no rest for the weary

My predicament afforded no obvious escape. I felt that God dropped me into a labyrinth whose exits He had sealed.

 

 

I wanted to suppress it. I told myself that everything would be OK if I just kept muddling through the days. Exercise, be patient. Love. Be loved.  Care for others.  Do for others.  But none of that was enough.  Something didn’t feel right.  Something was missing.  I wasn’t sure if it was love, my sister, a child, or more fulfilling work.  I felt broken.  Not lonely.  Just incomplete.  

 
 

I considered changing jobs or moving to other cities. But I had already done both of those, and I still felt stuck.  Thinking back to the happiest times in my life they had been being in love, interpreting, and engaging in interesting business deals.  Opportunity once fell at my heels.  Lady luck had sang over me as I slept; her sweet, soulful tunes stayed with me the whole day long everywhere I went.  Without trying I attracted beautiful circumstances, and in the most unusual places I met people who impacted my life and ways of thinking.  This was all before I understood the laws of the universe.

 

 

In a wicked turn of events, once I understood the laws I began to have trouble commanding them. The irony of it all swept through me.  As happens normally in life a few failures sprung up in the road.  Instead of dusting myself off for the next round, I started to play it safe.  My romances went down in flames, so the next time love knocked on the door, I pretended not to hear.  My entrepreneurial efforts resulted in incarceration and humiliation, so I took a safe 9 to 5.  That lifestyle may have suited me if I was doing meaningful work, but I wasn’t. 

 

 

Time passed. New experiences and places offered temporary relief, but the nagging eventually re-surfaced no matter where I went.  Slowly it dawned on me that I was an extraordinary beam of light that had tried to seal itself inside a dark crate.  The crate was safe; shining bright was not.  Had I really been hypnotized in Las Vegas? Dunked in ice water? A rat race baptism designed to wake me the hell up so I could see how far I was from where I needed to be.  Not even my colorful, strong social circle could pull me out from the hole into which I had fallen. 

 

 

I wanted so many things… Excitement, answers, financial relief, a full life and to help other people. I wanted my courage back.  Most of all I wanted to crush the fear that was living inside of my throat, stopping me from breathing full gasps of air.  Not every day felt like that.  But the heavy days were enough to make me want to just take off running and never look back. I had no idea what the solution was.  But I clung to the belief that one could come.

 

 

I won’t call it depression.  Let’s term it a spiritual deficiency.  I don’t choose to discuss mine for sympathy.  Writing about it feels therapeutic.   A part of me feels like if I write it in the past maybe it will become the past more quickly.  Instinct tells me medication is not the answer, and that these feelings are a result of me not doing my spirit’s work.  Besides, science tells us what prescription drugs due to your ability to connect to the universe.  But it seems to be easier to attract a bottle of feel good than to connect with your purpose.  Some nights I think of taking one or two, but I don’t want to live like that.  This pain and discomfort lives inside of me for a reason.  It’s up to me to take action toward something greater.  If I mask it today it will only be staring at me tomorrow morning like a bedside gremlin that I fed after midnight.  Natural healing is slow and exhausting, but I fear any other method will extinguish my drive. 

 

 

I wish that my best friend Tommy’s wife had found some therapy before she put a pistol in her mouth.  I wish my old childhood friend had told me how sad she was before she launched herself from the balcony where we had once watched the Atlanta skyline and talked about our futures.  I don’t think I would ever take myself out, just because I care too much for the people around me.  I couldn’t make them suffer like that.  But I do ask myself (often) – when does my own suffering end?  All I really want is to feel important and be happy.

 

 

I didn’t realize when I was younger that the mountain would be this tough to climb.

Learning To Fly

A friend of mine recently sought out my advice concerning some romantic troubles. His situation inspired me to share this personal story, in hopes that it would help him make a decision. perhaps it will help someone else, too. Feedback is appreciated.

Learning To Fly

Many years ago when I was still young and foolish at heart I hurt a caring man that I was dating.  The relationship seemed doomed although I sincerely asked for forgiveness.  At that point most people would give up, but I, being heavily influenced by the Latino cultural value of "fight for what you want," decided I wasn't going down that easily.

Over the next few months, I pulled some stunts that many people would have considered nuts.  But as my good friend Alessia told me, "He will only think it's crazy if he doesn't like you."  By far the most memorial of my antics was the "surprise flight to Mexico."  I began by asking a lady friend of mine to teach me how to make a classic Hispanic dish, the Devil's Shrimp.  Claudia's "little diablos" were perfect: plump, fresh, swimming in homemade tomato and jalapeño sauce.  I paid close attention, and after much practice, I mastered the recipe. 

