The Loneliness of Building Something New

Last Tuesday, I found myself sitting in my car after a particularly brutal investor meeting, wondering if I was completely delusional. The pitch had gone sideways, the numbers they questioned were solid, and I walked out feeling like a fraud. For twenty minutes, I just sat there in the parking garage, watching other people walk purposefully to their destinations while I questioned everything I'd built over the past three years.

Nobody warns you about moments like these when you're reading those glossy entrepreneurship articles or watching TED talks about "following your passion." They don't mention that entrepreneurship is less like climbing a mountain and more like wandering through a desert—long stretches of uncertainty punctuated by brief oases of progress, with no guarantee you're even heading in the right direction.

The hardest part isn't the long hours or the financial stress, though those are real. It's the isolation that comes from making decisions that nobody else in your life truly understands. Your friends with corporate jobs can't relate to the weight of payroll when you're not sure how you'll make it next month. Your family wants to be supportive, but their advice often sounds like noise when you're navigating problems they've never faced.

I remember the first time someone asked me what I "really" do for work, as if running my own company wasn't legitimate employment. That stung more than I expected. There's this constant pressure to justify your choices, not just to investors or customers, but to yourself. Every setback feels personal because, well, it is personal. This thing you're building isn't just a business—it's an extension of your identity, your vision, your stubborn belief that you can solve a problem better than anyone else.

The weird thing is that entrepreneurship attracts people who are naturally optimistic and driven, but then systematically tests those exact qualities. You have to maintain faith in your vision while being brutally honest about what's not working. You need to inspire others while privately dealing with your own doubts. You celebrate small wins publicly while knowing how far you still have to go.

What keeps me going isn't some romantic notion about changing the world or achieving financial freedom. It's simpler and more selfish than that. I've discovered that I'm fundamentally unemployable in the traditional sense. Not because I can't follow rules or work with others, but because I've tasted the addictive combination of autonomy and responsibility that comes with building something from nothing. Even on the worst days, I'd rather fail at my own thing than succeed at someone else's.

The loneliness doesn't go away, but you learn to sit with it differently. You start connecting with other entrepreneurs who understand the unique brand of crazy that drives this lifestyle. You realize that the isolation is partly self-imposed—a side effect of caring so deeply about something that most people see as just another business.

If you're in the thick of building something new and feeling like you're going insane, you're probably doing it right. The fact that it feels impossible is often the only proof you need that it's worth doing. Just don't forget to come up for air once in a while.