In the early 1990s and I meet Jeroen. He has a degree in business administration, a flashy job title, and a position at a large corporation. I, by contrast, am just starting out as a solo-entrepreneur. I’m young, inexperienced and face countless challenges. Jeroen works on complex projects and manages teams of consultants. To him, it’s all peanuts. He wears expensive suits, drives a sleek company car, and always has a vague but confident answer ready. He is a senior-something on his way to the top. I, meanwhile, am at the bottom of a deep, empty lake that is slowly filling up, I’m clinging to the fragile path I hope will take me upward. It is a hectic time.
My startup grows
We speak often, though our relationship never grows into a true friendship. Our conversations touche on life, but revolve mainly around business, because that is Jeroen’s world. His worries are about budgets, promotions, and the service quality of his leasing company. Mine are about making payroll for the two people I employ, keeping cash flow steady, and whether I will spend Saturday night at a friend’s birthday or catching up on work.
We stay in touch, though less so over the years. Jeroen becomes deputy director of a business unit, spends much of his time on the golf course, and mingles with high-ranking officials in a conceptual world I no longer recognise. I have climbed out of the lake and am steadily building a modest, international telecom-company on the shore. Jeroen still thinks it is all peanuts, but I cherish the fun with the professionals around me, the growth, and the drive to keep getting better.
A new venture
Then, in the summer of 2007, Jeroen calls me. He has been suspended from his job and will start his own business now. He doesn’t need my help, but he will show me that true entrepreneurship is all peanuts. Projects are already lined up, he assures me, and the rest will follow naturally. Under the banner of “lean and mean,” he envisions an organisation of ten people within two months. His first actions: he rents a luxury company car and an office with “appeal.” To celebrate, he hosts a launch-dinner in an upscale restaurant, where he hands me a glossy business card that reads: President & Senior Business Consultant. After diner he gives an upbeat talk, but never really makes clear what his company will be doing. I ask him what he will be do doing as senior business consultant. “Projects,” he says, “and the world is waiting for my approach.”
Under target
Two months later, we catch up again. He “only” has seven people working for him. I find it impressive, but he insists that he’s clearly operating under targets. “Minor issues” according to Jeroen, “it’s just that good talent is hard to find.” They have picked up some odd jobs and even some small projects, but with an invoiced turnover of just seventeen thousand euros, they are still far away from breaking even. “It’s all peanuts,” Jeroen insists.
He is working on landing some big projects, and only one needs to come through. He mentions success stories but mostly complains about setbacks. Like the leasing company that is causing problems. And he goes off about the coffee-machine that produces subpar quality. In the end those big projects never materialise, and eight months later he has to shut the business down. That’s no shame and can happen to anyone. That is the risk of being an entrepreneur. Jeroen doesn’t call me about it, so I have to hear it through the grapevine.
A cup of coffee
Years later I run into him again. Or he runs into me, to be more precise. With my company I’m at a trade fair and we have our own big stand where we talk with customers and everyone interested in our solution or tech. We are selling a payment solution that made us national market leader. We literally serve thousands of shops, hospitals and other POS-locations in multiple countries. Jeroen appears to be a consultant on a project for a supermarket chain that we serve and visits our stand as a representative. He greets me, but doesn’t immediately connect me with the company he is visiting. He tells me he has a meeting with an account-director, but that he is a bit early and needs to wait for the procurement-director of the supermarket-chain. I point him to a free booth: “Let’s have a cup of coffee.”
Bad timing
We have a good talk about life, but Jeroen is still all business. He tells me about the project he is working on for the supermarket-chain. It’s about payment-terminals and telecom-connections for hundreds of locations. He explains it grotesque and ultimately vague, but he does it with so much confidence that I would have believed it …. If I hadn’t been doing Telecoms myself for 15 years, including the design of the network for his employer. I contemplate if I should tell him, but decide not to do it as I see our account-director approaching. Instead I casually ask him about his former venture. I immediately regret my question as his face shows how painful that history is. Jeroen gets up to greet my colleague, but looks at me and says: “Yo know, I was too early. The market simply wasn’t ready for my innovative approach.”
While I see him shaking my colleague’s hand and hear him introducing himself I clean the table. She smiles at him, then looks at me: “Can I take Jeroen with me boss? His colleague is waiting in the meeting-room.” Jeroen throws me a strange look.
I chuckle while I stack the empty cups: “Sure, no problem. Just know that Jeroen is allergic to peanuts.”