When the camarones were ready for their debut I decorated my kitchen like a traditional house in Puebla, Mexico, complete with cactus-printed wallpaper and clay-looking plastic doors.  That day Mr. Reluctant agreed to stop by, and when I pulled out a blindfold he was clearly hesitant.  Somehow I convinced him to play along.  Once inside I guided him inside to a chair, where I proceeded to play pre-recorded "airplane sounds" from my computer.  Then, in my best azafata voice, I began my "Prepare for Take-off" speech.  At the time my Spanish accent was very poor, and I must have sounded ridiculous.  But my desire to win him back was greater than my embarrassment, and I pressed on. To this day I remember how to say random things like "fasten your seatbelts" and "refrescos now being served".  As I spoke, I grabbed hold of his chair, leaned it backward for the take-off, and shook it hard to mimic turbulence.  After a few minutes of engine noise I sang out, "Now landing in Puebla, Mexico!" and slowly lowered his chair back on the ground.  Then, with all the drama of Marilyn Monroe I whipped off his blindfold and revealed a long, brightly-colored table filled with Devil's Shrimp, golden, steaming Spanish rice, and rows of pan dulce.  I held my breath and prepared for him to A.) Quickly flee or B.) Be absolutely touched and think, maybe this woman is worthy of forgiveness.  Yes, it was a goofy thing to orchestrate. But it's one of the best memories I have from a noviesgo (courtship.)

Rarely in life do we find instant results for our efforts.  My friend did not forgive me that day.  But, he didn't take flight, either.  Months later, with the help of time, respect, and more "kind, silly" acts, I saw an ugly, dead tree take on shades of green.  Then, unexpectedly, in the middle of that summer I was badly injured in a river accident.  Life dealt me the cruel lesson that only in rough times do you come to know those who really care for you.  In the months that followed my recovery, in a time when I could not walk and I was no longer the life of the party, ninety five percent of my friends disappeared. This gentleman was in the five percent that remained.  I will forever value the great company and support he gave me in that lonely, dismal period.  One year later, we decided we were not compatible for a long-term relationship, but left off on good terms.  To this day I consider him a friend.  I am without a doubt glad that I fought for that relationship. I would do it all over again, even knowing that this fellow was not "the one." 

I firmly believe that if someone loves you, they will fight to be with you, and they won't take no for an answer.  They will swallow their pride and exhaust themselves for a chance to be by your side. They may not blindfold you and "transport" you to your country of origin because they know you miss the food, but they will do something (anything). If they do nothing, then that's probably what you mean to them.

Without something to fight for, and without passion, we are living in black and white.  We won't come close to the bright, blinding, rich colors that only the truly passionate will experience. After all, we only get one journey.  One flight.  Sure, we may crash.  But the pain of the coming down won't be as bad as reaching the end of life and wondering. Over and over I've heard the saying, "At the end of life you don't regret the things you do. You regret the things you don't do." To me this is all the more reason to get in the plane and fly it.

where are the lions hungry like myself?

Excerpt from Conversations with Buddha:
Student: Master, what is real? 
Master: That which doesn't change.

What about you is changeless? Could that be your Northern Star, guiding you to understand who you were meant to become..

I find myself sitting here, asking myself, how much longer until I find “it”? I've been on this road for longer than I'd like to admit. I wonder if it's my own fault that I still haven't grasped it.

It.. That untouchable fulfillment that I am seeking. A mysterious, intangible thing that only lets me see it's shadow, but never it's real flesh and form. It whispers, taunting me, daring me to go out and find it. But it won't tell me how to do that. It dances in front of me in the quiet evenings as I meditate.. It reaches out its hand and invites me to dance with it, but the moment I leap forward to engage, it takes back its hand and asks me to dance alone. 

Where are you? You, the thing that will drive me- excite me- push me to my limits and beyond. The thing I will sweat for, work my ass off for, and inspire me to risk it all. My reason. My purpose.

I'm on the edge of a cliff, and “it” is the bottom, laughing at me, because I can't figure out how to climb down and claim it. It will not reveal the path to me. At other times I feel that I'm already at the bottom, and it's shadows are touching over my shoulder, and it's so damn close.. but I cannot put my finger on it.

And I find myself frustrated. Asking God when will the time be right? Have I not shown myself worthy of a mission greater than myself? What more must I do to come closer to you? You, this thing that lives inside me. This wolf preparing to howl. Am I walking the wrong roads? Have I lost the path? The clues run hot for weeks on end, then the trail goes cold.

