But I was mistaken in believing that the deal would bring with it some measure of calm. Gary doesn't reach a plateau and then stop. Financial security was never his ultimate goal. There's always that next venture, that new new thing, that (in Gary's case) will reach more people with important messages about organics or climate change.
After we got some cash, Gary created and invested heavily in what is possibly the only business riskier and more likely to fail than yogurt-making: restaurants. He conceived of and co-created O'Natural's as a healthful, organic, and natural fast-food alternative. The concept is excellent, as is the food, but its fate, like that of all restaurant start-ups, remains uncertain. Gary has poured a lot more money into it than I expected. Once again, I try not to ask. Gary also co-founded the nonprofit Climate Counts, which measures the climate change commitments of major companies. Recently, he has been busy promoting his new book documenting how businesses can make more money by going green. People say they don't know how he does it all, and the truth is, neither do I.
It's all exciting, but I'm a slower, more deliberate, and (as Gary would say) "evidence-based" person. Gary is a consummate multitasker, while if there are more than four things on my plate, the fifth slides off. The person who runs faster sets the pace; usually, I am the one who must adapt.
We still have tension around our differing levels of comfort with risk -- business, personal, and physical (I leave the paragliding and ski racing to him) -- and around the difference in the speed with which we move through the world. His frequent business travel is still hard on our family, though less so now that the kids are almost grown. Still, the life of an entrepreneur's spouse can be quite lonely.
But because we found each other, it's clichéd but nonetheless true that Gary smells (OK, quickly sniffs) more roses, and I hike (mostly mosey up) more mountains. And you'll hear no complaints from me about business-class trips to Paris for meetings with Danone. Our financial success has allowed us to give to causes and candidates we believe in and, most gratifyingly for me, enabled us to create an interest-free loan fund for New Hampshire dairy farmers to help them become organic. My recent pursuits of teaching and writing are more feasible now, because I don't have to rely on them for my kids' college tuitions. And my wonderful mother is thoroughly enjoying her retirement. Miraculously, through it all, Gary has created and maintained a tight relationship with our three kids -- Alex, Ethan, and Danielle -- coaching them in soccer, getting to know their friends, and tuning in to their lives in an intimate way. The kids are proud of their father and of Stonyfield's success.
So with the benefit of hindsight, now that everything has worked out pretty well, what is my seasoned perspective on our entrepreneurial experience? Still crazy, after all these years.
for richer or poorer
About 10 years ago, Gary led a business seminar at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, New York. He told some stories from what I refer to, not fondly, as the bad old days, and instantly the entrepreneurs in the room redirected their attention to me, sitting among them in the audience. Many had tears in their eyes. How did you survive as a couple, they asked? Tales of woe began to emerge: My husband left me, my wife divorced me, my mother's not speaking to me, my girlfriend walked. He couldn't take the financial exposure. She's risk-averse; I'm a gambler.
Our stories had tapped into a gusher.
It's not easy to find yourself hitched to someone else's dream. Gary and I often liken it to riding shotgun on a curvy stretch of road: Rarely does the driver get nauseated; usually it's the passenger who suffers. In getting to know scores of entrepreneurs over the years, I find it's uncommon that both partners are equally comfortable with high-wire levels of financial risk. They know the statistics are against success; most start-ups fail. If the spouse has qualms about refinancing the house or taking out another loan to fund the fledgling business or voices concern about the entrepreneur signing a personal guarantee on a piece of equipment, these worries can be construed as a lack of faith in the business, which quickly transmutes to a lack of faith in the entrepreneur him- or herself. It's personal.
I don't know if divorce is more common among entrepreneurs than others. It wouldn't surprise me. Like many businesspeople in the start-up phase, we led pretty grim lives on the emotional and financial edge. More than once, I longed for my old job in New Jersey, where life had been saner, more predictable, and a paycheck was handed to me every week. Both spouses need to believe in the mission of an entrepreneurial venture, because both people will pay a high price for bringing a new business into the world, no matter what the outcome.
Sometimes people ask me why I didn't leave my husband back then. For one thing, it never occurred to me. He was, after all, still that cute guy I'd met at a conference. On alternate days, I was either infected by his manic optimism or terrified of it. And then there were the kids. And the cause, which we shared. Mostly we just woke up every day and did what was necessary to survive; we were treading water together, just trying to stay afloat. There wasn't any romance to it then, but there is some now, in retrospect.
Today the business is thriving, with $330 million in annual sales. Stonyfield has managed to remain true to its mission of environmental activism and helping small farmers, is the third-largest yogurt company in America, and is the largest producer of organic yogurt in the world. Our kids are teenagers; we have a vacation house. What would have become of our marriage if we had lost it all -- our cash and sweat equity, the investments of my mother, our families, our friends?
I honestly don't know. I'd like to think Gary and I would have kept cruising together, just down a different road. Maybe we would have taken turns at the wheel. But I can't change Gary's nature any more than he can change mine. So it's more likely that had Stonyfield failed, I'd have found myself swerving down that road again, riding shotgun on yet another wild ride.
Meg Cadoux Hirshberg lives in New Hampshire. She is collecting stories about couples and entrepreneurship.
