While most of my articles tend to rant and rave about issues within the industry, and how it affects each of us, this article will be about the 'effect' the industry has had upon us all well. I hope your story is not similar, yet I know it is.
My wife and I have put our whole lives into running our business. So much so, that our personal life is also our business life and vice-versa. No matter where we go or what we do, our business 'heart' is visible on our sleeves, and for me, very obvious under my fingernails. If I am lucky enough to have a one-week vacation, my hands actually look like they are safe to handle food with. Oddly enough, I think 10W40 residue actually adds a unique flavor to Doritos and a ham sandwich.
My children, both of whom are college graduates, have seen how hard and diligent my wife and I have toiled, and as a result, have no plans to carry the flag. Knowing this, my exit strategy will require much more fine-tuning and consultation. I really don't harbor any ill feelings towards my children, because to be a truly independent jobber or service center owner requires a certain calling. Although anal retentiveness is a requirement, it's not necessarily inherited and henceforth my oblique understanding in regards to my offspring's desires for something else.
I have had some health issues lately. The preliminary diagnosis is quite ominous and foreboding, life changing in fact. Since my wife’s life and my own are so involved with our business, the entanglement could lead to a possible disaster of sorts. How can our business continue to thrive without our day-to-day involvement and hands-on practicality that our customers have come to expect? If anything I've learned about this business is this simple truth – change is constant and it waits for no one.
The real issue is that I've complicated everything by inserting the idea that things will not happen without me. They will happen regardless of my involvement, albeit differently. Therefore, by design, our business is equipped to deal with the inevitable constant change. The gut-wrenching process of this scenario is my own inability to just let the unstoppable happen at its own pace. My wife can run the store without me, but most certainly is a lot happier when I'm there. My employees know what's needed of them and for the business to remain profitable. We have an excellent history with our vendors and creditors. The name of our store is very well respected within our community. So what's the real problem here? Me. My son Kyle tells me I am the happiest when I'm miserable.
I was recently admitted to the emergency room at our local hospital by my family doctor of nearly 20 years. During the whole process, I had my smart phone with me. I have the ability to text message, instant message, Facebook message, and have the Yahoo! Instant Messenger App installed as well. It was like being vicariously at work with EKG monitors and an IV installed. As messages came in, and went out, I could not help but think they will probably need to bury me with this damn phone. Instead of a grave marker, install a solar panel with a 6-foot charging cord so the phone will work for a few years until they figure this stuff out on their own.
Just before, and immediately after my MRI, I was instructing everyone on how I told a customer his transmission replacement would happen, the dollar amount estimated, and time frame for the job to occur. Here I lay with a potential life-threatening situation, and I concern myself with the humdrum-routine operation of our parts store and service center. I turned my phone off, embarrassed by my own foolishness.
As the results of my test came trickling in, and medical terminology I don't understand was trying to be explained, my mind drifted back to how many people must feel when they receive a complicated diagnosis from us. Simply put, overwhelmed. No definitive answer was attained. No clear-cut treatment was prescribed. Just precautionary suggestions, and more medication and a host of crazy side effects. I laughed out loud. Giggled and snorted, and the blood pressure monitor started beeping. The medical team told me this is not a laughing matter, to which I agreed yet replied, "you sound like a bunch of technicians without proper training and tooling, you diagnose everything, however can fix nothing!' Other similarities include the billing procedure.
I turned my phone back on. Several messages were waiting for me, some from my employees, a few from my wife and a couple from our customers. It was then that I realized I am my business, and my business is me. It keeps me going in spite of the hardships of a human existence. What I do defines me, and many of you, just like me, take solace. We all understand what it's like. Keep me in your thoughts.
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