I did bookkeeping for my first year of business. One year was enough for me. It was boring and very spreadsheet–heavy, and I knew I never wanted to do it again. So I did what I thought savvy entrepreneurs called “delegating.” I hired a bookkeeping and accounting firm to do it for me, and I paid for the software they recommended. 

As a result, I grew reliant on service providers and their referrals. I didn’t know when service was good or bad, and I wasn’t sure how to double check their work. I was pretty sure the accountant was verifying the bookkeeper’s work. I thought I was “delegating,” but in reality, I had decided to abdicate this function.

“Let me take care of this hard thing for you. Trust me, I know better,” the voice says. It’s a voice that makes an offer you and I find difficult to refuse: just “Focus on the things you’re good at,” and “Don’t worry about all of that stuff.” It’s stressful! 

In exchange, the parasite extracts just a bit of value at first—then it starts to grow. 

You and I see signs of this parasite everywhere. The term “enshittification,” describes the parasite that social media networks use to lock in their users. Now users “are stuck” seeing ads because they didn’t understand that they were never Meta’s customer—they were the product. Creators “are stuck” because they didn’t build a direct connection with their fans—like through email, text messages, etc. Whoever owns your marketing also owns your income.

Or consider the many, many, billions of dollars that companies spend on public cloud computing. They got locked in because they listened to the parasite that told them hyperscale cloud providers could take care of everything, and they wouldn’t have to maintain all of their own servers anymore. Of course, the cloud providers dangled a carrot too—turning up the costs only after the companies migrated a critical mass of data with them. While it’s painful for companies to leave, they are finally starting to. 

Steph Ango describes this voice as a parasite, and describes it at an extremity, “Instead of understanding it yourself, you choose to give the parasite control over your health, education, money, housing, business, identity, data, infrastructure, climate, justice. Even your beliefs.”

You can only get rid of this parasite slowly, and it starts with understanding.

For me, it turns out that bookkeeping isn’t nearly as hard as it seemed. I found that out when I noticed how my business had fewer transactions—things were getting simpler—and I decided to try that out on my own. 

I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right still, so I hired a CPA to effectively tutor me. They would tell me what to do next, help me troubleshoot what didn’t look right, and let me know what my tax accountant would need from me. I took an active role in learning all of this and understanding bookkeeping.

What I learned was this: if you don’t understand how something works, you’re going to pay for it—one way or another. The year that I did bookkeeping, I started to understand it, and my business started saving thousands of dollars per year. I could actually delegate it if I wanted, by training someone to do it.

In order to make sure you understand something—a skill, a service, a supply chain, a product, a platform—you need to do it. 

Interdependence is not fundamentally a bad thing, either. When you’re working with people, look for the ones who value your trust. They are patient with explaining their thought process, clear about your options, and they put your interest ahead of theirs, because they know in the long run that’s how they will maintain your business. 

Instead of selling you on their services, they educate you. They don’t lock you in—in fact, they make it easy for you to leave when you need. Of course, you probably will come back, because they earned so much trust that you realize it’s just better to work with them than without. 

Coda: Earlier in his career, Ginuwine had two bad accountants. By the time the 2007 recession hit, he had mansions and a Rolls Royce, but he also only had $48,000 left in his bank account. Ginuwine had enough of the parasite—he needed to get rid of it before it got rid of him. He didn’t care how hard the homework was, he would do it himself. He reconciles his books every quarter, he pays his taxes quarterly, and the service provider doesn’t have access to his accounts. When he performs every weekend, he negotiates every show himself. He doesn’t just have a lawyer read the contracts, he reviews them himself, sometimes with a confidant. He says, “No one will care about your life more than you, so you have got to take control of that.”