The Hard Truth About Entrepreneurship
Someone said to me today, "I wonder if, once one has experienced trauma, as you have with your mother's death early in life, there is no going back to the world as innocent as before."
I think there is no going back. And the streak of melancholy persists. You cannot outrun it.
--
I watched "Coco Before Chanel" in a theatre that can hold over a hundred. There were four of us there.
I wore a little black dress. I carried a clutch. I didn't blink for most of the film. I wanted to remember every moment. And I wept at the film's end. The film isn't sappy or sentimental. Quite the contrary, it's a stark film that portrays the early life of Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel. One reviewer calls it, "a flat, airless tale of a sullen hooker who lucked out."
I call it the poetry of melancholy.
On June 8, 1998, Chanel was named one of Time's 100 People of the 20th Century. According to her Wikipedia page, she's the only person on that list in the Fashion category. But I don't think her life was spent trying to make that, or any other, list. And I definitely don't think she "made it to the top" and threw herself a party, as one might expect. No, the streak of melancholy that ran through her life tells a different story.
This is the conundrum of every happiness mantra. It's the conundrum of every life list. It's the inherent conundrum of the entrepreneurial life. There is no "top." There is no "there." There is no "list." You're never going to look at your life, wipe your hands and say, "voila! I've made it." True entrepreneurs know, inherently, you'll never "make it." Make what? An entrepreneur will get back to the sewing machine.
I don't see only Chanel's wild successes (in clothing, accessories and perfume) anymore, having seen the film. I see the sacrifices she made to build the empire she built.
I see the undercurrent of sadness, of loss. And it resonates. It could be that my childhood has a lot in common with hers. From the Time piece, "Certainly her life was unpredictable. Even her death — in 1971, at the age of 87 in her private quarters at the Ritz Hotel — was a plush ending that probably would not have been predicted for Chanel by the nuns in the Aubazine orphanage, where she spent time as a ward of the state after her mother died and her father ran off."
Although I never spent time in an orphanage (my grandparents raised me after my mother's death), I was a ward of the court for a time as a child. My mother died at thirty. And before she died (even as she was pregnant with me) my father left her. She spent her pregnancy with me in a home for unwed mothers. (It's a family secret, though, so we should probably keep this between us, hm?)
Ahh, secrets! Chanel had lots of them.
From the Wikipedia entry:
"Coco was born in a poorhouse. Her birth was recorded the following day. Two employees of the hospice went to city hall and declared the child female. The hospice employees were illiterate, so when the mayor François Poitu wrote down the birth, no one knew how to spell Chanel so the mayor improvised and recorded it with an "s," making it Chasnel. This misspelling made the tracing of her roots almost impossible for biographers when Chanel later rose to prominence."
I can only guess she was doing what she could to outrun her past. But your past stays with you. Even as she built her empire as a hard-nosed entrepreneur, she couldn't escape herself.
This is what I took away from the film.
1. Entrepreneurship is a tough, and at times very lonely, road. As Chanel herself said, "My friends, there are no friends."
2. My melancholy looks a lot like Chanel's melancholy which looks a lot like your melancholy. In another paradox, even though it gets lonely, we're in this together.
3. Happiness can be cultivated in an atmosphere of acceptance of sadness - and acknowledgment of the inevitable - that we'll get old, that fashions change and die, that love can't last forever.
We keep cutting, sewing, pressing... moving forward... all the same.
"There is no time for cut-and-dried monotony. There is time for work. And time for love. That leaves no other time!" - Chanel
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Reader Comments (25)
Wow. In a way, #3 sounds like the most true "secret" to life. We all do have our traumas--some more than others, but the more we recognize that we're in it together, the better off we all are.
I really liked this post Gwen.
This is really beautiful, Gwen. No matter what sadness is thrown our way in our lives, happiness can, indeed, be cultivated. I will remind myself of that! Thank you!
Gwen, thank you for this lovely, thoughtful, moving post. The past forms the mulch that nourishes our present and future . . . May yours be filled with kindness, support and love.
Every once in a while I read a blog post that totally moves my soul. Thanks for being that for me this evening. My favorite part: "My melancholy looks a lot like Chanel's melancholy which looks a lot like your melancholy. In another paradox, even though it gets lonely, we're in this together."
Now, back to the sewing machine...
