Alone on the mountain
Dear Kula Diaries,
I’m going to start this week’s post by sharing one of my favorite poems. This is one of those poems that sunk deeply into my soul — it was a poem that I could feel.
It’s a very short poem called Alone Looking At the Mountain:
There’s one sentiment that I’ve heard a lot as an entrepreneur… and it’s this:
It’s lonely.
I’ve heard this said in more ways than I can recall. I’ve heard other founders saying things like, “I feel so isolated,” or, “I sometimes feel like I’m living on an island.” A few months ago, a business mentor was speaking with me and he remarked, “It’s lonely at the top.”
Before I started a business, I couldn’t possibly imagine how running a business could be lonely — because, really, aren’t you basically surrounding yourself with people all day… every day? Aren’t you constantly working with other humans? Supervising other humans? Communicating with other humans?
And yet, as I sit here — 6 years into founding and owning a company — I know exactly what all of those folks are talking about. But I’m still not ready to accept it.
Before I started a company, it felt significantly easier to ‘blend in’. As a railroad police officer and former park ranger, I had a very clear distinction between my ‘work life’ and my ‘personal life’. But, after I founded a company, that line became blurred. In the very beginning, I said YES to every opportunity that presented itself — but, very quickly, I discovered that my personal time no longer felt like personal time … because it always had to do with ‘working’ in some way. More than anything, I craved the moments where I could shake off the ‘founder identity’ — and just be… well… me.
And yet, to this day — no matter how many times that I declare that I’m going to take time off from my work… I still find myself packing extra Kulas on a trip, just so I can give them away. Kula Cloth is like a starfish appendage: no matter how many times I try to cut if off, it just grows back right away. Last weekend, I gave myself an extra few days off… and what did I end up doing? I made some Swanky Scoop custom Kulas and rode my motorcycle to the ice cream shop to give them away (and, of course, to eat ice cream). Honestly, it just sounded fun. And, truthfully, it was fun. I mean: How wild is it that I get to ride a motorcycle to an ice cream shop to give away some Kulas that I made… just because it sounds like a cool thing to do? And that somehow that is my job?
And yet, it’s still really hard — and there are many days where I feel like a fish out of water. I don’t know how to put together all of the logistical details of running a business… I’m bumbling my way through this… I have zero outside funding… and yet, here I am. Somehow, against all of the odds — and with the help of a lot of other amazing folks — I’m steering this ship that keeps on moving forward (and seemingly in the right direction).
I signed up for this. I’m very aware of that — but, also, it is difficult, and nobody can possibly prepare you for the mental exercise of founding a company. The amount of complexity that has gone into each facet of every single tiny thing that exists is mind-boggling. I told my business coach that I feel like the hub of a wheel — and that every single spoke is attached to me. Some days, it feels like too many spokes. Some days I really think that I cannot possibly make one more decision. In fact, my day to day tasks are pretty easy compared with the monumental effort that it takes to simply exist as a balanced human in this world when there is one piece of your life that somehow manages to engulf every moment of every day.
As much as I love what I do, starting this business has not been been without sadness and loss. As I have progressed on my Kula Cloth journey over the past 6 years, it became obvious that it was increasingly difficult for some of my friends to be around me — I’d see their eyes glaze over when I started talking about Kula. My schedule is notoriously impossible to work around sometimes. Eventually, they stopped calling me. Honestly, I don’t blame them — I understand.
When I was a kid, I ran away a few times — usually, I’d pack my bags and then in a dramatic flair, I’d announce that I was running away — as if anybody was going to try to stop me. Secretly, of course, I wish that somebody would stop me… but, my dad was usually the first one to offer to help me pack my bags (he knew I wasn’t actually going to do it). Did I really want to run away and disappear? No, of course not. So, if I didn’t want to leave — what did I want? I think, in retrospect, that I just wanted to feel loved. I wanted to feel wanted. I wanted to feel like I wasn’t alone. I wanted to feel like it mattered that I was there. Running away is a pretty manipulative way to try and feel wanted — but I didn’t have the words to articulate what I needed… and so, I’d pack a duffel bag with a few items, and I’d walk out of the house.
I’d usually run away to a small strip of trees behind our house — except that I’d always end up coming back when I wanted to eat or use the bathroom. “I’m still running away!”, I’d declare defiantly, as I sat down for dinner with my family, “I’m only eating to regain my strength!!”. My parents would nod in agreement — thoroughly unconvinced that I had any real intention of spending a night outside in our neighborhood.
I never really ran away — even when every cell in my body told me that I needed to get away from everything. It’s weird to be an adult and to have something that you love so much… and yet, you simultaneously sometimes want to run away from it. Do I want to run away because I need attention? No — quite the opposite — it’s usually because I want no attention… I want no questions… no responsibilities. I want one, blissful moment of just being who I am — without anything attached to it.
Who am I without the things that I do? That’s something I’ve asked myself so many times over the years — because, for most of my life, the ‘beingness’ of me was completely intertwined with the things that I did. I was Anastasia the Park Ranger or Anastasia the Railroad Police Officer or Anastasia, the mountaineer. And now, Anastasia, the Kula Cloth founder.
A few days ago, I was having one of those evenings where I wanted to just be normal. I wanted to be able to come home from work, and not sit around and think more about work. I wanted to let go of the constant barrage of thoughts, questions and responsibilities. I wanted to give myself just one tiny break from myself. In those moments, I understand the isolation of the founder — because everybody in your life is, usually, attached to your work — which means that you will avoid socialization in an attempt to pretend that you’ve forgotten about what you do for a living. I wrongly think to myself, “If I just hide and don’t see anybody, then nobody can talk to me about Kula Cloth!”.
