Does Emotionalism Help Entrepreneurs Succeed?

Emotionalism is often seen as a shortcoming in human behavior, and rightfully so. I try to be even-keeled when negotiating business transactions and try to maintain the long view when dealing with disputes with vendors and the like. And through the years, that approach has helped me survive all sorts of challenges. But it would be incorrect to say that I’m not emotional—to the contrary. I still get excited by the smallest moments … like the time I was in line at my local grocery and a young women in the next aisle, with biking shorts, a Livestrong wristband and a Dave Mathews t-shirt breathlessly placed just two items on the conveyor belt: a quart of fresh strawberries and a tin of our hot chocolate mix. A short story in the checkout lane; I wanted to jump the aisle, hug her, thank her and find out how the story was going to end.

The life of an entrepreneur can be an emotional roller-coaster—and it ought to be. I doubt you can have the passion to succeed in a new venture unless you are emotionally vested in it. It is a grind convincing others, especially those who care most about you, that your business idea is a good one and your instincts are sound. And even more so convincing yourself. I don’t think any entrepreneur could get the job done without a healthy dose of unbridled, schoolboy optimism.

The doppelganger of this, of course, is that there are days when you struggle to fight the feelings of dejection and remorse. For what it is worth, I’ve found that invariably, my worst days are often followed by very good ones and around the office we now laugh about this when beset by a confluence of bad news.

To illustrate … here’s an account of a day that qualifies as both one of my best, and one of my worst. It happened several years ago. I was in Ghana for the visit of US Commerce Secretary Ron Brown who served under President Clinton. Secretary Brown was a terrific businessman who, it seemed, found great joy in all aspects of doing business. He also embraced globalism well before it became widely accepted. It was no secret in Washington that he wanted to be named Secretary of State. And he used his post at Commerce to aggressively and enthusiastically promote US businesses abroad. As a consequence, he had a punishing worldwide travel schedule. The agenda for his trip to Ghana included advocacy for a global airline and for the usual sorts of extractive industries (oil, gas and minerals), trying to gain concessions from the government of Ghana.

Omanhene could not afford a lobbyist then, and we still can’t, now. I worked hard to make the case of why my small company deserved to be included in the trip. I flew to Washington, DC and met with various staff and with my Senator. It is not unusual for people to take an interest in my improbable company, and my efforts paid off. I was told that the Secretary very much enjoyed our chocolate bars.

We were invited for the Secretary’s keynote lunchtime speech in Ghana. We were at a table off to the side. That wasn’t a surprise, for we are a small company; I was thrilled to be included at all. The Secretary began his speech, and I felt elated to be part of the contingent of US companies doing business in this corner of the world. The Secretary started with the usual pleasantries and said he was extraordinarily proud of three businesses in particular and wanted to highlight each one. “Here, we go,” I thought. “He is going to mention Omanhene by name. Try not to look too self-satisfied.” Secretary Brown cited the first company—not us. I thought to myself, “he’s going to save us for last—try not to gloat.” Sure enough, he mentioned the second company and it was not us. I nodded at Kojo (my business partner), and he smiled back. “Let’s hear it, Mr. Secretary …”  Secretary Brown then mentioned the third company … XYX Corporation—not Omanhene.

I felt the urge to choke back the shame. We were such a small company—how could I have been so full of myself to think we’d merit a place in his speech? I tried to look unaffected but inside, my emotions were roiling. Pride, shame, acute embarrassment … a miserable stew. I had worked so hard to build up my company and every trip back and forth to Ghana cost a fortune. I had worked so hard to be a part of the Secretary’s trip and all for naught—a waste, and one my family and I could ill afford. I wanted to cry. I tried to focus on the end of the speech, but the heat of the oppressive Ghanaian afternoon sun and the exhaustion of traveling six time zones took its toll.

Then, the Secretary looked right at me and said, “But there is one company doing something extraordinary here and it is something we are all very proud of. The Omanhene Cocoa Bean Company was founded by …”

And there it was. Secretary Brown included us in his official remarks. The audience looked over to the corner to where I sat, wondering, I’m sure, just who in the heck is Steve Wallace and what is his unpronounceable company that the Secretary of Commerce is enthusing over?  “I don’t recall seeing him on the flight over—was he in First Class?”

The elation, the relief, and the pride were nearly overwhelming and I was so humbled and thrilled and happy that the urge to cry was more pronounced than before.

I’ve wondered if the CEOs of the established businesses, the multinationals whose lobbyists simply made a call or two in order to be included on this trip, ever felt the range of emotions that coursed through me that afternoon? Was business ever that personal for them? When you jet around the world in first class or in your company plane, does the feeling of entitlement suck the sense of humility and the humanity out of the room? Do gemstone cufflinks and bespoke shirts serve as a carapace to keep emotions taut and restrained? Do their employees know how much they care? Have they ever seen them want to hug a customer?

For me, I think it is imperative to allow yourself the freedom to indulge the emotional highs and lows. How many people have told me I was crazy to start this business? How often did this make me—what is the word—angry? Did this frustration, this anger push me to prove something to myself and others and did this play a crucial role in my success? Don’t we all simply want to show the other kids on the playground that we aren’t screw-ups?

Often, talk of entrepreneurship devolves into a series of neat aphorisms from Sun-Tzu’s Art of War to Machiavelli’s The Prince. I believe the measure of success is marked by the emotional commitment made, and emotionalism is the antithesis of intellect—indeed, the measure of emotional commitment needs to be strongest when all objective benchmarks tell you to quit. It is something that cuts right to the very heart of the matter. And it just might be the best predictor of entrepreneurial success.