All I can do is keep hunting. There's no doubt that the hunger will not subside. I have learned to be content with what I have, but to never stop searching. All I can do is look at the stars, and keep asking questions.

I sincerely want the opportunity to challenge myself. I am hungry for it, and I feel ready for it. I will continue to inspire myself until I find it. I thank God for all the elements in my life right now. My family, friends, health, a stable, fun job even if it isn't the most incredible occupation in the world.  But it's not enough. I demand more from this lifetime. I want to change this world. I will change this world. There is nothing more important than that to me. No relationship, no person, it's just me and my purpose. I've got to find it. 

God please come with me on this journey. Help me to hunt it more aggressively. Don't let me stop until I'm tired and exhausted. Purge me of excuses, substances, of the people who will distract me from this burning desire that I have to relieve suffering and see my visions fulfilled. This is up to me and only me.

shepherds and sheep

All the world is still for a moment. I pause and look for a moment of quiet. One in which I might reflect. I squint into the darkness, desperate for a sight of what Dr. Dyer calls "your source." Desperate to come close to it; to know it; to use it for the greater good. "All of man's problems come from his inability to sit in a room and be quiet." Could it be true?

Envy. I envy those who are content with what they have. They don't seem to be on any road to anywhere. It doesn't bother them that the world will be no better after their tombstone is chiseled. They are the 9 to 5'ers who blow their checks and run their credit cards. A love for consumption and "things" stands in place of any particular ambition to do something important. No plans for the future and no desire to makeany sort of impact on others. Superficial. Pointless. The kind of people for whom Mother Nature asks for refunds.

And yet I envy them.

What would a day be like to wake up and feel worryless? To live life completely and selfishly with no regard for this.. "itch" of mine. An itch to know more, to grow, to try my hardest to bring out the best in others and make people happy, even if just for a moment. To end suffering, as nuts as it may sound. What if I awoke with no zest or desire to pursue the talents that God planted inside me?  If I walked around happy with average, and dismissive of anything that meant struggle. Would I be any better? Would I be.. any worse. 

Perhaps I am judgemental. Smug. Always looking at people too hard instead of accepting who they have chosen to be. But it's hard to accept the world for what it is. I see so many people who have not the slightest concern for people, animals, the Earth, real problems like hunger and the deficit. They simply breathe. My God.. how I long to breathe just one breath without wondering how I could have breathed it better?  If I could stab a simpleton, rip open his chest, and steal his apathy I would do it in a New York minute. No one knows the pain of those "called upon" except those who are called upon.

Lord, help me understand why I reincarnated. And please, in my next life, make me a sheep.

reflections from a typical Sunday

I've heard people say that certain moments of your life are real defining points. Sometimes it comes in a mysterious phrase, like, "That experience really defined me as a person."  As I grow older I think I am getting a better idea of what this means. 

I Am Jack's Complete Lack Of Surprise

It's Sunday. 6 AM. Morning light has yet to re-claim the landscape. I am paralyzed on the interstate. Cars whiz by in the darkness at 70 MPH. But not mine. I am frustrated, helpless, and essentially fucked. They say trouble comes in 3's. My car dying was number 2. So I sat, waiting for number 3.

Trouble number two was nothing compared to number one. And so a part of me has to be thankful. Fifteen minutes earlier I was ready to fight for my life. Like I've done many times before, I put myself into a stupid and dangerous situation. The part of me that chooses risk and excitement over the typical and predictable is probably the stupidest attribute of my personality. But I can't live any other way.

I'm asleep, and quite drunk, passed out at a friend's house. Somewhere I never should have gone to begin with. He lives in a rough neighborhood, and on previous visits my wild imagination had asked me how I would react if an intruder were to come. It's funny how the things we think eventually manifest.

I'm not usually drunk when I'm there. I am almost always elected D.D. Tonight was my lucky night, up until we awoke to the sound of someone pounding on the door. I was half asleep, still intoxicated, but I knew that sound. That was not a neighbor. That was someone furious and quite determined to enter. It's hard to explain the instant fear and adrenaline that fills you when you perceive a threat. The body does something amazing.. It slaps you across the face and forces your shit together. Within three seconds I suddenly became sober as a judge, and my mind started calculating the essentials.

I knew that if we didn't open the door the intruder would quickly kick it in; that an alternative exit was too risky because I didn't know the layout of the house or neighborhood; and that I had nothing in my immediate reach with which to defend myself.

Had I been alone in the apartment I would have immediately found a defense weapon, called the police, and prayed to God that it would take this asshole a good amount of strength and time to beat the door down. Had I had more time to think maybe I could have come up with something better. But I don't think more than 5 seconds passed between the time that the pounding started and "Johnny" rushed to the door. I watched, horrified, as he unlocked the door and swung it open.   