It was a Friday night, and I was sitting alone in my house… working on disassembling some watches for POM Pizza. In the midst of my intense focus, I received a text message from a dear friend who is one of the Joy Facilitators for our Dance Experiment. This is a friend that is only in my life because of Kula Cloth. If I had never started Kula Cloth, there is a good chance that our paths would never have crossed. I am grateful for you in my life, she wrote. Another Kula friend messaged me later that day: I can’t wait to see you.
Over the past six years, I’ve learned that there is a difference between being alone and being lonely. I couldn’t possibly have started a business completely by myself — there are so many people that are a part of ‘the becoming’ of Kula Cloth… but there is something different about being the one who started it. I don’t spend my time the way that I used to less than a decade ago. I spend most of my free time with my husband — but it’s by choice. I don’t feel sorry for myself that I don’t go out often. I use the time away from work to decompress so that I can go back next week and bring something special to everything that I do. Kula is a ‘job’ — but it’s also more than that for me. Kula Cloth is the way that I can make a ripple in the sea of our universe and maybe, just maybe, contribute to something much bigger than myself.
Spock says, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one.” When I think about my purpose on this planet, I know that I wasn’t meant to blend in… and that I wasn’t meant to suppress my creative ideas. This amazing adventure was gifted to me because I was ready for it to arrive — which means that each of the little bumps and twists along the way are all important. It means that even the difficult moments are important. It means that the love that I can create through what I’m doing is important. I cannot not do this. Even if I quit Kula Cloth tomorrow, I would start something new so that I could do the same thing in a different form: Bring something good into the world. I am so compelled to share kindness and the joy of presence and peace with others that I cannot stop. The realization of that — the connectedness that I can feel to everything around me — reminds me that might be alone sometimes, but I don’t need to feel lonely.
The other day, I read a post on LinkedIn from another entrepreneur, and it had so many acronyms in it that I felt like I was reading a different language. How am I supposed to know what my ROI for my D2C and my B2B and whether or not my FBA is working with my CAC and PLA to produce more CTO and B&M? I mean… WTF? The metric that I study the most is the amount of days that I’ve danced in a row (1,291 as of today). It’s moments like this when I shake my head and wonder: Do I belong here?
And yet, I know that I do. Because in a world where a lot of folks are sitting around looking at spreadsheets and acronyms — I’ve somehow managed to do something else. I’ve managed to create a business that prioritizes kindness and love — and guess what? It’s still growing … because there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that what you put out into the world will come back to you. I’ve built a business that doesn’t focus on what’s missing — but rather, on what is there… what is within all of us.
I’ve never believed what anybody else has said — and I don’t believe the story about being a lonely entrepreneur. To be honest, it feels like something that everybody says because they heard somebody else say it — so, it must be true, right? I’m not going to regurgitate that message, because it’s not a story that I want to tell — and so, I’m going to tell a different one. Yes, my life has changed a lot in the past 6 years, and while I’m definitely not a social butterfly — and, admittedly, I do indeed spend a lot of time alone — I’m not lonely. I love what I do… I love the people it has brought into my life… and, ultimately, I wanted to do this. Even if I didn’t know entirely what it would look like, it is what I wanted. If I spend my life wishing that I were somewhere else, I’ll never get to be where I am. This phase of my life might feel different than moments in the past, but it’s also important. I am doing what I am called to do, and I’d do it even if I weren’t getting paid for it.
Many years ago, I climbed Vesper Peak alone at sunrise. I danced on the top of that mountain by myself, and I witnessed one of the most spectacular sunrises that I’ve ever seen — alone. And, yet, I did not feel lonely. In that moment, I felt so connected to everything in the universe that I couldn’t have possibly felt alone. I noticed the ground beneath my feet… the sky overhead… and the mountains that stretched out — seemingly infinitely — all around me. I was not a former park ranger or a railroad police officer or the founder of a company in that moment — I was just me… spinning and twirling in the cold, gusty alpenglow wind. As I’ve reflected back on my entrepreneur journey, I’ve noticed that while it has given me a new identity — it has also stripped away a lot of the things that I no longer needed to carry: excessive fear, lack and doubt. But you know what? I love being the founder of Kula Cloth — it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but also one of the things that I’m most proud of.
When I first read ‘Alone On the Mountain’ by Li Bai many years ago, I thought that it was a poem of longing for somebody else to be there, but as I read it now, I see something different. I see a recognition of oneness… a love for self… and a connection with all things. Even if it is just me and the mountain — we are still there for each other.
Friends, thank you all so much for being here — I hope that you are able to find some beauty, presence and stillness in your life this week. I am sending you all a wish for joy and love. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever want to say hello, I’m so grateful for YOU!
If all business was run like you run yours, the world would be a wonderful place. You’re showing the way!
You wrote, “Who am I without the things that I do?”. “Who am I” is the most important question we can ask ourselves, apparently. I’ve been told the answer and am still trying to understand it with my heart, not just my head. I believe it needs to be experienced to be understood. I know I can’t force an experience like that but I am trying to be open to it and facilitate it, if possible. You quoted Rumi recently, “You are not a drop in the ocean, you are the entire ocean in a drop”. I believe that, and that is what I am seeking to experience. What you’ve been writing about this last year is really helping me in that journey. Thank you.