It Takes a Village

We’ve all heard the saying:

“It takes a village to raise a child.”

And it makes sense.

As parents, we understand that no matter how much we love our children or how hard we work for them, other people will play a part in who they become.

Teachers will teach them things we can’t.
Coaches will push them in ways we can’t.
Family will support them when we can’t be there.
Friends, mentors and people we may never even meet will leave fingerprints on their lives.

We don’t look at that as weakness.

We call it a village.

So why does that thinking disappear when we’re trying to raise something else?

A business.

A dream.

An idea that started in your head and you’re trying to turn into something real.

Suddenly, we’re supposed to know everything.

Build the product. Create the website. Market it. Sell it. Understand taxes. Take pictures. Make content. Handle customers. Keep the books. Make connections. Solve problems nobody warned us were coming.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, we’re supposed to act like needing help means we aren’t really building it ourselves.

I don’t believe that anymore.

If it takes a village to raise a child, why wouldn’t it take a village to raise a business?

Your village might be the person who tells somebody about your business when you’re not in the room.

It might be another entrepreneur who tells you about a mistake they made so you don’t have to make the same one.

It’s the customer who took a chance on you early.

The friend who reposts every drop.

The person who gives you an introduction.

The person who answers the phone when you’re ready to quit.

The person who tells you the truth when your idea isn’t as good as you think it is.

And sometimes your village is another business doing the exact same thing you’re doing.

That’s the part we struggle with.

Because somewhere along the way, we were taught to see everybody operating in our space as competition.

But somebody else’s motion doesn’t have to stop yours.

Their win doesn’t automatically become your loss.

Sometimes they know something you don’t. Sometimes you have access to somebody they don’t. Sometimes putting both tables beside each other brings more people into the room than either table would’ve attracted alone.

Together doesn’t mean dependent.

You still have to do the work.

You still have to make the decisions.

You still have to get up when nobody is checking on you.

Nobody can want your business more than you do.

But being responsible for what you’re building doesn’t mean you have to build it in isolation.

I’ve started realizing that very little of what any of us build is truly built alone.

Somebody taught us.

Somebody encouraged us.

Somebody bought from us.

Somebody shared us.

Somebody corrected us.

Somebody connected us.

Somebody believed.

There are fingerprints all over our crowns.

And eventually, if we’re fortunate enough to keep moving, we get the opportunity to become part of somebody else’s village too.

Share what you learned.

Make the introduction.

Buy from the small business.

Share the post.

Tell somebody about them when they’re not in the room.

Open a door—and don’t be afraid if somebody else walks through it too.

Because helping somebody else move forward doesn’t mean you’ve stopped moving.

There’s room for more than one crown.

Maybe that’s part of what being Crowned by Motion is supposed to mean.

Not just being able to look back at everything you built—

but being able to look around and see some of the people who moved because you did.

It takes a village.

Maybe businesses aren’t so different.

The Pursuit Continues — TOGETHER.

Crowned by Motion.