I had dinner with Noelle last night, the older sister I never had (she’s technically younger). She was one of the first writer / life coaches to join my team years back when I was doing web sessions in my underwear in a small run down apartment in Ktown. She has been supportive and inspirational throughout my journey.
We started talking about my book. She asked me what my dream was for it. It was tough to answer because of my self doubt, insecurities, and the false belief I carry of being the almost guy. I didn’t have to show her my life goals list I keep in my phone for her to predict, “A New York Times best seller? I mean, that’s the obvious goal for any published writer, right? She instantly
Googled what it would take to make it on that list.
9000 book sales in the first few weeks.
Although I said “holy shit!”, I knew this already. I Googled it myself. My faint whisper, the small part of me who wants to prove myself wrong Googled it. But my logic said it’s not possible and shut it down right away. Since then, “I’m a New York Times best seller” has been disappearing from my goals list like Michael J. Fox in his family photo when he couldn’t get his parents together.
Noelle bitched slapped me and encouraged me to get my mind right. She told me to go after this. But I’m the guy who stumbles onto things. I don’t really go after things. It’s because I don’t believe in myself. And maybe that’s why I am always almost. And it makes me a hypocrite since I preach to my clients to go after their dreams. And this is what hit. Hard.
On the drive home, I realized that this isn’t about the book. It’s about all the thousands of people I have coached and encouraged to go after their “impossible” dreams. It’s about anyone who has turned their suffering into some form of light. And if I, a C student who doesn’t even consider himself a writer, can do it, anyone can do it. This isn’t about making a list. It’s about believing that anything’s possible.
So I’m going to do it. I’m going to run like Forest Gump after this. I’m going to prove myself wrong.
It’s been a long journey. I started talking about My Fucking Feelings 7 years ago post divorce. I was lost, broken, and purposeless. I had no idea my little blog would be anything other than a self ranting person diary. Thank you for following me and inspiring me to keep creating a dialogue. You have given me something I’ve never had before, a sense of purpose. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
But I can’t buy 9000 books myself. If you enjoy my writing, I promise it will be worth the few lattes. It took me 7 years to write this book.
My book is currently on sale for 9 bucks through special pre-order. The price will go back up to $15 in a few weeks when it officially comes out.
I hope you pick one up.
Not just for me.
For you.
For a friend.
For anyone who decides to believe in their dreams.
Here’s the link.
