entrepreneurship is darts: playing with just one shot
Some time ago, somewhere in the depths of the Internet, I stumbled upon an interesting concept. Maybe it was Paul Graham who first talked about it. Or Shaan Puri. Or Gandhi, why not. But the concept was simple. It compared the opportunities to take risk — like those of starting a new venture — to darts. The number of darts you have in your hand depends on the wealth you are born into. If you are born into a poor family, you get no darts to throw. Middle class — one dart. Wealthy family — infinite number of darts.
I think of this analogy often, and a few questions arise once in a while. Can we craft new darts throughout our life? If we are born with little money and have only one (or no) opportunity to take a risk, how do we create a new one? But above all, how does it apply to me? Where do I stand on a scale from 0 to infinite number of darts? Am I bending the norm or just following the predefined script, set for me by my parents? Am I doomed to fail after my first attempt at entrepreneurship, or is there still hope?
So I am sharing this little piece of my personal history, hoping it will clarify some thoughts.
Childhood
My parents met at one of the city's factory, where they both worked as security guards. Mother had finished nine classes of education; father — eight. When I was born on a Wednesday morning 32 years ago, the Soviet Union had just collapsed. The family struggled to make ends meet. My mother would collect food stamps and spend 2 hours in the biting cold on a harsh January day to get bread and milk for her two children, my 7-year-old brother and a newborn me.
School
My parents couldn't afford a nanny, so I went to a public daycare. It sucked. Porridge and fish balls — thankfully, not on the same plate — traumatized me for the next ten years. Then there was the school. It wasn't as bad as my brother's, but it was still a public school. Collectively, the teachers 'diagnosed' me as a slow learner. One way to call someone a retard. But to their surprise, my grades were good — I was a top student in the class across all disciplines. I loved mathematics, and I started participating in math competitions. My mother was friends with the mother of my best friend. Like me, he was also a top student. At the beginning of an 8th grade, his parents moved him to a better, semi-private school. My mother bit the bullet and moved me too. She and my dad could barely afford the payments — a whooping 7000 rubles a year (280 US dollars).
When I hit my teenage years, I struggled to keep up with school. My grades went down. I was still a top student in the classes, but my focus got very selective. Classes that interested me — mathematics, physics, and computer science — were easy. But everything else… To say the least, I barely graduated. Some days, I would skip school to compile Gentoo at home; on other days, my mother couldn't get me out of bed because I would secretly spend the entire night spinning up my own IRC server.
Despite all expectations that I would fail the exams and face the same fate as my parents — working at a factory as a security guard, — I graduated and applied to three top universities in Russia. My final grades were far from perfect, but I still made it to the best university. When I got in, I found out that I was at the bottom of the list of accepted students. Barely made it, again.
University
Throughout the undregrad years, I couldn't decide what to do with my life. The only thing that I could stay focused on for a long period of time was coding. Apps, websites, games — anything. Grades-wise, I was one of the worst students in any class that wasn't related to programming. Instead of going to lectures, I started making money building websites for clients and doing CS assignments for other students. During the third year, I hit a breaking point and contemplated dropping out. I couldn't understand why I needed a degree at the time. Thankfully, I pushed through and still graduated.
Immigration
I met my love in the grad school, and we married shortly after. I was 24 — young and naive, but still ambitious — when we decided to immigrate to Canada so that my wife could continue her studies. Studies, however, weren't as much on my agenda. I just wanted to start making money. Promptly after landing in Canada, I got a job as a software engineer. Then a better one. We started building our wealth. I was excited to make real money. It still barely covered our living expenses in Montreal, but compared to my parents, it was the money they couldn't make in 10 years. For that reason, I started sending them money to help. Meanwhile, my wife's parents were sending us money because they also wanted to help. It felt strange, but we didn't question it. My wife didn't see a problem. After all, her parents could afford the luxury of helping their daughter.
After six years of working, my wife and I managed to save up. In 2022, when we separated and divided our assets, we each ended up with about $80K.
You probably know the rest of the story from this post.
Darts
Coming back to the 'darts' analogy, this was my one shot. My family was poor, but still had just enough money to transfer me to a better school. We didn't have a lot to eat but had just enough for me not to go into crime.
That school that my mother transferred me to led me to a better university. The university led me to Canada, which in turn allowed me to save up for two years of unemployment. This was my shot, and now it's over. I have to start from scratch, building a safety net, so I can craft my next dart and shoot again.