Hypothetical Madness

Dawn has broken on the freeway. Pale shreds of light start streaming into my lifeless vehicle. Big rigs roar by and send an unnatural vibration through me and my car. While I know to look for the gold in every situation, I can't stop thinking about all the places I would rather be than stuck on I-10.

I scan my phone for the number to a tow truck company. No luck. I try to think of a friend who can Google it for me, but it's 6 AM, and no one is awake. A technology glitch prevents me from receiving the one response that actually did come in (hours later.) A motorist assistance company stops by to help, but only tells me what I already know: it's not out of gas, and it's not the battery. I feel like the sinking Titanic.

I manage to get the number to a tow company. As I start to shuffle through my purse for my credit card, I find it: trouble number three. At some point in the long night my card has taken flight. No card means no money. No money means no tow truck. The inevitable moment has arrived. I dial my stepdad's number and prepare to get my ass beaten.

Later. Much Later. 

I have survived the Sunday from hell. I feel disgusting, hungover, angry with myself, and about as smart as a bag of hair. Make that used hair.

I want to beat my own head in for repeating the same mistakes. Married apparently means married. I no longer believe in "separated," or "going through a divorce."  If I ever hear those words again I will demand written proof, Carfax style. No, take it back.  I'll just run.

It's now 10:30 at night. I dare to tiptoe out of my room where I've been hiding all day since our return from the morning family outing to pick me up off the side of the road. My stepdad, Steve, is thoroughly sloshed. But instead of the continued tongue lashing I expect to receive, he just looks at me with super glossy eyes. We exchange an awkward conversation, and I make an excuse to leave the room. Not because I don't want to be there, but because my eyes are misting over. I know that somewhere deep inside and past all of the scoldings there is a part of this man that loves me and wants the best for me. Not because he has to.

I am overwhelmed by feelings of gratefulness and guilt. I've chosen to give more time to my career and friends than to my family. And yet, it is family who is with us when our careers and friends turn their backs. As sad as it is, I am reminded of the brevity of life, and the things that made me bitter earlier in the day now seem far away.. Weightless. I am no longer angry at Johnny's wife who showed up to mortify us and pour water in my gas tank. I am simply grateful that I am not in a broken marriage. And that thanks to my family, not in a broken car. Helpless. Waiting for dawn to come and make it better.

I feel a little more defined today. 

Ring, ring. It's your wearwolf calling.

A lot of people think opportunity knocks. I'm here to tell you that it howls.

Ready to let it all howl out?

For the past few days my head's been buzzing with questions. At times I'm so frustrated that I fully expect steam to come whistling out of my ears teapot-style. The last time this happened, I compared it to Noah's mission to build an arc. But this time the feeling is less like slow, lazy construction, and more like a gravitational pull. In short, I feel like a werewolf just before the full moon.

I'm not going to run and hide this time.  And if you're brave, neither will you. When your inner wolf is ready to howl it means you are ready to do your life's work. It calls out to you from within, and no one can discover it for you. According to all the "howlers" I've ever met, and those I've read about, whether you choose to face your calling or not will define whether you live an extraordinary life, or just a regular existence. 

A Tale of Two People....

To illustrate just how different your life could be should you rise to the challenge of finding yourself I shall tell you the brief Tale of Two People. It's about a man and a woman born around the same time, in similar places, with similar intelligence. They were carriers of the wolf gene, just like you and I. When the gene was ready and their inner wolves started to howl, each of them responded differently, and thus they wrote the stories by which they'll be remembered. 

Each was born in the Spring of the 1950's; one in Mississippi, one in Louisiana. He lived in the city, and was the son of working class parents. She lived in a country farm, and came from a generation of servant families. Her grandmother said to her one day, "You better learn how to wash those clothes and hang them on the line, because you'll be a maid the rest of your life." She looked out into the field, into the clear blue sky, and thought to herself, 'No, that's not right at all.'  It wasn't a thought - it was something she knew to be true, even as a 12-year old child.

As a kid He also knew that he was capable of doing great things. He was not a minority like she was, so his road may have even been a little easier. Yet for some reason he chose not to see his gifts like she did. He would attempt projects, but at the first sign of adversity, abandon them. Whereas she would grab the bull by the horns, and get back on whenever thrown off. She was highly motivated; he never did the "inner-work" necessary to find his passions.  

Fast forward 50 years later. She is the world's only Black billionaire. Her philanthropy has touched countless lives. She's raised over $51,000,000 for charitable programs of all kinds.

