Requiem for a Small Business
Watching a business die in real life… again
Last week, I got the surprising and sad news from one of my clients that they’re going out of business. Yesterday, I disabled their website at their request.
That was hard for me to do.
I build websites for a living. Taking down something I built is really sad. It makes me emotional to see the end of something creative that I made.
But far sadder than that, of course, is the thought of the people who will now be out of work… the dreams that have now come to an end… the plans that were made that now will not be completed.
Almost all of my clients are small, family-owned businesses. When I first meet with them, I spend a lot of time learning the ins and outs of who they are, why they started their business in the first place, what it all means, and what their goals and hopes are.
I learn what they do, how they do it, and, as much as I can, why they do it.
It’s hard not to get attached to a certain extent. I’m always trying to be professional, yet as a marketing guy who has a financial incentive in their company’s success, I feel the highs and lows along with them.
A lot of people have NO IDEA how hard small businesses are struggling right now.
Many of us are just barely getting by… fighting hard to keep our doors open in spite of market forces that are totally outside our control. There are currently wild changes in demand, threats of taxes and tariffs, and many other uncertainties about global trade that we have a hard enough time understanding, let alone doing anything about.
Sometimes, just getting out of bed in the morning is the thing we’re most proud of.
I know this is true of employees who work for larger companies, too, especially those who’ve recently lost their jobs due to layoffs (I know what that’s like—I’ve been laid off in the past, more than once).
But people who are employed and lose their jobs can always look for another job.
Someone holding onto the corpse of a failed business—their dead baby—however, is another thing altogether.
A “failed business owner” can’t just say: “Woe is me… my boss laid me off because he’s an asshole.”
When your own business dies, there’s no corporate bad guy you can point to and say, “They did me wrong because they’re a bunch of incompetent idiots, and also, they’re big fat meanies.”
Because when it’s your business, it’s your fault. And that terrible, harsh voice inside your head—the inner critic—tells you: “Ha! YOU’RE the incompetent idiot. YOU’RE the big fat meanie.”
Even if it isn’t explicitly your fault that your business failed precisely how it did, or when it did, it is still at least somewhat your fault ultimately.
Who has the responsibility in the final analysis? The owner. Always.
It’s a GREAT feeling when you can say: “I’m in charge around here, and whatever I say, goes!” — When times are good, it’s fun to take credit for calling the shots, “being in charge,” and “not having a boss.”
But when the tides turn, that responsibility becomes a double-edged sword, and it cuts both ways. Standing with a foil in the en garde position makes you look strong and powerful. But sometimes, your own weapon turns against you, and now you’ve injured yourself while everybody watched, and that is exceptionally embarrassing.
Like adulthood in general, or parenthood, more specifically, that’s just the nature of business—you get praised for your successes, and criticized for your failures.
Note: I’m not saying the clients I just heard from did anything wrong, per se. That’s not my point. My point is that we all live and die by the choices we make, and the people who choose self-employment have said, “I’m going to start my own business rather than working for someone else.”
They’re making an inherently risky choice, and sometimes it doesn’t pan out.
Actually, looking back on all the clients I’ve had over the past 18 years, I’m kind of astonished at how few of them have gone out of business. I’d love to take some credit for that, although I certainly can’t take all or even most of it.
I can definitely help companies grow and become stronger, but the ones who’ve truly been successful in business are the ones who birthed a company themselves.
I’m kind of like a babysitter or a school teacher in that sense: I can watch and encourage a child to grow and to discern right from wrong, and I can make suggestions and offer correction, but I will never love that child as much as his or her parents will.
Similarly, I will never be as invested in a company’s success or as hurt by a company’s failure as its parents are.
My own business is floating as close to the rocks as it has for years. Right now, business is as bad as it’s been in a decade—for me, and for many others I know.
But that’s all just part of the process. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s bad. It’s cyclical, and we know that. We take that into consideration when we start something from nothing. It’s kind of like watching the seasons change during the year:
Spring brings about hope and new beginnings.
Summer offers sunshine and growth.
Autumn has a chill in the air, and the leaves begin to die.
Winter comes along and kills everything that isn’t dead yet.
The only reason we can tolerate Winter at all is because we know it doesn’t last forever.
Spring is coming soon.
It might sound silly, but businesses have cycles, too.
I’ve seen the conception of new companies that died long before birth. I’ve seen some companies make it all the way through gestation, only to be delivered stillborn.
And then (as with this client), I’ve seen a relatively mature, adult business with a solid history that seemed to be thriving, die suddenly of a heart attack, surprising everyone.
But it is what it is. It’s out of my control. I can just watch and be sad.
As I was closing down this particular client’s account, I went back to check on the website I had taken down to make sure it was truly offline. As I did, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.
Last year, I switched web hosting providers. When I’ve disabled websites in the past, there was always a harsh message in bold that said either “This page cannot be displayed” or “This site can’t be reached.”
But I hadn’t disabled any websites since I started using these new servers, and so I didn’t notice that the standard message being displayed now is different. When you visit the URL now, it says:
480 Temporarily Unavailable
This site is currently unavailable. Website owner? If you think you have reached this message in error, please contact support.
Staring at those words just now gives me hope.
This website isn’t “Down.” It isn’t “Broken.” It’s “Temporarily Unavailable.”
That is different.
That means it’s not over forever.
Or at least, maybe it’s not over forever.
It could be the start of something new.
Something bigger and stronger.
Something better.
I might get surprising news from this same client in a few weeks or months: “Hey, we’re back in business. We’ve started over—and this time, we’re doing it differently.”
The odds are against that. The likelihood is that they had to abandon their office, break their lease, sell their fleet of vehicles at a steep loss, let the bank come and repossess any equipment left with value, and tell everybody it’s time to go find a job elsewhere.
But stranger things have happened. It’s been nearly two decades since I started my business, and I’ve seen all of this before: the failures and the surprise successes.
I have gotten calls out of the blue from people I thought I’d never hear from again with shockingly good news.
In this case, I can’t count on getting a call like that.
But if it comes, I will always be available to take that call and help them begin again.