Starting a business is often painted as exhilarating—a moment filled with hope, ambition, and the thrill of stepping into the unknown. My day one of opening my law firm was all of those things, but also surprisingly mundane and sobering.
At the time, I was living in Kissimmee, FL, and my previous corporate office was in Tampa. For two years, I commuted an hour and a half daily to Tampa. But now, my journey led to Bartow, FL, a rural town nestled in Polk County, about an hour away. Unlike the bustling interstates to Tampa, the drive to Bartow required navigating winding back roads through quiet, unfamiliar landscapes.
The solitude of that morning drive stuck with me. For the first time, I was no longer a part of a team, a company, or an established system. I was on my own. There were no coworkers, supervisors, or departments to lean on—just me and the dream of building my own law firm.
Arriving at the office—a space I was sharing with another law firm—felt surreal. It was a modest setup, but it was my space. I met the receptionist, who, to my surprise, asked how she should handle calls for me. It was a humbling moment: I had to quickly define processes and establish how my new identity as “Anthony Reeves, Managing Attorney” would operate.
The attorneys in the office were gracious enough to take me to lunch, providing valuable advice about the community, potential referral networks, and local organizations to join. By the end of that first lunch, I had a laundry list of actionable items.
The highlight of the day? My first client. A familiar voice from my past reached out, searching for me. That single call was the validation I needed—that all my efforts in building a name for myself in Tampa over the years had left an impression. I spent the rest of the afternoon crafting my welcome letter, fee agreement, and the essential documents I needed to officially onboard them.
As the day wound down, I realized I had a long road ahead. The systems, processes, and strategies I needed to grow my practice weren’t fully in place yet. But I had survived my first day.
Driving home from Bartow, reflecting on everything, I understood one thing: the first day of starting your business is not about achieving perfection. It’s about surviving. It’s about planting the seeds and committing to making it work. And that’s exactly what I did.
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