The E-Myth is the myth of the entrepreneur. It runs deep in this country and rings of the heroic.
Picture the typical entrepreneur and Herculean pictures come to mind: a man or woman standing alone, wind-blown against the elements, bravely defying insurmountable odds, climbing sheer faces of treacherous rockâall to realize the dream of creating a business of oneâs own.
The legend reeks of nobility, of lofty, extra-human efforts, of a prodigious commitment to larger-than-life ideals.
Well, while there are such people, my experience tells me they are rare.
Of the thousands of businesspeople I have had the opportunity to know and work with over the past two decades, few were real entrepreneurs when I met them.
The vision was all but gone in most.
The zest for the climb had turned into a terror of heights.
The face of the rock had become something to cling to rather than to scale.
Exhaustion was common, exhilaration rare.
But hadnât all of them once been entrepreneurs? After all, they had started their own business. There must have been some dream that drove them to take such a risk.
But, if so, where was the dream now? Why had it faded?
Where was the entrepreneur who had started the business?
The answer is simple: the entrepreneur had only existed for a moment.
A fleeting second in time.
And then it was gone. In most cases, forever.
If the entrepreneur survived at all, it was only as a myth that grew out of a misunderstanding about who goes into business and why.
A misunderstanding that has cost us dearly in this countryâmore than we can possibly imagineâin lost resources, lost opportunities, and wasted lives.
That myth, that misunderstanding, I call the E-Myth, the myth of the entrepreneur.
And it finds its roots in this country in a romantic belief that small businesses are started by entrepreneurs, when, in fact, most are not.
Then who does start small businesses in America?
And why?
The Entrepreneurial Seizure
To understand the E-Myth and the misunderstanding at its core, letâs take a closer look at the person who goes into business. Not after he goes into business, but before.
For that matter, where were you before you started your business? And, if youâre thinking about going into business, where are you now?
Well, if youâre like most of the people Iâve known, you were working for somebody else.
What were you doing?
Probably technical work, like almost everybody who goes into business.
You were a carpenter, a mechanic, or a machinist.
You were a bookkeeper or a poodle clipper; a drafts-person or a hairdresser; a barber or a computer programmer; a doctor or a technical writer; a graphic artist or an accountant; an interior designer or a plumber or a salesperson.
But whatever you were, you were doing technical work.
And you were probably damn good at it.
But you were doing it for somebody else.
Then, one day, for no apparent reason, something happened. It might have been the weather, a birthday, or your childâs graduation from high school. It might have been the paycheck you received on a Friday afternoon, or a sideways glance from the boss that just didnât sit right. It might have been a feeling that your boss didnât really appreciate your contribution to the success of his business.
It could have been anything; it doesnât matter what. But one day, for apparently no reason, you were suddenly stricken with an Entrepreneurial Seizure. And from that day on your life was never to be the same.
Inside your mind it sounded something like this: âWhat am I doing this for? Why am I working for this guy? Hell, I know as much about this business as he does. If it werenât for me, he wouldnât have a business. Any dummy can run a business. Iâm working for one.â
And the moment you paid attention to what you were saying and really took it to heart, your fate was sealed.
The excitement of cutting the cord became your constant companion.
The thought of independence followed you everywhere.
The idea of being your own boss, doing your own thing, singing your own song, became obsessively irresistible.
Once you were stricken with an Entrepreneurial Seizure, there was no relief.
You couldnât get rid of it.
You had to start your own business.
The Fatal Assumption
In the throes of your Entrepreneurial Seizure, you fell victim to the most disastrous assumption anyone can make about going into business.
It is an assumption made by all technicians who go into business for themselves, one that charts the course of a businessâfrom Grand Opening to Liquidationâthe moment it is made.
That Fatal Assumption is: if you understand the technical work of a business, you understand a business that does that technical work.
And the reason itâs fatal is that it just isnât true.
In fact, itâs the root cause of most small business failures!
The technical work of a business and a business that does that technical work are two totally different things!
But the technician who starts a business fails to see this.
To the technician suffering from an Entrepreneurial Seizure, a business is not a business but a place to go to work.
So the carpenter, or the electrician, or the plumber becomes a contractor.
The barber opens up a barber shop.
The technical writer starts a technical writing business.
The hairdresser starts a beauty salon.
