Becoming the Minimalist Entrepreneur: Lessons from My Journey to Work Less, Earn More, and Play More - A Memoir

By Anita R. Henderson

Every solopreneur has a story worth sharing, you included.

This is not a how-to book. Instead, it is one solopreneur's journey presented as a model for the flexibility and individuality of twenty-first-century entrepreneurship.

Becoming the minimalist entrepreneur is a jour

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elite Online Publishing
• Release date: Jan 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9781961801189

Anita R. Henderson

Known by many as The Author's Midwife, Anita Henderson is founder and CEO of The Write Image Consulting, LLC, and creator of the Write Your Life Author Coaching Program. She is a bestselling and award-winning author and ghostwriter, copy editor, and book publishing strategist. As an author coach for professionals and entrepreneurs, Anita has transformed dozens of her clients into proud published authors. Her strategic support and guidance with authors has resulted in multiple award-winning and bestselling titles, helping her clients grow their media and online visibility, speaker platforms, and industry credibility.A successful freelance writer with published articles in more than twenty-five trade publications in the U.S. and Canada, Anita is a writer at heart. She helps authors create compelling prose, weave engaging stories, and explain their processes and insights in a way that serves readers and draws them to want to work more closely with the author. As Anita says, "It's bigger than the book!" Leverage is the key to success.With two decades in Corporate America as a marketing communications and public relations professional, Anita knows the ins and outs of marketing brands, people, companies, and causes. She brings that insight to her work with authors to help them use book publishing as a marketing strategy that gets results.An eight-times published author, Anita shares her knowledge about using book publishing as a marketing strategy as a speaker at conferences, workshops, and association events both in person and virtually.

Book preview

The Accidental Entrepreneur

The look on his face made me feel more than a little uncomfortable. Was it shock or insult? Whatever it was, he was speechless for what seemed like forever. Then came the words I never expected to hear.

"I don’t even make that much an hour!"

Yikes! Don’t flinch. Don’t blink. Don’t slouch. Don’t speak. The words rang in my mind as firm instructions from a trusted coach, but really, they were echoes of my own voice telling me to shut up and wait. I sat as still as a mannequin on display at the local department store. The silence was intimidating, but if I spoke another word, I would lose the negotiation. It was bad enough, I suppose, that I had even stated a price. But I figured since he was the first to bring it up, I had an advantage. The age-old negotiation advice had rolled over in my mind the entire drive over to the meeting: The one who mentions price first loses.

He had asked for, and I had given him, the hourly rate I’d decided to charge for this, my first freelance copywriting job ever. His wife, a brand-spanking new entrepreneur, needed someone to write the copy for her website. She had reached out to the company where I worked as a marketing manager in hopes of getting a trusted recommendation. As fate would have it, our receptionist, who admired my skill with the written word more than I realized, passed the lead to me.

Anita, I think you should follow up with this woman. She needs a writer. You would be perfect for this, she’d said.

It seemed like a good opportunity, especially considering that the small, woman-owned company I had worked for over the past four years was floundering. My gut had been telling me it was time to explore my options, but I hadn’t taken a single step to do so. Maybe this was my chance to see what else was out there. So I set up a meeting with the new entrepreneur to discuss her needs and how I could help.

What I left unsaid was that I had no idea what I could do for her. I had never written website copy. This was 1997 and websites for small businesses were a relatively new thing. Most entrepreneurs were still using printed brochures and fliers to promote their products and services. I had written plenty of those; so many that the thought of writing something new intrigued me.

She mentioned that her husband, an influential businessman, was her angel investor and he wanted to sit in on the meeting. The sting of regret bubbled in my belly when I heard that. An angel investor? This sounded way out of my league, but I had already committed to the meeting, so canceling seemed totally wimpy. Here was a woman who had started her own business, and her husband, who believed in her enough that he was willing to throw some money behind her idea. I liked that. They were playing big ball, so I had to match their game, at least in my mind. Rather than show up like a lowly freelancer, I wanted to walk in there like a real business owner, just like she was. That would put us on a level playing field.

I made up a name for my company, just to appear as if this wasn’t my first time at the rodeo. Without much thought, I came up with The Write Image. Whatever. That’ll do. I can always change it later. Mind you, I had no business license, no business bank account, no business cards, no business anything, but they didn’t know that. Then, I thought about what I would charge. Hourly seemed like the right course of action. But how much? I remembered my mom mentioning that her boss, a high-level phone company executive with decades of experience and a PhD, who was a super brainiac and spoke to audiences all over the world, earned $80 an hour for his services outside of the company. That was my point of reference. Never mind that I didn’t come close to measuring up to his knowledge or expertise. But hell, if eighty bucks an hour was good enough for him, it was good enough for me.

Sitting in the busy lobby of the San Diego Marriott Hotel, saying the words Eighty dollars an hour, and seeing the look on hubby’s face, I suddenly wanted to run out the double sliding glass doors, through the lobby, and into the parking garage to make my escape. But then, something happened.

