You need a butterfly

for all the dreamers

Is this the one where she starts a substack?

Maybe.

Maybe no one will read it.
Maybe someone will.

Maybe it doesn't matter.
Maybe it's ok for some things to just be mine.

Three years ago, almost to the day, I handed in my keycard (with basement parking access), I had my first ever tequila shot, and I said goodbye to the most wonderful team and corporate culture.

It felt a little like betrayal.

I didn't feel worthy of the job when I was offered it, I was perplexed on how I was picked for the single grad urban planning role at Australasias's largest engineering comsultancy. What did they see in me?

And I worked my butt off. I was given an insane number of opportunities, I learnt so much, soaking in everything I could, putting my hand up for a variety of projects. I was soooo supported by the team, and I was also a go-getter. I knew I could sit back and "wait" to be asked, or I could take initiative and ask for the shit that I actually wanted.

Then one day I got my end-of-year bonus, which, after months of (unsuccessful) salary negotiations, felt like a slap in the face.

I cried, I was angry, I was frustrated.

And as I stood at the top of Sealy Tarns at sunrise on a Thursday morning, using up my limited annual leave, I thought, "fuck it".

I handed in my resignation the next Tuesday, and that was that.

Three years ago.

Today, I'm writing this from a plane in South Africa.

I woke up this morning to an invoice paid, making this month my biggest revenue month ever. $40,000.

My annual salary when I said, "fuck it" was $76,000.

More than six months pay in a single month.

And that's why I quit.

Because if I'd stayed...sure, my income would be "stable." I wouldn't have the diabolical $3,000 months.

But my literal life would be in someone else's hands.

Someone else's profit and loss sheet or "pay bands" or "budget" would determine whether I could save for a house. Or go on holiday. Or buy Christmas presents for my family. Or fill up my car and buy groceries.

And now. I'm in control of that.

It's MY profit and loss sheet, it's MY pay bands, it's MY future.

What I did, some people would call crazy, others might think it's risky, or just "stupid".

Yeah, probably.

I was the sole income earner in our household. It was 100% on me whether we could afford groceries or not.

But I'll tell you what.

When I was in my corporate job, we were living paycheck to paycheck. One day I remember opening my bank account and seeing 42 dollars. I swore it would NEVER go that low again.

And despite the rollercoaster of running your own business, it never has.

What's hard about writing this and possibly putting it out in the world is that everyone has a different tolerance for risk.

Mine is probably pretty high.

But I think that comes from a place of starting at zero. And not being afraid for everything to fail.

In fact, I've failed a couple times already in business.

18 months ago, I hired my first permanent team member, and it taught me the hardest lessons. 6 months ago, I lost all but one client, I built that shit up from the ground up, all over again. $40k months baby.

I'm a big believer in doing the thing before you're ready.

In setting massive goals, and being 100% ok if you miss hitting them.

In saying YES to the random chance opportunities that might just change your life.

And saying NO to the shit that doesn't align with where you're going.

I believe in making mistakes as often as possible, learning by doing.

I would rather fail now and fail fast, learn sooner and fix it quicker, than make bigger mistakes later when the consequences are higher.

So why I am putting this on the internet?

Two things. That both lead to the same reason.
And both involve crying.

1. Earlier this year, I registered Feijoa Social as a limited company. And on a random Tuesday at my desk, I had a big cry realising that I'm the first woman in my bloodline to be the director/shareholder of a limited company.

   The fact that this is even an OPTION, that I could open a business bank account as a woman and no one could stop me. Holy shit, I do not take that for granted. THANK YOU to the fierce women that have come before us and made this a reality and a possibility. I do this for them, for me, for all women, to show you what's actually possible. Because do you know what we could do if we had more money in the hands of women? It's statistically proven that women are more likely to DO GOOD with their money, give to charity, make better profits, invest better and yet less than 1% of CEOs are women.

2. When that payment hit my account this morning and I had a big cry looking out over the African grasslands, I thought about my butterfly effect. If I hadn't gone to a random Instagram meetup in 2018, met Ellen, learned about social media management from her, watched her grow her business, have her coach me through mine, I wouldn't have the same audacity and delulu courage to go after it the way I have.

So I share this on the internet because sometimes you need the proof. You need someone in your circle that you know and trust showing you what's possible.

You need the butterfly to flap it's wings in the Amazon, and create a cyclone in the Philippines.

So maybe I get to be your butterfly 🦋

Maybe this is the moment that you don't even realise is your moment. But you look back on it in 3 years, 5 years, 8 years and go, "holy shit, look at that snowball effect."

Fuck tall poppy syndrome.

And fuck staying quiet about what's possible.

My dream and yours might not be the same, but what I do know is that YOU are the only one in control of your life.

YOU get to decide your risk tolerance.
YOU get to decide when you want to say, "fuck it"
YOU get to decide you'll be the first in your bloodline

YOU and ONLY YOU have the chance to change your life.

We live once, then we die.
(YOLO as the millennials would say)

But seriously, are you going to let someone else be in control of your life? Or are you going to choose your own priorities, your own goals, your own uncapped income.

Your move.

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This post first appeared on my Substack, Abigail Hannah.