Phillip is a corporate titan. He rules his kingdom from a corner office in the sky.
Imposing square footage? Check. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the water? Obviously.
Anxious employees rush in and out each day. Sitting nervously on his Italian leather couch. Feeling tiny under all that expensive artwork. Their tough boss always armed with a scowl and a growl. This big man and his big title.
Phillip plays the role to perfection. As he has for decades. The world sees him as a take-charge guy.
Driven.
Ruthless.
He’s nearly 60 years old now. And nobody has a clue that Phillip spent his life pretending. This show of strength. Power. How he wants to be seen. Only a few more years and it’ll be what they see all the way to his last breath.
They’ll never know how afraid he was of being alone.
Won’t see how terrified he was of getting hurt.
Will never realize he felt a million miles away from being a “take-charge guy.”
Phillip has been doing this dance for a very long time. And it’s not just for them.
This story he needs to tell.
–
Heather avoids calling herself an influencer…but loves being one.
First thing she does each morning? A skilled edit of the day’s photos. She’s a phenom with filters. The Leonardo da Vinci of looking good. Her follower count keeps growing. Numbers rising at turbo speed. Heather basks in the warm glow of social media approval. She’s the recipient of envy. An object of desire. No minutes pass without a compliment on her appearance.
Before her morning coffee, Heather sits down to digitally alter her face. Day after day. The images posted with hashtags about self-love. Acceptance. She cultivates her page with such gusto. Driven by something she can’t quite express. Puts a positive word on it. Thinks of it as passion. But beneath the hashtags and flowery language lies truth. Heather is mortified by her impressive looks. She spirals deeper each day. Seeing new flaws and imperfections from an aging face – the stranger who stares back from her mirror.
Heather preaches vulnerability to her followers. Empowerment. Teaching them to put themselves out there. But the thought of actually doing that?
It fills her with panic.
This young woman who alters her face before allowing the world to see it.
–
Rick and Lauren cheer America as the greatest nation on the planet.
It’s far beyond opinion.
This is something they know to be true.
Something they can feel.
All the way down to the depths of their souls.
Berating anyone who disagrees.
…this couple who has never stepped foot in another country.
–
Ray and Stephanie love each other.
For years, they’ve expressed it on a daily basis. Whether in-person, over the phone, or in written form. They see each other as the oxygen they breathe. Stephanie’s friends adore him. Ray’s family is her unofficial fan club.
They might as well be a single word at this point – RayAndStephanie.
Two peas in a pod.
Currently, Stephanie is hiding an emotional affair. And Ray is in a physical one. They stopped being able to communicate years ago. Now speaking from routine and habit rather than from their hearts. Ray knows he loves her. Even while entering another woman’s bed. Stephanie feels increasingly empty inside, but tells herself she’s in love.
Their actions no longer show it.
Their hearts look elsewhere.
But this couple fully believes the words that come from their mouths.
–
Matt writes a daily blog.
Positive feedback pours in. Makes him feel like a Robin Hood of sorts. The generous giver. So, after a while, he starts defining himself as the guy who wants to help people.
Says it over and over again.
And the new identity feels wonderful.
So intoxicating, in fact, that he grows immune to seeing anything else. Blocks out any data that contradicts it. Becoming addicted to his drug of choice – identity.
This is who he “is.”
Matt is eventually unable to see any of the pain he causes. Unwilling to let it in. He’s Robin Hood, after all. How could he ever be the villain of a story when he’s the hero?
Matt grows adept at discarding bitter pills.
Choosing only the ones that are easy to swallow.
He has already decided which story to believe.
–
Juliette never makes waves.
She dresses…and speaks…crisply. Always behaves like a professional. Even when the people around her don’t follow suit. But that’s not for her to judge. And she never does. As a child, Juliette made her parents proud. As an adult, she’s a dependable neighbor, friend, and employee.
Never caused any problems.
Never met a negative performance appraisal.
Forever a good girl.
Based on all her feedback, Juliette is thriving. And the validation fuels her. So she stays perpetually in motion. It’s a trick she learned long ago – to distract herself from the pesky question…
What would happen if she spread her wings?
This makes her uncomfortable. She chooses safety. Over and over again. Locking her personality in a small box. For so long that she can no longer see what’s inside. Might it be a wild spirit? A rebel? Maybe even a creative genius? At this point, there’s no way to tell. The box is now a home. And Juliette hides inside as a prisoner of her own adjectives.
Still “professional” and “dependable.”
