Ever since I was a little kid - I wanted to be a princess like my mom. My mom would come into the office dress in silky light blue, hair curled in wisps around her face, black choker around her neck. I'd always ask her, "When can I be a princess?" To which she said, "Once you get your braces off."
Well, getting my braces turned out to be a long, drawn-out, 5-year procedure that involved many awkward years of school photos.
I remember my first party: I was 14, it was a glamour party, and I was able to help with the stations and getting kids dressed while my mom face painted. I had been practicing my face paint skills with my mom for the past year, and I couldn't wait to get out and start doing parties myself. I started doing princess parties, my first princess being the classic "Blue princess" aka Cinderella. "No eyeliner," my mom would say, as I got ready. My mom or my dad would still have to drive me to parties, but that was okay. The first party I ever drove myself to was an Ariel party. My mom made the balloons for me, because I couldn't twist yet. She got me a little Aquacolor face paint kit - it was tiny, like the size of a colour pencil box, but I loved that kit and was constantly practicing face painting on myself. I wanted to be good at this. I wanted to be a princess. I was proud of the work, too - I've always been a saver. I saved my first $1,000 from the time I was 12 years old, because I literally saved every bit of money that people would give me for holiday and birthday gifts. I'd meticulously save up the money I made from princess parties, not touching my bank account all through high school. (I was spoiled, of course, I didn't pay for rent or for food unless I went out. I whined about paying for gas for my truck. I wish I only paid for gas now!)
I spent 3.5 years working for my mom in highschool. The work was perfect for a highschool/college student - only on the weekend, the occasional day care during the week. It made (Better) money than a part time job you'd work all week, with only two days of work. I knew in Senior year of highschool that I was going to move up to Macon when I accepted my letter of acceptance to Wesleyan college. I talked with my mom about taking the plunge into getting my own gigs up there. Even if I only got one, two, four jobs a month - that would be some extra income I could use for necessities, food, even for fun. It was perfect. Except, I was terrible at talking to people! I dreaded phone calls. I advertised on a website called Gigmasters and I clearly remember that first summer. Gigmasters sends bids that clients submit to vendors. Once you submit your bid, it is helpful to call potential customers in order to try and book them. I acutely remember submitting my bids, awkwardly calling people I'd never met or talked to in my life and asking them if they wanted to book a face painter/princess (now balloon artist!) My mom had taught me a couple of simple balloon animals and I also took it upon myself to watch Youtube to learn more and build up my balloon animal portfolio. Terrible as I was on the phone, I managed to book maybe two or three gigs over the summer. Fall rolled around, and I started school at Wesleyan. I remember one excited afternoon where I managed to book three gigs in a day - and two gigs per weekend that August! I was so proud of myself for doing it. Gigs started to become more steady - I'd get jobs nearly ever weekend from then on out. Occasionally, my mom would take calls for me and book events. But, I started consistently placing bids for clients, calling them, writing up invoices, taking photos of my costumes, practicing balloons. I wasn't new to doing parties - I was new to entrepreneurship, but gradually, the calls started getting easier and easier.
I learned a lot of things the hard way the first year or two. Such as, take deposits - before you end up driving all the way to a party and getting cancelled on! Some people, I'd call on the phone, and they'd yell at me! Some people were just plain awkward to talk to.
But I learned, and soon started a steady stream of business that kept me working each weekend, and I'd have to take weekends off to go visit home soon enough. I started getting good reviews. Booking more. Buying costumes. Regularly ordering supplies. Talking on the phone like a pro. The business that was supposed to only be a one to four gigs a month type thing, turned into a full blown, steady stream of weekly business with 3-6 gigs a weekend. Weekdays were filled with calling potential clients between classes, doing invoices, practicing more balloons. I started advertising on some more websites. Getting better clients, bigger gigs, regulars.
The entrepreneurship and the love for what I did made me a workaholic. I loved saving up more and more money from my gigs - I was still very meticulous with saving. I loved starting to explore Georgia, seeing the state. And the fact that it was in my own hands just... I don't know, it made me assume this kind of responsibility that I felt blessed to have at my age. Running a business is hard, and it's frustrating, but it's incredibly fulfilling and gives you incredible freedom. Doing events changed my personality from someone timid and introverted - to someone still introverted, but someone that could be extroverted, that could be driven, that could be a go-getter. A business woman. I loved that title. I loved the work. I couldn't have done it without my mom, and I've been incredibly blessed for that. I couldn't have done it without the gift of my truck from my grandparents, and I'm so blessed for that, too. I'd like to say I did it all by myself, but that's a boldfaced lie. I'm still proud, though. Proud that I took those gifts and made them into something sustainable.
Give a man a fish - feed him for the day. Give him a fishing rod - feed him for a lifetime.
