Thursday, July 17, 2003

I used to believe I was born too late.

I yearn for the days when conquistadores and explorers walked the earth, and discovered new worlds, and experienced things they never imagined possible. I imagine I would have been one of those intrepid young fools who left everything and set sail to new lands, with nothing more than the promise of riches and fame. Then, I'd sigh and tell myself, "Ah, well, those days are gone. There's nothing left to discover."

And that comforting thought has been the salve that has made tolerable my now inconsequential and mediocre life.

Then one day, I saw an ad in one of these glossy trade rags. I forget the product. I remember the copy as vividly as if it were etched right on the inside of my eyeballs, and injected into my neurons:

"You are the C.E.O. of your life."

Epiphany is such a beautiful word. And it's an awesome experience. Ever since I had my first epiphany, I've longed for the paradigm shift that is the resultant rush of such an experience. It's a lot like sex, really.

And so I had this epiphany. And I was transported right into the Age of Discovery. My unexplored, yet-to-be-discovered piece of real estate was on my back all along. My passport to fame and fortune, and my ticket to unimaginable fulfillment is right between my shoulders. Myself.

I need to set out on a journey to discover myself. In so doing, I will need to cross vast oceans of understanding, and conquer such beasts as fear and procrastination, and face the full fury of failures and hardships. I will need to learn how to wield the sword of courage, and bear armor of focus.

Now isn't that just cool? Metaphors aside, I'm quite excited to take on this challenge. At this very moment, I'm a hulking 220-pound, 37 year-old aspiring entrepreneur with lots of potential. Potential is such a dreadful word. It stinks of unfulfilled promises, reneged commitments, and the daily screw-ups that seem to delimit my capacity for upward movement. I don't want to be that way anymore. I'm sick and tired of having potential. I've had potential for 37 years now, and it's gotten me nowhere.

So, why write all these, in a public blog, no less? I guess I just want to feel the pressure from having to act on things because I've blurted my guts out to the entire world. Now I have to make good on my word.

So here goes...

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