The Pause that Refreshes

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"I live in Silicon Valley, and I'm just sick of seeing all my friends get rich on options," whined vacation guy #2, who I later learned was a semiconductor-equipment salesman. "I'd love to join a start-up. In fact, I have an idea in the B2B video space."

Minutes later, at 100 feet below sea level, I bit down hard on my regulator and tried to focus on exotic marine life. But my heavy breathing and plummeting psi gauge could not be attributed to excitement over a glimpse of the elusive toadfish. After rising to the surface, I made a 90-day futures contract with guy number two to discuss his plan over sushi in Santa Clara.

Still jobless, but now in a tan sort of way, I returned to San Francisco and promptly came to a decision. What I needed was a plan. When times were tough at Gazooba, the business plan I had written with my cofounders and honed with our investors served as both the Grail to my Galahad and the blanket to my Linus. A plan suggests direction, which suggests movement, which suggests fewer worried calls from my mother. True, the contract prohibited me from writing any business plans just yet. But I could still create a personal plan for exploration, for growth, for fun.

These days everyone with a plan seems to carry it in a Palm handheld organizer. Anxious to be a-doing, I hied myself to an Office Depot in the South of Market district and laid down some plastic for a Palm Vx. Sitting on my bed back home, I removed the sleek device from its package and stared at it. It was about the same size as the pager on which I receive wind-condition updates for my favorite windsurfing spots. What if I could program this thing to accept the wind-speed data stream? No! Bad Andy! Yanking myself back from the brink, I hurriedly tapped on the date-book icon and began scribbling in my appointments. Lunch with Zen, one of my cofounders at Gazooba. A debriefing with one of our venture capitalists at his office in San Francisco. Coffee with Gazooba's PR guy. All backward-looking, and consequently safe.

Since that day I have fleshed out my personal plan a little bit, although it's still not enough to consume every waking hour. For example, I've signed up for an improvisational acting class on Sundays, mostly because it's scarier to me than jumping out of planes, which is apparently a favorite pastime for people in the middle of major life reassessments. The instructor at Bay Area TheaterSports says the improv class is about "how not to judge your own ideas or those of others." Not that I'll be having any ideas for a while, but when I do, it will be nice to know how not to judge them.

I'll also be following the advice of Lanny Goodman, a consultant to company builders, whom I heard speak at a conference last summer. Goodman argued that companies succeed only when the personal needs of the founder or CEO are met. As I understand it, that means all other measures of success, including shareholder return and employee well-being, flow from the leader's happiness. It all makes perfect sense to me. So in the interest of my future shareholders and employees, I have decided to go snowboarding. If you happen to see me on the slopes, please say hi. But don't ask what my next venture's going to be.

For the time being, I have no idea.

Andrew Raskin is a recovering entrepreneur currently between and betwixt ventures.

Please e-mail your comments to editors@inc.com.

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