A good girl who no longer dreams of being anything more.
–
Really look around.
In every direction. For as far as you can see.
We humans love to think of ourselves as self-aware. But we lie to ourselves to avoid the hardest feelings.
Usually not with bad intentions.
We do this to cope.
And guess what?
You do it too.
(So do I)
See, the only way to live an honest life is by looking at our own dishonesty. It’s just about the hardest thing we can ever do. But it’s sitting right there.
And you really won’t want to see it.
The holiday season includes a lot of rewinding. Memories of fun times from 2024. The money you made. Bright images of the year. Vacations and belly laughs.
My wish for you is to be willing to see more than just what feels good.
To spend a little time with the lies.
Those big ones you tell yourself.
Because a lot more growth comes from there than from your highlight reel.
Man, some weirdos stick like glue to the stuff they like.
(Some weirdos = me)
Did I drive the same little Toyota for two decades? Yup. Am I now over a dozen trips to Maui in the books? Better believe it. Do I still carry a Luxor room key from 1999 in my wallet? Obviously.
In fairness, about that last one… Come on. A hotel really decided put Carrot Top’s face on a room key? Seriously?? I mean, an actual paid employee came to work and said, “Guys, this is the face people want to see as they enter their rooms.” It just never stopped making me smile.
Anyway, you get the idea.
I stick with the stuff that works.
But even I realized it was finally time for a new couch. Watching Netflix is harder than it sounds. Especially when, over the course of a movie, it feels like you’re sinking in quicksand. Not quite sure how to describe the shape of that sofa after so many years. Is “blob” a shape?
Try to imagine the couch that Picasso would’ve painted.
So, reluctantly, I went shopping.
Was it a totally fun and relaxing process? Yeah, maybe in Oppositeland. Honestly, when did furniture stores become such weird clones of each other? Is it a glitch in the simulation? This dizzying haze of all the same people selling all the same furniture. So many bad options. On a positive note, I now hold the world record for number-of-times-a-man-has-muttered-to-himself-walking-out-of-stores.
Eventually, I pulled the trigger. Bought a cheaper version of Restoration Hardware’s “Cloud Couch.”
A perfect name.
In-store, it actually feels like sitting on a fluffy cloud.
And then it gets delivered. Which is when I quickly realized the difference between sitting on a cloud for two minutes versus two hours. Lemme put it bluntly…
Even more uncomfortable than The Blob.
Somehow, I’d found a brand new level of blobbiness. Never had a lower back issue in my life. But after 72 hours with The Cloud? Urgent need of a massage and a fistful of Tylenol. By the end of the week? Rapidly approaching nightmare status. Bending down was a new and interesting challenge. And forget about tying my shoes. That might as well have been an Olympic event. Man, it’s such a scary thing when your body experiences a brand new sensation of pain. Clearly, I’d made a terrible purchase.
(Oh, and it was from a furniture store with a no-return policy)
The walls were closing in fast. After the first week, I was a borderline Tylenol addict. Started lying in bed during the day just to avoid the couch as much as possible. Bracing myself each time I gave it another try. But the results were always the same. And my only reprieve was a weekend trip. The terrible hotel furniture felt like a gift to my body. I sat peacefully in that Hyatt…riding calm waves of relaxation that I could no longer find at home. Flipping through tv channels without a care in the world.
(At one point, I did have to turn off an episode of The Golden Girls because I was jealous of their flexibility)
Life was getting pathetic.
Two weeks into my dark new Cloud World, I called the store. Begging for help. They made it clear that refunds were impossible. But maybe a technician could come by to inspect the couch. Just to ensure nothing was broken. Wait, there’s a such thing as a couch technician? But, sure, yeah. Let’s do it. Maybe he can save the day…
The next morning, this dude walks in like he’s The Wolf from Pulp Fiction. I offer him water or a coffee. He refuses anything that might interfere with his work. It’s not a social call. He’s just here to handle couch matters. Does a detailed inspection of The Cloud and tells me that it’s up to standards. Can’t help but notice the desperation in my eyes. Or maybe the pain in my back. He looks me in the eyes and says:
“This is off the record. But you’re not the first person to have these issues with this particular item. Typically, it’s a senior citizen. But there’s nothing I can do. I’ll fill out my report saying the couch is fine. Maybe you can work something out with the store. I really doubt that, to be honest with you. Once it’s in your home, they don’t take back furniture.”
With that, he disappears.
A true master of the sofa. Off to his next overly dramatic inspection.