I truly love what you pulled from her story. That you saw your story in hers.
The image of you in the theater in your black dress, spellbound, is Beautiful.
I am even more happy now that my 13 year old daughter just did her history biography on CC.
"That she couldn't escape herself" Wow.
much love and be well,
lisa
#3 really struck a chord with me. It's important (for me at least, but I think perhaps everyone) to remember that happiness isn't a magical state you attain when things are the way you want them.
I'm assisting on a small project at work about characteristics of people who report high levels of subjective well-being (or what some scientists call 'happiness') on surveys. It's already looking like a lot of it has to do with acceptance and moving forward.
Great post :-)
"There is no 'there.'"
When I first got a glimpse of that idea, it was so discouraging. As in, "What's the point of everything I'm doing?" But then I realized that it removes all sorts of pressure.
If everything is a process, it totally changes the definition of success. Or, at least, it has for me.
The fact that there is no "there" also let me know that I'd damn well better enjoy the ride. It's what really got me to focus on finding out what I truly wanted to do.
Yet the entrepreneurial path is still hard, in its own way, so I totally get the paradox of loneliness. I have to work to seek out connection and support, so that the loneliness doesn't overwhelm me.
Thanks for this beautiful post.
Gwen, I love your blog and the stories you share. You really are such a fascinating chick whom I have a great deal of admiration for. I've studied Buddhist teachings on and off over the years and I see much truth in it. Motherhood has thrown me for a loop though, because for all the acceptance, melancholy, and non-attachment, the thought of something happening to my son just shakes all those beliefs loose. And the story of the mother being sent around the village, listening to the suffering of others doesn't help. Guess I still have some things to work out, huh? ;)
Gwen,
Thank you for sharing the poetry of melancholy - I'm so glad we're in it together.
I really need to show this post to my wife. She is in a place in her life right now where she wants to be "there." Only "there" keeps changing in her mind. She, like many people I know, seems to miss the happiness in every day life thats right in front of them.
this is completely spot on, thank you for speaking to the voice of melancholy.
Beautiful.
I simply love this. Love the echoes you hear from Chanel's story (which I did not know) and your own. And most of all love the way you accept - maybe even embrace - melancholy as simply part of the deal. I know it well, and live most days with a cape of melancholy around my own shoulders, so I know exactly what you are talking about. Thank you for writing so beautifully of the way that having some deep-rooted sadness in your soul doesn't have to exclude the possibility of great happiness.
Thank you.
What you have so beautifully articulated is the powerful potential that lies within what is judged to be a tragic start to life. I have no doubt that Chanel's beginnings influenced and shaped her drive and vision, and I believe she would have had a very different life without them. I personally have experienced a great deal of what others would call "suffering" in my past - with my parents - and while on the face of it these events can fill me occasionally with a huge feeling of loss (not to mention resentment), I feel fortunate to have suffered them. I believe they compel me to live in a way contrary to them. To grow and expand in ways that perhaps I could never have done without them. So is it then our challenge to love our demons for the gifts they bring instead?
Gwen, your ability to write in such a truthful and aligned way is a perfect example of how we can use our past to articulate a more resonant truth in the present. Thank you.
this is lovely, gwen. thank you. i really want to see this film!
i'm thinking about melancholy ... and wondering if it really is this immovable thing that's always with us? like you, i lost my mother at a very young age -- i was 5 -- and spent my childhood in chaos afterwards. also like you, i'm pretty high-functioning, but for decades i carried around a lot of sadness about this.
until a year or so ago, when, with a friend's help, i decided to lay the sadness down. yes it is true that life is a process -- each of us is a smaller process within the larger one, and our small processes will eventually come to an end. but does melancholy have to follow from that? i don't know if it does. in fact, understanding that we are part of one big, ever-changing, mysterious, evolutionary process makes me feel so much more excited about being alive right now, in this body, with these gifts, with this awareness, able to contribute to that process in a whole new 21st century way.
all this is to say, i think the melancholy might be optional. our pasts never leave us, but we can leave them. because what is the past anyway? it's a story we tell ourselves about who we are, where we're located, and what we are capable of.
most of us have far too deep an attachment to one particular reading of these stories. the truth is that we can make those stories anything we want. i can see the blessings of growing up without a mother, and i can acknowledge the little girl who dealt so bravely with all that craziness, and i can excitedly look forward to what this woman that i am can create, and as i lay dying i can look back and say "wow, look what we did!" and close my eyes knowing that the adventure will continue whether i'm conscious of it or not ... no melancholy necessary.
