Branded

An insider’s guide to small-business marketing.

Every November, as we start winding down another year and reflecting on what we accomplished, what worked, what didn’t and what we should be planning, I yearn for some time and space to really have some good, deep thought about where we are going and how to get there. I also yearn to reconnect with that girl on fire who started my ad agency 17 years ago.

I started this business with a passion for my field — but, like a few other other small-business owners I’ve met, with little knowledge of how to actually run a business. Along the way I learned some things about management and leadership, but it was the creative juice that kept me, and the agency, humming.

And yet, the skills that worked in starting the a company were not the ones I needed to sustain and build it. The more we grew, the more my role evolved into operations, and the less I was in touch with what fed my soul. Weighty human resources decisions replaced font choices and creative copy writing. I kept plugging away in a role that still feels like a shirt with too tight a collar and cuffs — a boxy yet essential operations role. It was working, the agency was growing. But I felt like I was running on fumes.

Especially during the recession, those tough H.R. decisions — including an employee termination that I really wrestled with — took my soul to the edge of self-loathing. My passion for the business was waning. More and more, it felt like a prison from which I had no exit plan. Two years ago, I decided to take a minisabbatical to try to rediscover my mojo and do some things in my personal life that I’d been putting off.

My plans for the sabbatical were both small and big. I wanted to learn how to make the world’s best enchiladas from the cooks in the tiny kitchen at Lala’s Café in Mirando City, Tex. I wanted to take a spirituality course. I wanted to drive to Aspen, Colo., to relive my post-college days of skiing without responsibility. I wanted to make cement yard art. O.K., it was my compressed version of “Eat, Pray, Love.”

Week One: I fixed things like broken screen doors and burned some water-sucking cedar at our place in the country, which is always cathartic and offers the instant gratification of seeing a pile disappear (something that never seems to happen to the piles on my desk). But on a larger level, I was totally unprepared for the loss of purpose I experienced. My identity was so tightly interwoven with being a business owner, that I went into free fall when the tethers loosened.

It was such an uncomfortable feeling. I tried to shake it off and revel in the moment. But the staff at the agency did not miss a beat without me, it seemed, and I found myself wondering, “What is my value proposition?” I found excuses to call the office, only to be met with, “Why are you calling?”

Week Two: I caught up with all of my long-put-off doctor appointments, and I met my goal of seeing all of the movies that have been nominated for Best Picture. I bought stacks of interesting books that just smirked at me, as if they knew I wasn’t going to read more than their covers.

Week Three: I pulled the trigger on a 2,000-mile, “Thelma and Louise” road trip (but nobody died) to Colorado with my friend Gigi. The key to a successful sabbatical, I learned, is not to try doing it at home. You have to get out and change the scenery, or else you will shuffle through the day wondering what is going on at work.

But nothing’s foolproof. Relaxing in the mountains, I came across a newspaper ad that was a request for proposals for advertising services for Aspen’s tourism bureau. I was on the phone to people in the office in minutes, breathless, instructing them to overnight an agency book so I could drop it by the office. Redemption! Suddenly, I was doing something that wasn’t totally self-indulgent and frivolous. As it happened, we did make the cut to the final four, and we were back a month later to present.

In Colorado, I re-learned an important lesson — sometimes the more you try to control, the less you control. There is room to be both responsible and adventurous, like when that guy passed me a rolled joint at the bar. The good girl soccer mom felt like she was back in college. The joint still sits in a box on my bathroom counter. “I can go there if I want to,” I tell myself.

I returned to work pleased with my role as captain of the agency’s ship. I also felt very fortunate that I get to choose the people with whom I spend most of my waking hours. And I gave myself permission to bring all of me to work — not just the business owner from central casting. I’ve learned that I need the daily oxygen of nonstructured times. Of course, that’s hard to do as head of a business. Creativity is great but not when you’re working in spreadsheets. I still wrestle with the push and pull of the two sides of the brain.

The recession and the endless post recession have meant that my financial management has evolved from checking the bank account balance monthly to managing cash flow weekly, delving into spreadsheets and projections with newly critical eyes. That kind of analysis is not creative, but I’ve grown to appreciate the linear, black-and-white, just-the-facts, quality of storytelling it offers. Two years later, I’m committed to seeking balance on a frequent basis and to resisting the whack-a-mole approach to management that can leave you unfocused and reactive.

But I’ve also come to terms with who I am — I am the owner.

MP Mueller is the founder of Door Number 3, a boutique advertising agency in Austin, Tex. Follow Door Number 3 on Facebook.

Article source: http://feeds.nytimes.com/click.phdo?i=7fb8e02ac203e94fdbfe7ee6012f0946