Not so long ago, we organized about 20 events a year at home and abroad, I was away from home about 6 weeks a year, employed 9 people, was negotiating with the landlord to expand our office, and drove a BMW X5. Now, less than three years later, we have hosted 4 events in the past year, I still employ 2 people, we have more than halved in terms of business space, and I drive an electric Peugeot 208. And this is mostly thanks to the effects of the corona pandemic that caused our sales to drop 80% overnight for a period of two years.
"'Thanks' he must mean sarcastically," I hear you thinking. However, nothing could be further from the truth. Admittedly, the past few years have been the most difficult of my entrepreneurial life, where throwing in the towel sometimes felt like the best choice. It ultimately kept me from doing the same, leaving me with no choice but to drastically change course.
I sold everything I no longer needed on the marketplace and threw away what was gathering dust in our warehouse. I cancelled the lease on part of our building, and with the help of friends I converted the space I was left with into a super-efficient and practical business space where every square inch is used. I simplified business processes where possible, discontinued non-essential and unprofitable activities, said "no" more often than "yes," did what I could myself, and said goodbye to staff who fortunately all quickly found new challenges.
Step by step, my business literally and figuratively became smaller, something I had never aspired to do as an entrepreneur. In fact, by cutting back in many areas, my business was now more efficient, more flexible and more profitable. And I gained more focus, more overview, more peace and space in my head and more time for children and family. Corona taught me valuable lessons that I am convinced would have passed me by in a life without Corona. Never would I have thought that sometimes cutting back actually achieves more. A lesson that I wish for everyone and that goes far beyond entrepreneurship alone.
For example, wouldn't it be interesting if we asked ourselves more often whether everything we design really serves a purpose?
After all, everything we don't design, we don't have to make. And everything we don't make is always more sustainable than what we do make. Take the traditional Dutch row house: are the hallways behind the front door, the attics that mostly serve as storage for deferred waste and our waste-creating way of building really still necessary? Or is it time, in our ambition to build more sustainably and provide everyone in the Netherlands with a good home quickly, that we rigorously revise old ingrained design habits?
Jeroen van Oostveen
Director-Owner MaterialDistrict