My Truth about being my own bossMy Truth about being my own boss

Become a freelancer they say, even better, become an entrepreneur.

Instagram and social media in general gives us this great image of sitting in front of a computer sipping piña colada on a beach in Spain somewhere, working remotely, choosing your own hours and earning plentifully. My reality however is absolutely nothing like this dream.  

Partly, the work I do is not remote. When I first started freelancing I worked lots of Duke of Edinburgh awards. I spent the vast majority of my weekends between March and September walking the Chiltern or Surrey Hills, shadowing and remotely supervising students, not drinking piña coladas in the sunshine. Sometimes it was glorious and I had sunshine and ice cream stops when the students weren’t in sight. Other times it was miserable, raining cats and dogs and only soggy 15 years olds, with oversized rucksacks and often mediocre waterproofs, could be seen tramping the hills. At times like this the temptation to checkpoint only the road crossings from the car grew a hundred fold, rather than to remotely supervise the group.

Of course I enjoyed the warm sunny days with the capable students who appeared where they were due to be, when they were due to be, every time. But what I remember is the look of pride and joy on students’ faces when they realise they’ve come though the entire weekend, not just as a passenger to their group, but as an active member. When they have got the group out of a hole, learnt an entire new skill set and developed huge reams of self confidence in the process. Those are the weekends and the students I remember, those were not the sunshine and ice cream filled weekends.

I was re-reading Simon Seck’s Find Your Why recently and looking at Pippin & Gile’s mission statement and ensuring it was the best it could be. I was pretty happy with it.

Last night I was thinking about the need to answer ‘why’ to myself. 

Why have I spent the last seven years working almost weekend in the summer? And those that I don’t work aren’t just days off. They aren’t just the cost of the fuel to go to the Gower, the parking and the ice cream costs. I have to account for the opportunity cost too, as I could have earned two days’ pay that weekend. There aren’t that many possible days to work as a freelancer, especially when without holding the full range of qualifications to work in centres. My season was April to October, and it was realistically only the end of the summer term, mid June to July, that I was sure I could get midweek work. Apparently keeping our children at desks in school is a priority. So working those weekends was important. If I didn’t work enough of them, I didn’t get time to play through winter, I had to get another job.

Freelancing was one ball game, I lost my weekends to do a job I loved. But to get the work, actually, fortunately I didn’t have to try too hard. I’d spent my life up to that point running/assisting with Guide or Brownie units, had my Summer Mountain Leader, and lots of experience working with and running large events. My CVs were all responded to with offers of work (usually all for the same weekend in June). My diary got fuller each year. I didn’t stop working in retail at the start, just stopped working weekends, much to my boss’s despair. Then I moved to summers in the van and winters renting, with an occasional part time job to keep the pennies rolling in.

In 2017 I knew I wanted to start Pippin & Gile, I also wanted to cycle to China. So we brought that trip forward. I cycled to Kazakhstan in 2018. Retuning in June 2018, I went straight back into freelancing. In the background I also worked around the clock to set up Pippin & Gile.

As a business owner I didn’t just have to be good at the “job” I had on the surface.

Developing courses and teaching adults new skills in a welcoming and encouraging environment. Using a range of methods to share the information and make it stick. Developing a rapport with the group and making them feel relaxed as they tried new things. Building an environment where a lack of success on first attempt isn’t a failure (why are we so harsh on our adults). That is just what I do, however that wasn’t the new job. 

The new job was a marketing expert, website builder, logistics and supply chain coordinator, project manager, business planner, search engine optimisation expert, business adviser, health and safety consultant. The list could go on all day, you name it, I had to do it, and 99% of the time I loved it. But it wasn’t the dream I’d been told about in all those shiny Instagram posts about escaping the city, becoming my own boss, finding my work life balance, kicking the nine to five drudgery. 

I worked or thought about work almost every moment of the day. I was checking my stats on my social media, which posts had reached more people, which had had good interactions? I was trouble-shooting recipe issues on my website that Google had flagged, did I really need a photo for each and every instruction? I was despairing when I couldn’t find the right search term on Google to find the answer to the coding problem I was currently having. I was discussing with tourist boards advertising options, and working out if the cost was going to be worthwhile. 

What I wasn’t doing was teaching, I wasn’t introducing people to new skills, I wasn’t seeing that look of excitement and pride on their face when they managed fire by friction for the first time, or climbed out their shelter in the morning, amazed at how warm it was and how well they slept. That was the 1%. Those times when it felt like I was fighting against a brick wall, with nothing but my bare hands to break through it. There are some very well known people in this industry, there are more incredibly good people in this industry and some equally good that have left the industry having been defeated by the same hurdles I was currently facing. My skills were good but by no means the best, so why would people choose to come to me? Rather than go to those who have been in the industry developing these skills for many, many more years, some for more years than I’ve been on this planet?