Oh, that’s fine, she said, winking at me and totally ignoring her husband. When can you start?

What the . . .?

To my surprise, they wrote a check for one thousand dollars as a deposit. I was thrilled. From the hotel, I drove straight to the bank to deposit the money in my personal checking account. I promised myself that I would open a business account in the next few days. Then, I drove to the nearest computer store to make my first business purchase—a desktop computer with all the software, gadgets, and gizmos. And that’s how my company started.

In the two and a half decades since that fateful day, I have ridden the roller coaster of entrepreneurship. The incredible highs have let me know what I’m capable of. I have been elated over (and sometimes surprised by) my successes: five-figure sales days, six-figure revenue years, new program launches, invitations to speak to audiences (and get paid to do so), serving as president of a successful organization, forming a business partnership, writing and publishing several books, co-hosting a radio show, an internet TV show, and a podcast, and so much more.

The lows have been just as critical in defining the entrepreneur I am today: failed promotional campaigns, costly gambles that paid zero ROI, clients who didn’t pay on time or at all (including one I had to take to court), a recession that caused me to pivot and reshape my entire business model, trusting people who didn’t deserve it, new programs that cost me more time to develop than the profit they generated, years when there was more famine than feast, and a global pandemic that shut down small businesses across the country but turned out to be a breakthrough period for me, leading to exponential business growth and consistent profits for my company.

Along the journey, I have been reminded of what a dear friend once told me as she suffered through an incredibly difficult time: I was made for this. I remind myself of that whenever times are good, but especially when they’re tough. I was made for this entrepreneur thing. It took me thirty years to realize it and get started, but when I did, I ran with it, and I haven’t looked back. Well, I did go back to employee-hood a few times after starting my company, but you’ll learn more about that later.

Through it all, I learned that I am an entrepreneur. Even better, I have grown into a business owner and a CEO. I’ve taken what I believe to be the long, sometimes slow, often painful road. The lessons I’ve learned have reminded me of my natural way of being. The skills, talents, strengths, characteristics, and gifts that have been with me throughout my life have guided me to where I am today. There were also times when I rejected my natural tendencies, moments when I ignored my gut instincts, and situations that caused me to marginalize my intellect.

After decades in business, I’ve learned to trust myself more than I trust anything or anyone else. That has led me to clarify, simplify, and focus as an entrepreneur, to essentially become the minimalist entrepreneur. Because when I eliminated all the outside noise, I could hear my inner voice calmly confirming, You got this, girl. Run with it. Keep rising. And that’s exactly what I’ve done.

Becoming the minimalist entrepreneur isn’t about doing what everyone else does, or doing only one thing, selling a single product, or offering only one service, although that could be part of it. It isn’t about having the fewest items atop my desk or in my office or getting my email inbox down to zero each day. That’s not minimalism; that’s called uncluttered. So what does it mean to become the minimalist entrepreneur?

First, it’s about becoming. That begins with realizing you’re not the person you want to be and then getting to know who you are, your true self. Maybe it begins with assessing who or how you’ve always been or exploring what your superpowers are. Once you’re clear on that, figure out how your natural personality, interests, talents, gifts, and skills can support you in the next iteration of yourself and your business. It’s an ongoing process, so expect to evolve and plan to enjoy the ride. You don’t figure it out in one go; this takes time, it’s gradual. Be patient and loving with yourself.

Second, the minimalist part, for me, is about working less, playing more, and earning more. Doing the most with the least amount of effort, in the least amount of time, and gaining an exponential return. The concept of working hard is old-school. I’m not averse to hard work when necessary. But I get to define what hard is, and nine times out of ten, it doesn’t mean working my fingers to the bone or burning the midnight oil. To some, that sounds lazy. To me, it’s smart.

Finally, the entrepreneur part of the equation is whatever you make it. Entrepreneurship doesn’t look the same for everyone. The freedom that comes with that title includes the audacity to define it for yourself and not feel like you’re doing it wrong. Find your way and be good with that.

This is not a how-to book. I’m the last person you want teaching you how to become an entrepreneur. If you’re looking for a shortcut to creating a simple, slim, minimalist business that earns you a million dollars a year, you won’t find it here. There are hundreds of books and courses to teach you the how-tos of business ownership, growth strategies, and profitability. That’s not what this book is about.

What most of those books, courses, and gurus won’t tell you is how to learn from every step you take on your solopreneur journey; how to examine your self—like who you really are—at every junction on your path. They don’t teach you how to amplify the best of you for the success of your venture, or how to override the negative voices in your head that threaten your next step to achieving your greatness. I won’t tell you how to do any of that either, but I will give you some hints and insights that guided my journey. At the end of the day, you have to figure out your way of doing it. That’s what the journey to becoming the minimalist entrepreneur is all about. I’m sure you’ll see yourself somewhere along my journey. When you do, just smile and say a silent, I feel you, girl.