At this point, my brain starts to go haywire. My mind races. Is this just…life…now? As some dude who lives in fear of his couch? A sad schmuck who needs to buy Velcro shoes because he can’t bend down?
There’s gotta be a better way.
I drive to the store. A different man than I was 2 weeks ago. Now a broken soul with limited options and a Tylenol addiction. Doing my best imitation of The Wolf, I strut through those automatic doors. A man on a mission. Aaaand I’m rejected before I even have the chance to sit down. A manager tells me there’s nothing they can do once it’s in the home. I’ll need to call the main number and speak to customer service. But they never do refunds. In 20 years, he’s only seen a handful of times they offered a replacement item. It’ll be a major longshot. So, to recap:
– The Wolf said I’m screwed. – This store manager agrees. – I’ll need a miracle to get a replacement approved. – But everything else in the store is hideous. – Oh, and their one cool item? It’s destroying my back like King Kong versus a blade of grass.
I stumble out of there. Limping my way back home. A defeated man returning to the couch that wants to murder him. Such a sad turn of events in a life that once held such promise. With zero optimism, I dial the customer service number. Best-case scenario? A replacement couch that only my grandmother would love.
After a long hold, I’m connected to a representative.
I can barely recognize my own anguish-filled voice.
A very jolly Hispanic gentleman asks me for some details. He listens for a few seconds. Then informs me of their no-return policy. As if I can’t already recite it by heart. Although I’ve been calling it “The Cloud,” he reminds me that their version is actually called, “The Dream.”
And then he says:
“It sounds like The Dream is more like The Nightmare for you.”
I listen in stunned silence as he laughs joyously for the next 15 seconds. His accent is hard to place. Sounds like a goofy (and possibly drunk) Antonio Banderas. Ok, I didn’t expect much help. But he’s…laughing…at me?
This is very confusing. Then he suddenly gets dead serious. Tells me he couldn’t help but laugh because of how crazy the timing is. He knows exactly how I feel. Never had a back issue in his life but is currently dealing with the identical thing from a new mattress. He asks me to please continue my story. He listens with such genuine interest. It’s unreal. I can actually feel the care coming from this complete stranger. Almost as if he’s giving me a hug through the phone line. I blabber about Tylenol and massages for what seems like 52 hours.
Finally…mercifully…he cuts me off.
With his thick Puss And Boots-like accent, he says:
“My friend, it is an honor to speak with you. And I want to assist. It is our policy to never accept returns. But I will give you a full refund and will schedule a pickup in the next week. I feel so very happy to get the chance to do this for you.”
My jaw hits the floor.
Suddenly, the weight of the world is gone. Just rolls right off my back. And this goofy cartoon character of a man keeps taking care of me for the next 20 minutes. Saying things like, “All problems have a solution” and “It gives me such joy to be of service to you.” He tells me, “No matter what, I will not let you down.”
Is this real life or a scene from Desperado?
By the time I hang up the phone, my mood is in a completely different place. All stress gone. Poof. This quirky stranger has completely changed my day. Beyond the refund itself, I don’t recall ever feeling so much kindness on a customer service call.
Thank you, Alvaro.
Ironically, speaking to you left me on such a high…that it felt a bit like floating on a cloud.
I sleep the same way I live – driven, focused…a man and his mission.
Sitting up, I exhale any of the doubt that rests in my belly. Inhale the collective wisdom of business titans who came before me.
Will this finally be the day my ship comes in?
If I see it, I can be it.
Time for some morning crunches. Fitness in the body leads to strength of the mind. And a cash windfall to come.
The foundation for success? Confidence. I say a few affirmations aloud. Taking a quick look under my boxer briefs and nodding with pride.
Not bad.
Not bad at all.
Bounding to my feet as if launched by a rocket ship, I make my way to the bathroom. Time is money. Did I wake up with some aches and pains like all the other humans? Maybe. But I’m too focused on making my first million to feel any of that. Mind over matter. Gotta show this day who’s in charge.
My mama didn’t raise no fool.
I splash cold water on my face. Catch a peek of my reflection in the mirror. Look myself right in the eyes. Much like the way Hugh Grant stared at Julia Roberts in the classic rom-com Notting Hill.
I fall in love with myself all over again.
This is how I begin each morning.
Time to get to work. Sun isn’t even up yet. An entire world sleeps peacefully while I’m on the hunt for financial freedom. Like a lion prowling across the jungle for food. Hungry for my pot of gold. Do I know exactly when lightning will strike? Of course not. So I stay laser-focused. Both eyes wide open.
