A promising opportunity and an unexpected ending.

A prospect ghosted me. I wasn’t even mad.

We’d have an exhilarating strategy call. It went for almost two hours. Insight was abundant, and so accurate. She confirmed that I ‘got’ her.

I was reeling out lots of recommendations, though I often prefaced them with “It’s a bit early to say this, but…” I was in my element. This was my exact ICP.

Because I know of some difficulty she is going through, I had initially offered a free clarity call. One off. I’ll just give you a few pointers and you’ll be on your way.

But given the scope and depth of our conversation, we both recognized that there was a lot more work to do. I did not feel salesy at all. I made a direct offer. It only made sense. I let her know she would have to make an investment. She nodded with a smile. She said she had gotten a ton of value from the conversation already. I knew that. Of course.

I said I would follow up with an email within 24 hours. I did. I spent a lot of time deciding what price to quote. I did not want to charge the ‘premium’ rate I know my skills are worth, because I knew it would be tough for her, and I did not want to scare her off. I decided to take something higher than my last rate, but lower than my ideal.

I sent off the email feeling confident, reasonable and kind. The inspiration in our call was too real. She would definitely sign up. She had confirmed so on the call.

I never heard from her again.

A part of me was amused.

Really? Is this how people behave? Complete ghosting, after such a rich conversation?

Did I give her too much value on the call? Is that why she did this? Felt she wouldn’t need comprehensive coaching after all?

Was my price actually too high?

I was a bit amused, and partly disappointed. But most importantly—I wasn’t even mad.

Coaching or Content?

For the past few months, I have worked very hard on being a successful online coach. I paid for courses with multiple LinkedIn strategists. I decided a niche. I wrote the content. I sent the ghastly cold DMs, and got ghastly ignored. I sent voice notes to strangers. I rebranded my profile on LinkedIn and other social media accounts to be seen as a bonafide coach. I commented on the LinkedIn posts written by industry leaders my ICP follow. I launched a website, built a funnel, everything they said I should do and that I should not do.

And where did that get me?

Not very far. A handful of clients. Low rates. A few great testimonials, yes. But nothing, nothing close to the $10,000 a month business I was promised. In fairness, I did not stick to their formula completely. Actually, I never completed their courses. So I perhaps should not posture as the one that did it all. But their methods never fully sat right with me.

One thing that started to pick up for me was content. The coaches I worked with often noticed and remarked on how good I was with creating striking posts and media. The evidence followed—high engagement posts, follows, and all that. I attracted people who later became clients through my content and the follow-up methods I had learned. But they always warned that content was not enough. You had to do the ugly thing—start conversations.

Conversations are not that easy to start or progress towards a sale. After a while, being a writer and creator at heart, I started to enjoy the content for its own sake. I knew that being read was enough for me. I started to fantasize about being a content creator. It’s just that that seems to be such a dirty word, especially for a high capacity intellectual.

The Ecosystem comes alive

Yet, the reality was staring me in the face. Against popular advice from coaches, I started a podcast. They said it was a distraction for me at this stage. I said it was my God-given vision, my destiny. I did not mind if the coaching never succeeded, if that came at the cost of the podcast.

I launched a website. Waste of time, they said. My life’s work, I said. A place to write my own essays and have them live as a permanent archive, rather than a fleeting item in the internet’s memory. A hub for the masses who would discover me shortly.

Email newsletter? I kept at it. The idea of writing to a group of intentional, private readers was deeply satisfying. They may not buy anything from me. I did not actually want them to. Being read was enough.

Lead magnet? Well, I wrote a small book. Not to attract buyers, though I imagined it might. I wrote it for myself.

Music? I kept recording.

Short form content? I became a fan of Tiktok and a student of IG. I signed up on Threads and paid for X subscription. I was unstoppable. I could not get over my passion for creating.

I started a Youtube channel, paid for lots of software subscriptions, bought hardware…

This, I told myself and others, was the ecosystem. My personal world of content. The Taiwo Ash Empire.

And though I wanted to coach clients still, I secretly knew I was content to keep creating if they never came. My coaches shook their head in pity. I had lost my way. I realized this road might be more profitable for me afterall. Also, more risky… I soon realized I might better get a job again.

The Perfect Moment

So when this conversation with a prospect came, it was at perfect timing. She was going to be evidence that I could run a content studio and run a coaching business at the same time. My other clients had come when I was not as active with content. This one came right when I was switching tabs between Final Cut Pro and Riverside. In the thick of media production, not even just content anymore.

I had found her naturally. At a networking event (a party) and progressed her from a lead to a prospect with nothing but care. So when it became a business opportunity, I was amazed. Great stuff!

And while I would have been grateful to sign her up, it really was not about the money. It would have been good for my coaching business to get some moisture again. But I was happy and content doing content (no pun intended). I would have had to make out time to coach her, which I was very happy to do. I have a real passion and skillset for helping people progress their careers. This seemed to be a perfect case. Content in the morning, coaching in the noon (certainly not daily, but you catch my drift).

Within the first day, I kept wondering why she had not responded. But it was a distant thought—I was actually busy enough. Within 48 hours, I was chuckling. Really? By the third day, I was more curious about the nature of human beings than rueful. I was behind on publishing my many podcast episodes, and still taking on more guests. I was busy, and open to a different kind of work.

She left me hanging, but I don’t mind. All desperation has left the window. That happens on the path to purpose. Still feeling out the balance of my posture. I am a creator who coaches.