The engineer goes into the semiconductor business.
The musician opens up a music store.
All of them believing that by understanding the technical work of the business they are immediately and eminently qualified to run a business that does that kind of work.
And itâs simply not true!
In fact, rather than being their greatest single asset, knowing the technical work of their business becomes their greatest single liability.
For if the technician didnât know how to do the technical work of the business, he would have to learn how to get it done.
He would be forced to learn how to make the business work, rather than to do the work himself.
The real tragedy is that when the technician falls prey to the Fatal Assumption, the business that was supposed to free him from the limitations of working for somebody else actually enslaves him.
Suddenly the job he knew how to do so well becomes one job he knows how to do plus a dozen others he doesnât know how to do at all.
Because although the Entrepreneurial Seizure started the business, itâs the technician who goes to work.
And suddenly, an entrepreneurial dream turns into a technicianâs nightmare.
See the young Woman Baking Pies.
See the Young Woman Start a Business baking Pies.
See the Young Woman Become an Old Woman.
I met Sarah after she had been in business for three years. She told me, âThey have been the longest three years of my life.â
Sarahâs business was named All About Pies (not its real name).
But, in truth, Sarahâs business wasnât really all about piesâit was really all about work. The work Sarah did. The work Sarah used to love to do more than anything else. Plus the work Sarah had never done in her life.
âIn fact,â Sarah said to me, ânot only do I hate to do all this [she spread her arms, taking in the small shop in which we stood] but I hate [she emphasized the word almost fiercely]âI hate baking pies. I canât stand the thought of pies. I canât stand the smell of pies. I canât stand the sight of pies.â And then she started crying.
The sweet fresh aroma of pies filled the air.
It was 7 A.M. and All About Pies was to open in thirty minutes. But Sarahâs mind was someplace else.
âItâs seven oâclock,â she said, wiping her eyes with her apron, as though reading my mind. âDo you realize Iâve been here since three oâclock this morning? And that I was up at two to get ready? And that by the time I get the pies ready, open for business, take care of my customers, clean up, close up, do the shopping, reconcile the cash register, go to the bank, have dinner, and get the pies ready for tomorrowâs bake, itâll be nine-thirty or ten oâclock tonight, and by the time I do all that, by the time any normal person, for Godâs sake, would say that the day was done, I will then also need to sit down and begin to figure out how Iâm going to pay the rent next month?
âAnd all this [she spread her arms wearily again, as though to accentuate everything she had just said] because my very best friends told me I was crazy not to open a pie shop because I was so damn good at it? And, whatâs worse, I believed them! I saw a way out of the horrible job I used to have. I saw a way to get free, doing work I loved to do, and doing it all for me.â
She was on a tear that I didnât want to interrupt. I waited quietly to hear what she would say next.
Instead, she kicked the huge black oven in front of her with her right foot.
âDamn!â she exploded.
âDamn, Damn, Damn!â
For emphasis, she kicked the oven again. And then slumped, sighed deeply, and hugged herself, almost desperately.
âWhat do I do now?â she said, almost in a whisper. Not really asking me, I knew, but asking herself.
Sarah leaned against the wall and remained there quietly for a long moment, staring at her feet. The large clock on the wall ticked loudly in the empty shop. I could hear the cars driving by on the busy street in front of the shop as the city came awake. The sun shone harshly through the spotless windows, sweeping the gleaming oak floor in front of the counter.
I could see the dust in the stream of light, hanging suspended as though waiting for Sarah to speak.
She was deep in debt.
She had spent everything she had, and more, to create this lovely little shop.
The floors were the best oak.
The ovens were the best ovens.
The displays were charming, the very best money could buy.
She had put her heart into this place, just as she had put her heart into her pies, falling in love with baking as a young girl, mentored by her aunt who had lived with her family while Sarah was growing up.
Her aunt had filled her familyâs kitchen, Sarahâs childhood, with the delicious, sweet aroma of freshly baked pies. Her aunt had introduced her to the magic of the process: the kneading of the dough, the cleaning of the oven, the sprinkling of the flour, the preparation of the trays, the careful cutting of the apples, the cherries, the rhubarb, the peaches. It was a labor of love.
Her aunt had corrected her when, in her haste, Sarah had hurried the process.
Her ...