This lion is always ready to pounce on the right opportunity.
I walk right past my coffee machine. Laughing at it as I boot up my laptop. People really need mugs of liquid energy?
Not this guy.
Already high on the natural caffeine known as life.
Any of my mornings could become the day. That’s why I keep all my bases covered. I’d rather die than let my Entrepreneur magazine subscription lapse. Go ahead, try to find an online deal forum I’m not subscribed to. Good luck with that. Better buy a scientific calculator if you want to add up the hours I spend chasing my home run. Do I listen to moneymaking podcasts? That’s like asking if a Kardashian likes selfies. This is what I do. I’m a hustler. By keeping every iron in the fire, I will eventually find my jackpot. Look, I even cut coupons and trim my own hair just to be able to throw a few bucks at memecoins that might explode. I’ve started dozens of businesses. Sit through countless seminars. Literally dig through piles of dusty junk at estate sales every weekend. Always striving for a big win. Treasure hunting. With as much passion as Leo DiCaprio in a roomful of 25-year-old models. If there’s a monetary bonanza to be had, you’ll find me nearby. My eBay feedback number? About as high as Warren Buffet’s net worth. All my waking hours are spent pursuing money. Looking for opportunities.
Mama didn’t raise no fool.
I woke up even earlier than usual today. A very rare schedule change. Had to get the daily hustling in before gametime. See, my parents are loyal sports fans. And, apparently, there’s some kind of huge home run record about to be broken today. Not sure of the details. And I’ll never understand why people enjoy sitting around watching other adults play with a ball. I think sports fandom might actually be a mental condition. Essentially paying money to waste time that could be spent making money. But it’s my mom’s birthday and she wants her son at the game…
Fine.
I’ll make this one exception.
Yada yada yada, so I’m here at the baseball game and my parents are having a blast. Cheering along with the other fans. Me, I’m just trying to get some work done on my phone. Not an ideal office setup, but opportunities are always knocking. And I’m willing to turn over every rock to find them. On the other hand, these people around me are staring at a bunch of grown men wearing pajamas. Random strangers swinging a wooden stick. Then, out of nowhere, everyone starts cheering loudly. It distracts me from my treasure hunting – but only for a split-second. My focus is like that of a surgeon. Better believe I have the ability to refocus myself.
Wait, why is the entire stadium standing up in unison?
Everyone in my section is reaching for the ball coming right at us…
My own parents look like a pair of enthusiastic toddlers with their hands waving at the air.
Working diligently on my phone, I feel something bounce into my lap. A slight distraction from the workday. So, I grab the object – an annoying little baseball – and shove it into my jacket pocket. Then return quickly to my mobile treasure hunt. In the midst of all these overgrown children wrestling around me. Can’t anyone see I’m working here? Now the usher from my section wants to be involved. He asks me to join him in a private room. Apparently, none of these people have any respect for the pursuit of riches. A team executive hands me an autographed jersey in exchange for the ridiculous ball. Ok, fine, whatever. I really do need to get back to my seat. Gotta turn over the next rock.
After all, my pot of gold could be right around the corner.
I hurry back to my section. Should’ve pointed out the excruciatingly slow wifi in this stadium. Oh well. Too many lost minutes already. Really need to get back to work. But now my parents keep distracting me with questions about where the ball is. Why so much yelling and screaming? Sports fans. Always some kind of panic at these games. I refocus on my work…asking my mother to stop bugging me about the ridiculous baseball. Not like I even have it anymore. I point to the jersey I exchanged it for. Wait, why does she look so pale? Almost as if she’s seen a ghost.
What’s she saying? There’s no sound coming out of her mouth.
I lean in.
Try to read her lips…
And, in a breathless whisper, she cries out:
“I raised a fool.”
—
Editor’s Note: Here’s my creative process with something like this… 1 – Reading an article about yet another working Joe who caught a baseball worth six or seven figures. 2 – Trying to comprehend why so many of these guys hand over a life-changing gift in exchange for some merchandise. Basically giving it away for a pat on the back – from a team worth billions. 3 – My brain gets fried trying to figure it out. 4 – Pictures grow in my imagination. Becoming a daydream, maybe even a night dream. Eventually those pictures turn into a story that I share with you.
Anyway, that’s where this comes from. Have a great October! (Oh, and if you happen to catch a baseball that could buy you a house…maybe hang on to it)