On this minimalist entrepreneur journey, you absolutely must figure it all out with every step you take. Even when you consult with coaches or experts, the final decisions lie in your hands. Every lesson along the way makes up your journey. It creates your story. And your story matters. Every solopreneur has a story worth sharing, you included. This is mine.

No one begins with all the answers. You learn a lot about yourself along the solopreneur journey. You have a starting point, some knowledge, and a few years of experience doing something. Hopefully, you have some capital and a good support system. With that, you just do it. You figure out the rest along the way. Whether your entrepreneur journey is intentional or accidental like mine, you roll with it through the highs and the lows until you either give up and do something else or you reach your desired level of success and keep rising. Thankfully, I’ve been able to do the latter. Entrepreneurship hasn’t been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it sure has been a wild ride.

The accident of entrepreneurship was just that for me—it was a happenstance, an occurrence, a thing not planned or dreamed of or hoped for. I didn’t always know I’d be an entrepreneur. I just fell into it.

As a child of the 1980s, my career goals were highly influenced by what pop culture spoon-fed me on television as the ideal of success. That included the likes of Bob Newhart’s dry humor as a psychologist; Darrin Stephens, the advertising executive husband who was bewitched by his wife Samantha, my favorite TV witch; and Mary Tyler Moore, the funny lady who worked in a low-rated TV newsroom. In my teenage years, I wanted to be some version of all of them when I grew up.

A few entrepreneurs made it to the primetime bunch, namely George Jefferson, the quirky, annoying, cheapskate owner of a dry-cleaning business, and Fred Sanford, the junkman whose failing heart was both a cry for help and the punchline of every episode. Not surprisingly, neither of those entrepreneurial pursuits resonated with me. So my focus remained squarely on going to college, graduating, getting a good job, and then retiring (whatever that meant) so I could finally live my life.

My expectation of the ideal corporate career was sporting a VP title, a corner office—with a window, thank you very much—an assistant outside my door, and a hefty compensation package to accentuate my above-average salary. The closest I came to having any entrepreneur experience was twice as a kid, and neither one amounted to much.

Summers in my Compton, California neighborhood were spent watching reruns of I Love Lucy in the morning while munching on French toast with my big sister, René, playing street tag with friends midday, and spending hours engrossed in soap operas in the afternoon before my mom came home from work. Ever the doer, my mother suggested we kids make better use of our time by finding something constructive to do.

Why don’t you knock on doors and ask some of the older people in the neighborhood if they need any ironing done? she encouraged my sister and me.

Okay, no. Slavery days are over and I’m no one’s mammy, was my sassy, twelve-year-old thought. Of course, I never spoke it out loud for fear of a smack across the mouth, but that’s how I felt about her little suggestion.

Or why don’t all you kids get together and mow the neighbors’ lawns. You can use our lawnmower.

Now this was a suggestion I could consider. At least we could all do this together and be outside while doing it. Plus, we could earn a few bucks to spend at the mall or the movies or the burrito joint down the street. Needless to say, that little landscaping venture didn’t last long. The neighborhood kids dragged our lawnmower and a few trash cans up and down 132nd Street for maybe two weekends in a row, and that was that. We divvied up our earnings and quickly went back to our typical summertime shenanigans.

My second quasi-entrepreneurial venture was as a typist during my high school years. My bestie’s dad, a professor at the local community college, needed syllabi and assignments typed up from time to time. My fingers had become pretty agile on the keyboard of my dad’s IBM Selectric, so Mr. Scott paid me some bargain-basement fee to do his occasional typing. I happily obliged because I could do it on my own time from the comfort of our kitchen table. He also had political aspirations, and each election go-round, he would put in his bid for Compton City Council or the Board of Education. This meant he needed his curriculum vitae updated along with a new bio and some other stuff I didn’t understand.

I didn’t really consider my typing a business endeavor at the time. Actually, I saw it as more of a paid favor to him, perhaps because I didn’t love doing it, or maybe because it was easy, or because the money wasn’t that great. In retrospect, I realize it was a side gig. My primary gig was, of course, being an A-student and mostly good kid who followed the rules. That goodie-two-shoesyness in me soaked up all the societal messages about what a successful career looks like and how to get one. Entrepreneurship was never part of that story.

My parents, both of whom I witnessed attend community college to further their own education, were my first examples of hard work. Daddy was a bookkeeper who worked at the United Steel Workers Union and later for United Firefighters of Los Angeles City. I had no idea what he did there, but he seemed to enjoy it well enough. I got the impression that he was well-liked by his colleagues and that his work was essential to the operations of those organizations.

Mama was an administrative assistant for Pacific Bell through its many iterations before it became part of AT&T years after she retired. She, too, managed her grind with a pretty positive attitude. From her description, her bosses appreciated her work, and her co-workers were fairly easy to get along with. All of that seemed simple enough to replicate, so that’s what I had in mind for my future. Both retired from their respective jobs (years after I was well into adulthood) and walked into retirement the way lots of people did back then—quietly, with no plans