The Soloist

In the August 1998 issue of Inc., Rubin began chronicling her career as a solo act. In this excerpt from her diary, she searches for her own identity and questions how she wants to spend her life.

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From the Journals of Harriet Rubin

On July 31, 1997, Harriet Rubin quit her job as head of Doubleday Publishing Co.'s Currency imprint, which she had created. At age 43, Rubin was one of the most successful business-book editors in the United States, but until then she had always worked for a paycheck. Now she wouldn't. Nor would she start a company. Instead, like more and more onetime managers, she would go solo--would, in her words, "do nothing but the work, the pure core experience, as farmers do when they plant and harvest. I would lead only myself." But lead herself where? The first installment of her journal appeared in Inc.'s August issue. This is the second.

I don't know when i started interpreting uncertainty as opportunity. Or exactly when the glass went from being half empty to half full. But at some point every aspect of the solo life changed for me. "I don't have any clients" became "I'm free to wait for the right oppportunity to come along." I've always pursued deals, chased bets, and exercised my will. Now I'm in pure solo mode: Stand your ground, dare to be an original (which we all are), and let opportunities come to you. What changed my view might have been my dear friend Avram's news that the rise in his PSA might indicate the return of prostate cancer. Something kicked in. Some life force rose up in me, something that said, No no no: You're not going to win, master thief, robber of dreams. You're not going to take your chunk out yet.

The result is that going solo has turned into something bigger and more interesting than a means of making money without an idiot boss second-guessing me. It's become a quest for identity: "Who am I?" Not simply, "What am I doing?" but "How do I want to spend my life?" On the theory that I can't yet know what my business is, I've kept myself from rigid planning. That may sound foolhardy, so let me explain. Marshall McLuhan understood back in 1964 what the key challenge of work would be: "Under electric technology, the entire business of man becomes learning and knowing... All forms of employment become 'paid learning.'... The problem of discovering occupations or employment may prove as difficult as wealth is easy."

The challenge isn't making money, it's discovering what your authentic work is: all bullshit aside, what are you meant to do? The only commitment I make is to paid learning. I am rejecting most opportunities in my area of "intellectual capital": editing, ghostwriting, and manuscript consulting.

I have even avoided calling myself a consultant. Consultants can't offer leaders really good advice, because they aren't peers. When I was a publisher, I was always advising leaders. But I wasn't a consultant dependent on that for my income. Now, as an author and researcher, I hope to attract leaders who are interested in my work--who see me as a peer. Ideally, I want to invent a new kind of role that suits my skills. Otherwise, I'd end up squeezing my skills into an off-the-rack costume. Charles Lindbergh reinvented flying, Maria Callas reinvented opera, Peter Drucker reinvented business. I will create an authentic role for myself. "Keep on writing books," Avram says. "Write for an audience of leaders. Get well known." He's noticed that leaders who have the most stature listen to writers. Consultants, he feels, are not as highly valued. "They are the unhappiest people I know. Sure, they're paid a few thousand dollars a day, but they work so hard to get those jobs that they're miserable. Forget the consulting for now."

Then how do I sell myself? "Nobody's an expert in the Internet, so that's a good field for you. You're an expert in content. Translate that into the new media. Learn by joining a board."

My end-of-year-one goals: 1. Gain legitimacy--join a board. 2. Don't just learn, go further--experiment with your life.

APRIL 4: 'Scarlett, you'll never be poor again.'

The first installment of my Harper book advance arrives! Plus, my agent has presold the rights to the book in Germany and England. It will be months before that money comes in, and taxes must be paid, and the advance is against work still to be done. Nevertheless, I am not "psychologically poor" anymore. It feels like waking up from a fever.

MAY 1: Where's the invisible hand when you need a push?

I decide to let the market tell me what it wants from me, and in a few days I get an invitation to have lunch with Andrew, a successful investment banker. Andrew heard about me from George Stephanopolous, whom I don't know, who heard about me from someone else. Andrew wants to meet me because he thinks I have access to top CEOs. Andrew admires Barry Diller, who gets investors to commit lots of money to his ventures because they think he's a visionary. That's my cue! I tell Andrew that the best way to get access is not to use intermediaries like me but to become a visionary himself.

Andrew, like many baby boomers, has serious money socked away. He's ready to commit to his life's dream or to wave it good-bye. Freud had a phrase for that critical point: the return of the repressed. All those dreams we abandoned in the 1980s when we first put on a suit are coming back with a vengeance. A second puberty is heading our way. For Andrew, the return of the repressed means reclaiming an idealistic social agenda. It means becoming known for ideas, not just for making money.

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