If You Want a Crown, Stay Out of the Arena.

Everyone seems to want the crown but no one wants the scars.

People want to be a founder—until they realize what it actually takes.

There’s a fantasy we’ve built around entrepreneurship, perhaps the creation of anything of value in fact, that is polished and projected daily on platforms like LinkedIn. Scroll for more than 30 seconds minutes and you’ll see the same script:

“We’re thrilled to announce…”

“After much reflection, I’ve decided to…”

“Humbled to share that we’ve hit a new milestone…”

Actually, that last one irks me every time I see it: no one using the word “humbled” in these posts is experiencing humility. They’re proud, excited, maybe even a little self-congratulatory, or they just clicked “share with my network” out of convenience and have no thoughts about the post whatsoever.

What someone actually means when they say they are “humbled” is honored.

What they say is humbled—because in the world of professional storytelling, we’ve convinced ourselves that modesty is marketable.

But real humility doesn’t post well. It looks like questioning your value when no one replies to your pitch, story, or message. It sounds like second-guessing everything because the money’s running out. It feels like doing the work anyway—when there’s nothing to announce, and no one watching.

That’s the side of entrepreneurship no one shares. Because the truth is, this path isn’t built for image or affirmation—it’s built for endurance. It strips away comfort, exposes weakness, and forces you to keep showing up even when no one’s clapping.

Social media—especially LinkedIn—has become a hall of mirrors for professional identity: a place where we celebrate carefully curated wins and hope that the algorithm validates our self-congratulations.

But the truth behind most of those posts is far messier.

What doesn’t get shared are the months of sleepless nights, the calls that go unanswered, the debt, the doubt, the friends who slowly disappear when you stop showing up the way they expect you to. Entrepreneurship, if you’re doing it for real, isn’t glamorous. It’s not designed for comfort, for control, or for applause.

And it definitely isn’t designed for kings or queens. Because this path doesn’t reward appearances—it demands endurance. It doesn’t hand you a crown—it asks what you’re willing to sacrifice just to create an expression of your reality that hasn’t existed before.

Don’t Expect a Salary—Expect to Starve

One of the most telling signs that someone isn’t ready to be an entrepreneur is when their business plan includes a full-time salary for themselves before the company has even earned a dollar.

It’s a rookie move—but a common one.

Many first-time founders build their financial projections around covering their personal expenses, treating venture capital or angel investment like a paycheck generator. But here’s the reality: investors don’t fund lifestyles—they fund outcomes.

No seasoned investor is going to pay your rent, your student loans, or your healthcare. That’s actually the same way that clients think. They’re not writing checks so you can feel secure while you figure things out.

They’re writing checks because they believe you can create something, a return—and that you’re willing to suffer for it.

It’s not because they’re cruel, it’s because of one of two things. If they are an investor (a good one) they’ve seen what it actually takes. If they are a potential client, they know how hard they work to create their own path, and partnering with you can very much influence the outcome of that path.

Every great startup story you’ve ever read began in discomfort:

• Founders maxing out credit cards.

• Sleeping in their office.

• Skipping meals to keep building.

• Hearing “no” a hundred times before one “yes” changes everything.

And if you’re not willing to face that uncertainty—if your first instinct is to negotiate for stability before you’ve built anything that works—then you’re not an entrepreneur. You’re someone who wants to be in charge without the cost.

This is what you hear rarely: you’ll probably starve before you succeed.

Not just financially, but emotionally, physically, relationally.

Because when you’re building something that doesn’t exist yet, you’re the one who has to feed it. And you’ll only survive that if the fire is already burning inside of you. Not because someone is paying you to care, but because you can’t not create it. That’s the difference between being an entrepreneur and someone who just covets the idea of some made up regal title. A king wants a throne.

An entrepreneur starts with nothing and no matter if they succeed or not earns every inch.

The World Will Love You—Until It Doesn’t

In the beginning, everyone loves that you're off doing something new.

The moment you share your idea—at the bar, in a group chat, or on social—you’ll hear:

• “That’s genius.”

• “You’re really doing it!”

• “This could be huge.”

You’ll get DMs of support. You’ll be introduced to people who “might be able to help.” Friends and family will tell you how proud they are that you’re chasing your dream.

But make no mistake: that admiration is not about your idea. It’s about the potential of your idea—before it threatens the status quo. Because the moment your vision begins to materialize, it starts making people uncomfortable. Not because it’s wrong. But because you are doing something they’ve thought about doing—and didn’t. Because you’re breaking a script they’re still following. Because your progress forces reflection.

This is when the tide turns.

You’ll start to feel the silence grow. The check-in texts slow down. The once-supportive circle starts to thin out.

At first, you’ll be too busy to notice. You’re in the build phase—burning the candle at both ends, eating whatever you can afford, trying to get a minimum viable product off the ground. But eventually, you’ll lift your head and realize that people you thought would be there… aren’t.

They don’t hate you. They just don’t know how to relate to you anymore. This is the moment every entrepreneur faces. It’s the point where being liked or being understood can no longer be the goal. Because what you’re building requires you to go beyond approval—into isolation, friction, and uncertainty.

This is where people give up. They confuse loneliness for failure. But it’s not failure—it’s transformation. You’re not just building a business. You’re becoming someone new. And not everyone gets to come with you.

That doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means you’re doing something real.

The Three Types of People You’ll Meet on the Way

As your journey continues, the shift becomes clear.