This is a beautiful post and now I'm really looking forward to seeing the movie.
I sometimes wonder if it is the sign of a healthy mind or an unhealthy one that I gravitate towards people who show at least a flicker of melancholy / pain from time to time. Like others commenting here, I've experienced something beautiful and profound that is a direct result of my suffering. It hasn't made me a "better" person, but it's certainly given me an awareness of the preciousness of life.
Much love to you.
This is just what I needed today.
Thanks Gwen.
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.. it is so relevant in many many many ways...thank you so much for sharing your secrets... you too are such an inspiration! Eilis Boyle
Hi Gwen,
I just saw Coco Before Chanel this weekend. I think that reviewer's comment is fascinating (that Coco was "a sullen hooker who lucked out").
I think one of the hard truths about entrepreneurship is that, yes, it IS a lonely process. And, unfortunately, try as we might to brand and market ourselves to within an inch of our lives... it is also impossible to know (or control) the future. We certainly all HOPE to be the ones who luck out.
That reviewer strikes me as someone who feels a wee bit jealous and perhaps thwarted in his own efforts.
What I loved so much about her story is that she simply WAS WHO SHE WAS. Sometimes, it was melancholy. Sometimes, it was bitter and cranky and jealous and controlling. Sometimes, it was light and mirthful and swept away by love. The fact that she refused to conform to standards of "appropriate" behavior is what struck me the most. Her past carried forward with her -- and shaped the work that she produced.
I also loved that her life was a process. She went from survival mode, to expressing herself, to putting one toe with a simple straw hat. She didn't start as a world renowned designer. Everything is a process. She has a lot to share with all of us.
@Joshua Zimmerman: I know the struggle your wife is going through. It's no fun to be in it, especially when "there" is a moving target. It's nice to know that she has someone around her who clearly loves her and supports her in the process.
All the best, Gwen.
:) shea
Thank you for your deep insights shared through the multi-layered Consciousness of our ever beautiful, indomitable Coco Chanel. What a wonderful perspective ~
This is so interesting, Gwen.
You know I've never really considered... who is Coco Chanel?
Love that she was really just a woman... with a dream.
Her perseverance to stay true to herself and committed to her goals must be quite a story!
I'd like to watch this movie.
:)
- Susan Liddy, SecretsToUltimateLiving.com/blog
"My melancholy looks a lot like Chanel's melancholy which looks a lot like your melancholy. In another paradox, even though it gets lonely, we're in this together."
I love this. And pretty much every little fiber of this post. I love the idea that in many ways, melancholy is a universal beast, a one-size-fits all fact of humanity. I think there is something immensely hopeful about the idea that the sadness that streaks through even the best life will unite us if we let it.
Often, for me, blogging is navigating melancholy, sifting through its instructive soil.
Really lovely stuff. I will be back to rummage through your archives.
(Thanks, Lindsey and Danielle, for pointing the way here. What a compelling Here it is.)
This is an interesting post to come across today.
Ive been thinking about the momentum of identity.
I try sometimes to grab momentum by the throat and direct it where I wish for it to go...concerned that this emerging identity reflects none of the ideals of my heart. But Im begining to think that guiding the momentum is less destructive. Coco Channel could have focused on loss. But she kept going. She kept throwing herself into the momentum of her life, praying that in the end her commitment to living all out would somehow present something larger than personal loss. I think she succeeded.
I found your post, Gwen, after it was suggested to me by a friend. This is a subject near and dear to my heart, having lost my mother at a young age, too. I resonate with your description of melancholy and appreciate your honest assessment of how an enriching life is still possible even with a such a disconsolate experience. I wonder if using our hands to create comes out of this feeling (re: your thoughts on visual mapping in your Personal Manifestos post)? As an artist and writer, it seemed the most obvious path for me to work in a visual and written way from a very young age. Thanks for sharing this.
Gwen, you've rung true with me. You're very inspiring. Thank you.
I've recently quit my job and want to go into business for myself. I want my time to have some purpose, so I suppose I'll have to create it. I foresee that it will be a long, lonely road that I travel.
Thanks again