Three years before I arrived in the Berkshires in 2011, I watched my mother's new, small business collapse. 

 

A relative had encouraged her to launch a small trucking operation and hire other Vietnamese community members as drivers. From the outside, transportation logistics can look deceptively simple: you're simply moving goods

efficiently from point A to point B. Reality is always more complicated. From volatile weather, fluctuating fuel costs, tight delivery windows, there are countless risks between turning a profit versus falling into a financial sinkhole. For a young refugee entrepreneur, the barriers were enormous. 

 

In the end, the business required more upfront capital than my mother could sustain. We lost our home, along with many other essentials in the process. As a teenager, I couldn't understand these drastic changes to our simple life. All I wanted was to blend in and feel "normal." To me, my mom's risky decisions, along with her accented English, seemed to jeopardize that dream.

 

Now, I'm old enough to understand how limited this perspective was, and to have empathy towards the pain I was feeling, however misdirected. I used to think the worst financial years were due to my mom's business failing, and her not understanding English and American business culture enough. I vowed to never take this challenging route and instead attend an American college, secure a "normal" job in corporate America, and one day achieve stability and health insurance. My new life would be a steady line of check boxes of what I thought a professional career should be.

 

In the fall of 2011, I had two suitcases and a one-way ticket to Albany. I was on a full-ride scholarship, 3,000 miles away from home at Williams College, to begin that journey.

 

Looking back, it's painfully obvious how short-sighted I was. The year we lost everything was 2008. It was not my mom's failure as a business owner (spoiler alert: she is a great small-business owner loved dearly by her clients) it was the failure of American systems and institutions that left low-income families like mine, striving for upward mobility, vulnerable and unprotected. Her support network was also incredibly limited. She did not have resources that I do today, like SCORE mentors, small-business technical assistance, and free local workshops. My mom felt like she was truly alone on her entrepreneurial journey.

 

Later, I also understood that it was not my mom's lack of critical thinking that made her choose the route of entrepreneurship instead of having a "normal" job. It was the fact that these places often do not let people like her in. As a Vietnamese refugee, a single mother with two kids to feed, and no college degree, she needed a job to survive. So, she created one. My mom became a successful entrepreneur because she understood something that is fundamental to being one: the key is survival.

 

It's been decades since and a lot has changed. My mom has been running her small business successfully for the past 20 years. I, myself, left the corporate world to create work that was more meaningful and fulfilling. Now, I understand first hand that trial and error is a part of the small-business journey.

 

In this new year, I'm thankful to return to what I know. I'm thankful to be an entrepreneur who comes from an underrepresented background. To have a mom who persisted with all the grit required to be a small business owner and a mother at the same time. I know we are not alone.

 

I am thankful to all the small business owners who work tirelessly at pursuing the line of work and innovation they believe in. I am thankful to the ecosystem and community that supports them and benefits from a stronger local economy of small business owners. Through New Leaf, I will be placing that gratitude in action by highlighting some of these local stories here in the Berkshires.

 

Lani Willmar is an Economic Recovery Corps Fellow at 1Berkshire and a small-business owner working at the intersection of rural economic development, workforce development, and equitable entrepreneurship. As someone who grew up in an underrepresented community, New Leaf is a monthly column that serves to spotlight the stories of underrepresented founders who are building, adapting, and thriving with the support of a powerful ecosystem in the Berkshires. Each piece highlights not just the entrepreneurs themselves, but the community of mentors, resources, and partners that help make their success possible.