The applause fades, and the silence speaks louder than the cheers ever did. You’ll start to see patterns in how people respond to your progress—not just the success, but the change in you. Everyone starts out in your corner. But when things get real, they sort themselves into three distinct groups:

The Ghosts

These are the people who simply disappear.

At first, you’re too consumed with building to notice. You’re drowning in logistics, funding decks, product decisions, and sleepless nights.

Then one day you look up and think,

“I haven’t heard from them in a while…”

You reach out. Maybe you meet for coffee. It’s polite. Surface-level. But there’s a distance that wasn’t there before. They’re not resentful—they’re just disengaged. They don’t ask about your work, and they don’t share much about theirs. You part ways, and that’s it. No fight, no fallout. Just a fade-out.

Their season in your story is over.

The Skeptics

These ones are louder.

They show up with skepticism, subtle jabs, or passive-aggressive remarks.

They might say you’re “too obsessed,” “not the same anymore,” or accuse you of chasing something unrealistic. They’ll point out what’s wrong with your idea—usually from the safety of a salaried job or a couch with good Wi-Fi and it won’t be constructive.

And here’s the truth: they’re not critiquing you or your startup—they’re protecting their own comfort.

Your courage pokes holes in the logic they’ve built their lives around. So they reject your progress to preserve their certainty. And honestly? That’s their right. But it’s not your problem.

The True Supporters

Then there are the few—the rare few—who stay close.

They don’t just cheer from the sidelines. They get in the dirt with you. They ask the hard questions, hold space for your breakdowns, and remind you of your why when everything feels like it’s falling apart. They don’t need a stake in your company. They already feel invested in you. And when you succeed, they celebrate—not out of envy, but out of alignment. Because your win feels like a reflection of their belief in you.

These people are gold.

You won’t have many of them—but you won’t forget them either.

This is the human cost of creating something real.

Not everyone is meant to come with you.

Not everyone can.

But once you learn to let go of personally needing to be understood, you’ll be free to chase something far greater: the truth of what you’re building, and the person you’re becoming to build it.

But here’s the irony:

The same people who disappear, doubt you, or quietly cheer from the shadows—they’re all responding to the same thing: your audacity to rearrange the familiar.

You’re not just building a business. You’re reshaping what they thought was fixed—what you once believed was fixed. It ultimately changes their reality and the resonance comes from the anxiety of not having their own control or influence on it.

And this leads to a deeper truth that every real creator eventually comes to understand:

There Are No New Ideas—Only New Configurations

We like to think that innovation is about originality. That the goal is to create something the world has never seen before. But that’s not how real breakthroughs work.

In truth, nothing is entirely original. Everything we make is built on the bones of what came before. From tech products to spiritual beliefs, human beings are driven to reconfigure the known—to combine, rename, remix, and reframe the pieces we’ve inherited in order to find new meaning.

That instinct isn’t just entrepreneurial. It’s deeply human.

We see it everywhere:

• Corporations invent new jargon to describe the same business processes.

• Tech companies relabel “agile” methods with trademarked frameworks.

• People leave Western religion in search of Eastern philosophies—not always because the principles are different, but because they sound new enough to inspire insight.

We don’t discard old ideas—we reinvent them. Because sometimes, calling it something different is what allows us to finally see it for what it is.

That’s what entrepreneurship really is:

Not inventing from nothing, but re-seeing what already exists and configuring it into something that works better, feels clearer, or reaches further. And that drive—to reshape the world just enough to leave your fingerprint on it—that has to come from within.

No investor, no team, no mentor can give you that. Only you know what it is you’re trying to make sense of. Only you can feel the pull to bring it into form.

None of this works if you’re doing it for external validation. Not for applause. Not for followers. Not even for money—at least, not at first.

Because building something from nothing requires a kind of energy that doesn’t come from the outside world.

Entrepreneurship isn’t glamorous.

It’s lonely. It’s messy. It’s filled with doubt, debt, disappointment, and days where nothing makes sense. If you’re chasing this path because you want control, status, or admiration—what you’re really chasing is a throne.

| Thrones come with robes, rituals, and the illusion of power.

Entrepreneurship doesn’t.

Entrepreneurship strips you down.

It tests your resilience, rewires your identity, and asks you to keep moving even when no one is watching and nothing is guaranteed. A king wants the crown. A real entrepreneur just wants the work.

They want to build because they have to—because there’s something inside them that won’t rest until it’s real.

So if you’re asking, “Should I be an entrepreneur?”

Start here:

Would you do it even if it meant being broke, misunderstood, and alone?

Would you still show up if no one ever clapped?

If the answer is yes—

You’re not chasing a crown. You’re building something real. And that might not make you a king…

But it makes you something far rarer:

| A creator, an inventor, an entrepreneur.

Author’s note:

If you’ve made it this far, thank you. I didn’t write this to go viral. I wrote it because I needed to remind myself of why I started—and what this path actually demands.

If you’re out there building something, wrestling with doubt, losing sleep, or wondering if you’re crazy for caring this much—just know you’re not alone. And you’re not wrong for wanting more.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this:

You don’t need permission to create something meaningful.

You just need the courage to keep going when no one’s watching.

So here’s my ask:

If this resonated with you, reach out. Tell me what you’re creating and how you’re turning your vision into a reality. Share your struggle.

Let’s stop pretending we have it all figured out and start building—together.

– Nikola