A little while ago, Tebz and I took off for Cape Town in search of fresh inspiration, a new energy source, a new sense of purpose. Both of us had been feeling a little uninspired in all the areas of the businesses we look after.

Tebz had been feeling that Thamani had become a bit of a drag. She’d even considered exiting the business, citing boredom, slow growth, reversing progress and, most of all, the fact that when she left her job five years before, she hadn’t imagined she would be doing tax again five years later.

My own sense of frustration had a different source. We’d envisaged Tuta-Me as a kind of Silicon Valley start-up that would solve South Africa’s massive education problem. We imagined that we’d grow at a rate of 200 per cent year-on-year, that we’d raise 15 rounds of funding before eventually listing on the stock exchange, and Dylan and I would be hailed heroes of The Fourth Industrial Revolution.

But our existing company is very far from that ideal. We have a very difficult business, a business that grows in a linear fashion. The problem is too big for us to solve; in fact, we’re nowhere near solving it. Our premises are nothing like the Google campus. We don’t have trees, hammocks or sleeping pods in our offices. Instead, we have a 40 square metre office in Craighall with a pot plant or two, but certainly no sleeping pods. We’ve raised two rounds of funding, but there’s no hint of a third. It’s difficult. In fact, it feels impossible.

That’s why we’d set our sights on our Cape Town trip. More than just a break, it was supposed to reignite our enthusiasm and inspire us. After all, Cape Town is our own Silicon Valley, our Tel Aviv tech hub. And, yes, we did love it. The Cape Town scene is so vibrant and dynamic, with so many people doing incredible things, from corporate bankers helping to build South Africa’s economy by financing start-ups in the Western Cape, to gin makers, players in design and the creative industries, even members of Uber.

All these people made a big impression on us, but none more so than an AI business that is working on technology so advanced that it has the potential to change the world.

We were fascinated by this business, not least because its offices were everything Tebz, Dylan and I had pictured our premises would be. The company has an entire four-storey building all to itself. There are humans everywhere, music playing, beers in the fridge, pot plants – no, make that trees – everywhere. We even spotted, yes, a hammock. There are TV screens in every boardroom, amazing writing boards everywhere and, around every corner, energised humans working to solve major problems.

These people were basically living our dream, and I was instantly struck by jealousy. I couldn’t help thinking of my office back in Johannesburg which is noticeably bare of any of the accoutrements we envied. At that moment I found myself thinking about my past five years of entrepreneurship, and wondering where they’d actually got me. We have employees, sure. We have revenue, sure. We have profits, sure. But, man, this company had been established one year after ours, and it already employed around 80 people with vacancies for 60 more. A truly global company, they derive 70 per cent of their revenue from the States.

Tebz and I worked out of this office for an entire day, staying on to have after-work beers with the guys. We were in awe. The culture here was amazing; the staff’s passion was almost palpable. You could tell that they all felt like they were working for a cause greater than themselves.

I wanted to learn more, so I invited one of the executive members for drinks. Before we met, though, I walked Tebz to our Airbnb. We both hung our heads for the duration of the walk, feeling very solemn. Our conversation centred on the hard, existential questions. What are we doing? Does the work we do matter? Are we making a difference? We had just left the most inspiring start-up we’d ever encountered, a business with mouthwatering valuations, and it made our businesses back home seem small and lifeless by comparison. Our work paled into insignificance in the face of this bustling Cape Town scene. Maybe it would be best for us to shut up shop and pursue something more exciting.

Rushing back to meet with the executive member, I couldn’t wait to discuss the company’s model. I was completely fascinated by its growth, how quickly they’d raised funding, the valuations, the revenue run rate, the current burn rate – all of it.

To my surprise, the picture my drinks partner painted was very different to what I’d been expecting. Although the company had predicted great revenue for the current year, they were burning a lot of money; more money, in fact, than was coming in. The burn rate was faster than the revenue run rate. This is typical for technology businesses. Even Uber and Lyft have to keep raising funding, but this was the first time I had listened to someone talk about how truly stressful this can be.

Obviously, it’s not possible to change the world without experiencing some pain, and that’s exactly what these guys are trying to do – change the world. But the conversation helped reaffirm my old belief that boring is good and that it’s important to stick to your knitting.

Here’s the thing: although the revenue figure the company has set its sights on for the year is impressive, we managed to make that amount with just one of our companies in four months. In other words, that one company is on track to making four times their revenue. When you add in the revenue our other two businesses bring in, it’s easy to see just how well we’re doing in comparison.

This made me realise something. We’ve been profitable since Day One, and our companies have continued to grow during all five years of their existence. We create jobs, sustainable jobs. We have incredible clients, we hire fantastic staff, and we do great work. All of this is a reality that we never really celebrate.

Don’t get me wrong. This start-up has an excellent product and an outstanding team, and I truly believe that it is going to change the world, in a massive way. I’m sure that they’ll become profitable within the next three to six years. I have no doubt they’ll issue an IPO on Nasdaq and will be valued at billions of dollars. But my point is this: how often do we compare ourselves with others without really knowing the full picture? How often do we look at social media and want other people’s lives, their businesses, without really knowing the stresses that come with that?

If I hadn’t met the executive member for a drink, Tebz and I would probably have returned to Johannesburg feeling despondent and discouraged about our ‘small’, unexciting businesses, and we may well have given it all up in exchange for something more exciting.

Here is the secret: stay in the lane you understand best, because you’re doing just fine there. Don’t worry too much about the Facebook and Instagram feeds of all those people who look like they’re doing so much better than you. Give the photo a like, congratulate them sincerely, then move on and focus on your hustle. The grass is only greener on the other side because it has more shit in it, literally. Comparison is the mother of all failure, so remember that you’re fine as you are, and just keep going.

As for me and Tebz, you will find us continuing our work at our mundane businesses. They may be changing the world only at a snail’s pace, but it’s still change nonetheless.

Stay in the lane you understand best.