I’m a slow learner. It took me only 30 years to figure out that I was waiting for permission that was never going to come, and that I didn’t need it in the first place.
Before starting Bash, I spent my entire career working for small businesses, showing up early, staying late, missing a lot of family dinners, and giving it everything I had. I hustled hard. I just didn’t realize I was building something for someone else. It would never belong to me. I thought if I worked hard enough, someone would notice. That I’d get the promotion, the raise, the big bonus, the “you’ve made it” moment.
Instead, I got a couple nice dinners and a bit of flexibility. I didn’t have to punch the time clock anymore. I scratched and clawed my way to the middle.
Then came the moment I’ll never forget. In a leadership meeting, we were told that our creative team wasn’t profitable. On paper, that might’ve been true. But it completely missed the value we were bringing in through relationships, strategy, and client loyalty.
We were stunned. But in a weird way, that conversation was a gift.
It pushed us to finally ask the big question:
What if we did this on our own?
Not long after, we started talking seriously about starting Bash. But before we made the leap, we met with our core team and their spouses. We needed their buy-in, because when you make a leap like that, you’re not just asking for support at work. You’re asking for support at home, too.
What I remember most is that every single one of us — every person at that table — was either quietly looking for a new job or being encouraged to look by their spouse. Everyone wanted more. We just hadn’t said it out loud yet.
Meanwhile, I was facing another kind of wake-up call.
I had a client meeting scheduled near my Uncle Bill’s apartment. A shining star in business and in his family, but he had become an alcoholic. Bill was always good to me. He was good to everyone. But now he was in rough shape. I had planned to stop by after the meeting, bring him dinner, sit with him for a bit. Something simple but important to me and to him.
The meeting ran long. You probably know how that goes. By the time it ended, it was too late to visit. So I went home.
Not long after that, Bill lost his battle to alcohol, and I missed my last chance to see him. To tell him I loved him. To let him know how much I appreciated him for everything he did for me.
That moment sticks with me, not just because I lost someone I loved, but because I didn’t have the freedom to choose what mattered most that day. I didn’t feel like I was in control.
Now I do.
Owning a business hasn’t magically solved everything. HR is still a mystery. I ask a lot of questions. But I also get to make decisions that reflect what I care about.
If someone on our team is going above and beyond, I get to reward that. If there’s a problem that needs fixing, I don’t need a meeting to fix it. I just do it. And if a family moment comes along — the kind you can’t get back — I don’t have to ask for permission to prioritize it.
That’s not just business ownership. That’s freedom.
What can I say? I’m a slow learner. But I’ve finally stopped waiting to be picked. And I’ve never been more grateful to be here, doing work I believe in, with people I trust, in a place we get to shape together.
I should’ve done this sooner.