a few weeks before someone compiles the exact number of businesses lost in 2009. There were certainly many owners of car dealerships who reluctantly were forced to close their doors. Drive through most neighborhoods, in most towns throughout the country, and there are empty store fronts that used to be home to restaurants, clothing shops, gift shops, and advertising agencies. Behind all those empty store fronts, are business owners mourning their loss.
What I've come to realize is that many people think losing a business is like losing a job. Something that is difficult to go through, but replaceable. Lose a job, get a job. Lose a business, go work for someone else. That's the difference. It's like having to move back to your parents home after you've lived on your own for decades.
Recently, I was talking to a dear friend whose husband closed their business after 25 years. He lost the business. First, his major client was bought out and the new owners had a relationship with a different company. Then his top salesman left, followed by other clients who had to cut back on spending.
He fought a valiantly, and even though the business was on life-support, he struggled in pulling the plug. My friend knew that major changes in the business were required. People needed to be laid-off. New strategies needed to be pursued. She understood they were pumping their inheritance into the business, on the hope and prayer, that getting just that one client would be enough to turn everything around. That client never showed up.
She was willing to turn her back on the business years ago. She encouraged him to sell. He couldn't do it. He had to maintain the hope. And so, the money was lost, and in the end, so was the business.
She wants him to get over it. Although he now has a job, he's not getting over it. I try to tell my friend that it will never be completely over him. He will adjust but the regrets will remain. But, going from business owner to an employee is a painful transition. Even if he ends up financially in a better place, he will always remember that life was just a bit sweeter when he owned his own business.
In 2009, people aren't surprised when a business "goes under." There's the economy, after all. External forces causing even the most astute business owner to falter. That's the intellectual side of losing a business. Tough economic times. The emotional side of having to close a business is gut wrenching.: there's shame, sorrow, self-loathing and guilt. Rare is the business owner who doesn't spend time in the middle of the night with self-recriminations and endlessly asking the unanswerable question,
