Here is a life changing experience, I am sure you will love to read it if you're really searching ways to become wealthy, I grew up in ...
Here is a life changing experience, I am sure you will love to read it if you're really searching ways to become wealthy,
I grew up in Chicago and was a porky kid with few friends. I wasn't interested in teenage girls or sports, but lying around in a beanbag stuffing my face with doughnuts while watching Tom-n-Jerry reruns.Parental supervision was absent; Mom divorced Dad years earlier, which left my older siblings and me to be raised by a single mother. Mom didn't have a college education or a career, unless a deep-frying job at Kentucky Fried Chicken qualified. That left me to my own indulgences, usually consumption of sweets and the latest episode of the A-Team. My exertions were epitomized by a long broken broomstick: I used it as the TV's remote control since the real one was broken and I was too lazy to move. When I did move, the local ice cream shop was often my target; a sugary delight was a motive I could count on.
That day was like any other day: I sought ice cream. I plotted the flavor of my next indulgence and headed toward the ice cream parlor. When I arrived, there it was. I was face to face with my dream car; a Lamborghini Countach famous from the 80s hit movie Cannonball Run. Parked stoically like an omnipotent king, I gazed upon it like a worshiper beholden to its God. Awestruck, any thoughts of ice cream were banished from my brain.
Posterized on my bedroom walls and drooled upon in my favorite car magazines, I was acutely familiar with the Lamborghini Countach: cunning, evil, obscenely fast, spaceship doors, and ungodly expensive. Yet, here it was just a few feet away, like Elvis resurrected. Its raw tangible grandeur was like an artisan coming face to face with an authentic Monet. The lines, the curves, the smell …
I gawked for a few minutes, until a young man left the ice cream parlor and headed toward the car. Could this be the owner? No way. He couldn't have been more than 25 years old. Dressed in blue jeans and an oversized flannel shirt with what I spied to be an Iron Maiden concert shirt underneath, I reasoned this couldn't be the owner. I expected an old guy: wrinkled, receding gray hairline,
and dressed two seasons late. Not so. “What the heck?” I thought. How could a young guy afford such a kick-ass automobile? For God's sake, that car costs more than the house I live in! It's got to be a lottery winner, I speculated. Hmmm … or maybe some rich kid who inherited the family fortune. No, it's a pro athlete. Yes, that's it, I concluded. Suddenly, a daring thought invaded my head: “Hey, MJ, why don't you ask the guy what he does for a living?” Could I? I stood on the sidewalk, dumbfounded while I negotiated with myself. Emboldened and overcome with adrenaline, I found my legs moving toward the car as if my brain weren't agreeable. In the back of my mind, my brother taunted, “Danger, Will Robinson, danger!”
Feeling my approach, the owner hid his trepidation with a forced smile and opened his door. Whoa. The car's door flung up into the sky, vertically, as opposed to swinging out sideways like a normal car. It threw me off what little game I had and I tried to maintain my composure, as if cars with futuristic doors were standard fare. What couldn't have been more than 20 words seemed like a novel. My opportunity was here and I snatched it. “Excuse me, sir?” I nervously muttered, hoping he wouldn't ignore me. “May I ask what you do for a living?” Relieved that I wasn't a teenage derelict, the owner kindly responded: “I'm an inventor.” Perplexed that his answer didn't match my preconception; my
prepared follow-up questions were nullified, paralyzing my next move. I stood there frozen like the ice cream I had sought minutes earlier. Sensing the opportunity for escape, the young Lamborghini owner took the driver's seat, closed his door, and started the engine. The loud roar of the exhaust swept
through the parking lot, alerting all life forms to the Lamborghini's formidable presence. Whether I liked it or not, the conversation was over.
Knowing it might be years before such a sight would happen again, I took mental inventory of the automotive unicorn before me. I left awakened as a neural pathway suddenly smacked open in my brain.
Don't get Rich Slow
What changed that day? I was exposed to the Fastlane and a new truth. As for the sweets I pursued that day, I never made it into the store. I turned around and went home with a new reality. I wasn't athletic, I couldn't sing, and I couldn't act, but I could get rich without fame or without physical talent.From that point forward, things changed. The Lamborghini encounter lasted 90 seconds, but transcended a lifetime of new beliefs, directions, and choices. I decided that I would someday own a Lamborghini and I would do it while I was young. I was unwilling to wait until my next encounter, my next chance experience, and my next poster: I wanted it for myself. Yes, I retired the broomstick and got off my fat ass.
Source: The Millionaire Fastlane by MJ DeMARCO
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