My mom never coddled me. Once I was out of the house, I was on my own. Even in highschool - if I wanted things - I paid for them. But my mom gave my something that I will always attest is infinitely more valuable: She gave me the skills and the tools to become a business woman, and for that, I will thank her more than I ever would have been able to had she just given or bought me things. In metaphorical terms, he gave me the fishing rod that made me a fisherman. This business has shaped my entire personality as a woman: I am fiercely independent, I live and breathe capitalism and free economics, I love researching tax policies, and I have a damn good work ethic. I've seen different cultures, developed a love for people of all backgrounds, all races. Shared in their joy at different events. Made little girls giddy with joy over their favourite princess coming to visit them. I've been to beautiful houses in rich buckhead - wealth I could never imagine - I've played the chicken dance with a birthday girl in a wheelchair in the middle of a rainy pecan tree farm in a crowded trailer. I've taken events for deaf children only to be told, to my shock, that I'm the only vendor who was willing to accept the gig. I've learned the art of people, and that's an invaluable lesson that has helped me in physical therapy. I don't worship money, but I value it for the hard work that it represents. I understand the value of it now that I've worked for it for years and years. I value the independence that saving money since high school has given me. I am not rich, but I am comfortable. I live sustainably. I am self-made, and I revel in what that freedom and knowledge has given me. To me, working gives me the freedom to do what I want when I do take time off. I can go out without worrying what my bank account balance is. I can buy nice things. No, I don't have insurance to allow me to get insulin whenever I want, but I take comfort in the fact of knowing that I have a cushion in which I know I can buy insulin when I need it.
Of course, there's a dark side to all that, too. Going through college, I did take it too far. I'd skip out on important events, or work holidays, just for an extra dollar. Friends/significant others would get mad at me for that. I was stingy for a long time before I learned balance. And what's more... I fell victim to a lot of jealousy, which is something I do not say proudly. I love that I work for all of the reasons I've stated above. But I would get jealous, watching friends be given money, or taken on shopping trips with their mom. Their parents giving them money. I shouldn't have, but I did. How come they were just given these things, while I came home Sunday nights, back aching and drained from events? I would brush people off as lazy, many times unfairly. It was so silly of me to get jealous of petty things like that - but for a long time, I did. I did get too obsessed with chasing the dollar and working, and I knew it. Even when I had saved up enough that working on weekends wasn't always necessary - I found it hard to turn down gigs and still found myself working weekends, missing dinners, being late to things I'd promised I'd be at. I skipped out on a lot of college events - candlelighting/alumnae ceremony at college, pep rallies, the like. I found myself working for the sake of working, unable to turn down people requesting me to work their parties. I'd pledge days off to people and then cave and book something at the last second. I almost killed myself in a car accident on the way to work one day. I've gotten tickets because of speeding to gigs. The idea of having no money in my bank account scared me, and I literally slaved through weekends and even skipped classes a lot just to work gigs to ensure that never happened. I'm not brilliant, but I consider myself reasonably intelligent, as I've been able to get good grades all throughout college. Before I worked every weekend, I had incredibly good grades in college - I'd make a game of memorizing the study material after reading it multiple times and see how many 100's I could get on exams in class in a row. Tests were easy. At Wesleyan, I would take a good grade - but a lower grade - in exchange for working. No, it wouldn't be the highest grade I could have gotten if I'd studied weekends. But I took pride in the fact that I could still get the grades I needed while working. In grad school, I took it a little too far - I probably needed to work less, study more, because I was distracted and the school work was harder and I made the mistake of thinking I could coast. My grades did suffer. I had to cut back on working.
If I could go back and teach young, budding entrepreneur Lacy, anything - it would be to chill the f*** out. Maybe not sacrifice so many experiences and holidays. Drive slower. Study a little harder, work a little less. Rest... don't take only one day off per month. Don't be so stingy with money. Never put money and work before relationships and people. These are all lessons I've had to learn the hard way, and I'm glad I've learned them, but I wish I had known them before. I'm a workaholic. I have my reasons for being so, and my party business is one of my proudest accomplishments. I've had so many gifts and firsthand insights into the human experience, and I'm so wealthy in those experiences, so blessed to have seen what I've seen, to have lived what I've lived. I find purpose in what I do, it's hard work, but I would never have put myself through all those long days if I wasn't passionate about the work I was doing. My advice to others? Obvious, of course - don't be like me and make work the first thing in your life. But, value your accomplishments, and value to merit of a hard days' work. Use the tools you've been gifted with, whether it's a skill your family taught you, or something else. We, as humans, are so incredibly capable and we are built to do things we never thought ourselves capable of. Work will always be hard - but if you love it, you'll find it worth it. Do something that makes you grow as a person. You are capable of more than you give yourself credit for, if you push yourself. You've got the tools to make it. Work hard. Love life. Be a fisherman.
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