LITMIR.BIZ

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person and you’ll also automatically become a better leader—and a greater producer. And yes, I agree that growth can be scary. But my mentor once taught me that ‘the part of you that clings to fear must experience a sort of crucifixion so that the portion of you that deserves high honor undergoes a kind of reincarnation.’ Those are the exact words he shared with me. Freaky and deep, right?” said the hobo as he rubbed the holy-man beads he was wearing.

      He kept going without waiting for an answer.

      “My special teacher also told me that ‘to find your best self you must lose your weak self.’ And that only happens through relentless improvement, continuous reflection and ongoing self-excavation. If you don’t keep rising daily you’ll get stuck in your life, for the rest of your life. Makes me consider what the journalist Norman Cousins said: ‘The tragedy of life is not death but what we let die inside of us while we live.’”

      The homeless man raised his raspy voice and observed, “My special teacher taught me that once we transform the primary relationship with ourselves, we’ll find that our relationships with other people, our work, our income and our impact transform. Most people can’t stand themselves. So, they can never be alone. And silent. They need to constantly be with other people to escape their feelings of self-hatred over all their wasted potential, missing the wonders and wisdom that solitude and quiet bring. Or they watch TV endlessly, not realizing it’s eroding their imagination as well as bankrupting their bank account.”

      “My life feels so complicated. I feel so overwhelmed. I don’t have any time for myself,” the entrepreneur repeated. “Not sure what’s happened to my life. Things have just become hard.”

      “I understand you,” the artist said as he placed an arm over his new friend’s shoulder. “My intuition tells me that you’re going through a lot more than you’re sharing. And that’s okay. You know, some days life seems so messy that I can’t get out of bed. I just lie there, man. I close my eyes and wish the fog in my head would just go away. Even for a day. I can’t think straight some of the time. And on those days, my heart has no hope in it at all. It sucks. And a lot of people suck, too, man. I’m not anti-social. I’m just anti-moron. Too many dumb people around these days. Taking stupid fashion pictures of themselves with pouty lips in clothes they can’t afford. Hanging with people they don’t even like. I’d rather live a thoughtful life. A risky life. A real life. An artist’s life. Drives me crazy how superficial people have become.”

      The artist then punched one fist into his other hand. Unyielding creases appeared along his jawline and a blue vein twitched in his thick neck.

      “Sure. I got you,” said the homeless man. “Life isn’t easy, people. Tough slog a lot of the time. But like John Lennon said: ‘Everything will be okay in the end. And if it’s not okay, it’s not the end,’” he offered kindly, spouting yet another quote from what seemed to be an unlimited supply in his brain.

      The artist softened instantly, smiling in a way that looked almost sweet. He exhaled mightily. He liked what he’d just heard.

      “And,” the vagrant continued, “this climb up into the rare-air of personal and professional mastery that the three of us have obviously signed up for is not for the weak. Upgrading your life so you know real joy and optimizing your skills so you own your field can be uncomfortable a lot of the time. I need to be honest. But here’s one key thing I’ve learned: the soreness of growth is so much less expensive than the devastating costs of regret.”

      “Where’d you learn that?” questioned the artist, as he scrawled the words into his notebook.

      “Can’t tell you. Yet,” the homeless man responded, heightening the mystery of where he’d discovered much of his insight.

      The entrepreneur turned away from the artist and jotted down some of her thoughts into her device. The homeless man then reached into a pocket of his hole-ridden plaid shirt and produced a heavily used index card. He held it up like a kindergarten student at show-and-tell.

      “A distinguished person gave this to me when I was a lot younger, as I was starting my first company. I was a lot like you cats: dripping with dreams and set to make my mark on the world. Hungry to prove myself. Amped to dominate the game. The first fifty years of our lives are a lot about seeking legitimacy, you know. We crave social approval. We want our peers to respect us. We hope our neighbors will like us. We buy all sorts of things we really don’t need and obsess about making money we really don’t enjoy.”

      “Totally right,” muttered the artist, nodding his head aggressively and shifting his posture noticeably as his dreadlocks dangled over his shoulders.

      The event venue was now empty.

      “If we have the courage to look within, we discover that we do this because we have a series of holes within us. We falsely believe that material from the outside will fill what’s empty within ourselves. Yet it never will. Never will. Anyhoo, when many of us reach the half-time point of our lives, we make a right-angle turn. We begin to realize that we’re not going to live forever and that our days are numbered. And so, we connect with our mortality. Big point here. We realize we are going to die. What’s truly important comes into much sharper focus. We become more contemplative. We start to wonder if we’ve been true to our talents, loyal to our values and successful on the terms that feel right to us. And we think about what those we most love will say about us when we’re gone. That’s when many of us make a giant shift: from seeking legitimacy in society to constructing a meaningful legacy. The last fifty years then become less about me and more about we. Less about selfishness and more about service. We stop adding more things into our lives and begin to subtract—and simplify. We learn to savor simple beauty, experience gratitude for small miracles, appreciate the priceless value of peace of mind, spend more time cultivating human connections and come to understand that the one who gives the most is victorious. And what’s left of your life then becomes a phenomenal dedication to loving life itself as well as a ministry of kindness to the many. And this becomes, potentially, your gateway into immortality.”

      “He’s really special,” whispered the entrepreneur. “I haven’t felt this hopeful, energized and grounded in months. My father used to help me navigate difficult times,” she told the artist. “Ever since he passed away I don’t have anyone to lean on.”

      “What happened to him?” quizzed the artist.

      “I’m a little fragile right now, even though I feel stronger now than I did when I walked in here this morning, that’s for sure. But I’ll simply say that he took his own life. Dad was a remarkable man—a tremendously successful business pioneer. He flew airplanes, raced fast cars and loved superb wine. He was so alive. Then his business partner took everything away from him, not so different from the horrible scenario I’m living right now. Anyway, the stress and shock of his world collapsing pushed him to do what we could never have imagined. He just couldn’t see any way out, I guess,” the entrepreneur revealed as her voice broke.

      “You can lean on me,” the artist said tenderly. He placed a hand with a hippie ring on a pinky finger onto his heart as he spoke these words, looking both chivalrous and bohemian.

      The homeless man interrupted the intimate moment the two were sharing.

      “Here, read this,” he instructed as he handed over his index card. “It’ll be useful as you both rise to your next performance levels and experience everything that comes with this adventure into human leadership, personal mastery and creating a career of uncommon productivity.”

      In red lettering over the paper that had yellowed by the advances of time, it read: “All change is hard at first, messy in the middle and gorgeous at the end.”

      “That’s very good,” noted the entrepreneur. “A valuable piece of information for me. Thank you.”

      The artist then resumed playing his illegal copy of The Spellbinder’s presentation:

      Each one of you carries a quiet genius and a triumphant hero within your hearts. Dismiss these as idealistic words of an elderly inspirationalist if you wish.

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