Whilst spending lots of time staring at a screen and not teaching the skills I loved, I realised I’d forgotten why I chose to run Pippin & Gile. If it was just to get out and practice my skills, I could have done that on the winter weekends and summer weekdays I wasn’t freelancing. I set up Pippin & Gile because I love that look of pride and joy on someone’s face, when they realise the skill they’ve seen on TV or heard about in hushed tones at dinner parties is not only achievable, but that they have just achieved it. I don’t have to be the world’s best at the skills I am teaching, I have to know the skills inside out and be the best teacher for my clients on that day. 

So almost three years, and a pandemic, in to running Pippin & Gile, can I answer the question as to why I do this?

Why I haven’t thrown in the towel and become an accountant (a role that in my head it’s very clear when the job is done [all the numbers add up] and that I wouldn’t have to think about outside the 9-5)?

Yes. When the going gets tough, I remember the moments when someone got their first fire by friction ember, and the smile that spread across their entire face, all the broader for it being their third attempt. I remember the couple that had a bad first night in their tent and a brilliant second night in their debris shelter. Having left their tent standing beside the shelter because they thought they might bail in the night, and now really understood firsthand the insulating properties of trapped air. I remember the looks of pride and discovery, the excitement when people pull together two separate strands of information and draw the links and the parallels. I remember those moments when you can see in others that what started as a mass of green in a woodland is now distinct, individual, has a potential use and can often tell a story.

It’s still hard work, it’s still not the life you see on Instagram. It is not working from a laptop in the back of a van with a lovely beach beside you and the surf board on the roof, implying that just after hitting send on an email you’ll be off riding the waves. It’s hours, days, weeks, months, plugging away telling those that’ll listen what you do, trying to make connections, trying to find new ways to explain what you do and why people should choose you. 

But is it worth it? 

“This course fulfilled my dreams of sleeping in a self-made shelter from bush materials and starting fires with flint and bow drills. Lots of fun.”

“Turn up build a shelter sleep looking at cathedral like vaulted walls. Wake up to birdsong and a campfire breakfast. Fantastic way to rest and get back to nature.”

“Lizzy was an inspiration, and managed to keep us all on track with a sense of humour, imparting both her skills and knowledge generously. I came away inspired to make more jams and chutneys at home and loved being outside in beautiful woodland surroundings. I would recommend this course to anyone.”

Yes, it is worth it.

Who wants to sit in the sun drinking piña coladas in Spain anyway? I much prefer to be drink yarrow tea around the campfire whilst expanding people’s horizons.

Why not keep freelancing or try and get a contract with another bushcraft school, why do this as my own boss?

Ownership. 

I get to choose how my courses run. I create the learning environment I think will best suit my clients. I choose what is included in the courses, I can adapt them and mould them to be the best they can be. I don’t have to write a proposal, try and get time with the boss to run through it and still be told their reasons why it is or isn’t the right idea. 

I’ve been teaching, coaching, developing potential and broadening horizons in others since I was 14. My style and approach have of course changed and developed over this time, and change with each and every course I run. Each client is different, understands and draws connections in different ways, and each has their own preconceptions and expectations before they arrive on a course. Therefore the way I teach isn’t prescribed and formulaic. My aim at the end of each course is to have opened each client’s eyes to new things, taught everyone the course content in a way that works for them, and ensured a relaxed and friendly environment whilst doing so.

I wrote this article after a night of reflection. I’ve called it My Truth as that is exactly what it is. It’s my experiences. The way I hold them and what I’ve taken away from them. There is nothing right or wrong with making another decision. The importance is knowing why you taken it and more importantly knowing it is the right decision for you. 

I met Tim Moss in Norway, he was working for British Exploring at the time and was a leader on the Norway Expedition I was a young person on. Tim was fab, taught me loads on the trip and cycled back home from Norway whilst we all got on a plane. He became self employed, set up The Next Challenge, wrote a book about how to get to the North Pole, posted loads of incredible things on his social media and website, reading them reminded me to push my horizons. He also cycled around the world. 

His book about his cycle trip came out whilst I was on mine, I brought it as I wanted to support him. I wasn’t planning on reading it until I got home. I was struggling with my cycle trip at that time and didn’t want to read about who how wonderful someone’s else’s had been. This post on social media changed my mind.

The introduction to Tim’s book gave me the strength to assess where I was, what I was doing, and eventually to call a stop to my cycle ride and come home. This is partly why I dream about becoming an accountant when things are going wrong. This is definitely why this is My Truth. No one else’s, and not the right path for others to follow.

You have to work out how you want your way to be, and if you don’t, someone else will do it for you.