When I was young, I had a goal and a clear outcome. I had to secure the best grades in school to be ‘successful’.

When I finished school, the goal-post moved but the mentality stayed the same. To be successful, I had to secure a job with the most competitive, prestigious, highest-paid law firm.

Then I left law, and I shattered my identity. No longer was I the person who was going to become a lawyer. Friends and family were kind, “It’s not for everyone”, they said. “You’ll find something else.”

But I was embarrassed. Embarrassed to leave law and embarrassed to discuss my new project. When people asked what I was working on, I used big words to mask my uncertainty. I was “building an e-learning platform” and “introducing partner-led training”. For so long, I had defined who I was by my career. To feel like I was worth something, I thought I had to build a business that sounded like a success - a start-up that would change the world.

This was one of my first important realisations. I can’t always trust my own judgement. It’s easy to believe I am making a decision for the right reasons when it’s actually a result of my ego, biases, insecurity, current mood or years of conditioning. I can’t fix all of those issues, but I can question why I am doing what I’m doing. I can learn to think better.

I didn’t need to change the world, and if I had continued to chase a grand vision because I cared about sounding successful, I would have failed.

The founder myth

When I started working on TCLA, I compared myself to successful founders. Not only were they tackling hard problems, but they seemed so well put-together, so able to talk about KPIs, fundraising and management. How were they ever not going to be a success?

It took me a long time to realise that I was not looking at an honest reflection of the start-up world. These founders had years to make mistakes, develop their story and learn how to run a startup. These founders were exceptional, but they had become exceptional over time. They too started somewhere.

The realisation that everyone starts ‘bad’ was weirdly mind-blowing. Growing up, I had a perception of myself that I was good and bad at certain things. It was empowering to realise that my starting point mattered less than my rate of improvement. I won’t be good at everything, but I can learn anything with enough time.

Today, I try to avoid defining my future based on the skills and knowledge I have right now. There is much I don’t know. I need to get better at finance, managing a team and making decisions driven by data. But I believe that I can get better.

This optimism keeps me sane. As you start a business, you’ll think about all the things that could go wrong, all the time. You’ll have to take bets with imperfect information and invest in new ideas that don’t bring immediate value. But it’s how you keep going.

Slowing down to speed up

This brings me to the present day. For three years, I ran TCLA like a race. I’d skip meals and rush from task to task. My day had to be ‘productive’, measured by the number of boxes I ticked, or I’d feel guilty.

So now I’m trying to be more intentional. I want to focus on fewer things, spread tasks out and give myself more time to think. After all, it took me years to ask whether the life I had planned before I received my first paycheck was the right one. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.

TCLA’s future is based on consistent, incremental improvement over time. In the meantime, I want to enjoy the journey.