He lives in the same city he grew up in. Despite that he is known amongst many to be a man of great intelligence and potential, he struggles through life and does only the bare minimum to survive. Worse than that, he has denied the world the benefit it could have received from all his gifts.

As much as it pains me to share this story about Oprah Winfrey and my father, I feel that it is necessary. How do the lives of two people take on such a contrast? Why does one person feel a hunger to discover his calling, while another feels the desire to bury it deep inside them and pretend that it's not there?

We Are All Carriers, But We Are Not All Howlers

I feel the hunger, and I bet you do, too. Like the moon pulls the tides, it reaches into the werewolf's insides and begins to take control. He can't do anything about it - the metamorphosis is instant. Ugly horns as big as bananas sprout from his head; thick hair springs from the pores on his arms. Maybe he sprouts a few extra eyeballs. It reminds you of a scene from the video of M.J.'s Thriller. Maybe M.J. was trying to tell us something about our own inner wolves.

When the patient, flacid 'soul searching' part of you snaps like a twig the wolf comes to replace it. He's like a big, hairy, non-profit lawyer that smells bad and asks all sorts of questions for which most people don't have answers. Am I the only one who hasn't found her "calling"? Where is my burning desire for accomplishment? Why does this beast torment me? Why don't more people grapple with this? Are they afraid? Should I bury her back inside me, or allow myself to come.. La Loba? (the she-wolf.)

I found the beginning of these answers in a book, and not only did it soothe my Wolverine, it also compelled me to share it. I decided that the only wrong way to handle the Wolf is to ignore it. I do not fear it, as most people do. Instead, I would let it cover me like a coat. I decided I would trust that I'm exactly where I need to be inside this labyrinth of a search.

Perhaps life isn't about the exit-strategy.. Maybe it's about running inside the maze and finding different paths and people inside it. After all, the walls will continuously curve and change if you let them. And that makes the labyrinth an interesting place to be.

But the most important thing that I realized is that we have to embrace the wolf because the world needs to hear us howl. If you don't take the time to find yourself, your calling, and your gifts, then you have done a selfish thing indeed. You've denied the people, creatures, and the Earth of your contribution. 

We all have an equal chance to do something significant. But getting inspired is your own job, and no one else's. This is harder than it seems, and that's why I believe that once you've found your calling, your life would be greatly enriched by helping others do the same. How selfish are those who have discovered the great secret in life, but never share it.

Imagine that your favorite artist never wrote that one song you absolutely love. He sat around the house with a lot of good thoughts, but never found the motivation or courage inside himself to put them on paper. Or picture your favorite author before she started writing. What if she decided she couldn't bear the thought of the publisher's rejection, so she never sent off her manuscript? It would have been one more Pulitzer buried in the attic. Or how about if Thomas Edison had given up his 9,999th try at inventing the light bulb? After all, it took him 10,000 failures to hit pay dirt.

If the only contribution you can make at the moment is to raise your kids to be as great as they can be then go out and do it. Rear the next Mother Theresa or Steve Jobs. After all, that's all the man in "A Tale of Two People" could do. Do what you can with what you've got. That is the start of your calling. And don't stop.. don't limit your thinking. When one calling is fulfilled, look to the next full moon and find the next one. You could end up being the woman in the Tale, no matter where you came from.

All you have to see is that first step, and take it.. The staircase will reveal itself, said Dr. King. 

I believe that if we live our lives always searching for ways to bring a service to the world, then all our wants and needs will be satisfied by "Infinite Intelligence." Go in peace, friend. When you're ready to howl, you can count on me to be along for the ride.

Joy to You & Your Journey,
"La Loba"

---------------------------------------

"The whole point of being alive is to evolve into the complete person you were intended to be. "

Oprah Winfrey 

For Your Listening Pleasure:

Count On Me by Bruno Mars

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJYXItns2ik

 

Inspirations of This Week's Blog:

My good friend, a hard working woman, and my soul sister Courtney. Also Michael JR., her son who enjoys 'stroller skating'

The Creator, who sees my doubt as I stumble upon this dark path, and shines just enough light for me to continue.

What I'm Reading This Week:

What Should I Do with My Life?: The True Story of People Who Answered the Ultimate Question

by Po Bronson

What Are Old People For? How Elders Will Save The World

By William H. Thomas  

It's OK to fry your brain, but use good oil

"Testing: 1, 2, 3. Brain testing. 

Is this thing on?"

It's official, folks – I am hooked on crack.

Brain crack, that is. 

It's a harsh metaphor, but if you think about it, we all have some kind of cerebral drug. An intellectual stimulant, subject of interest, or even a game that we can't get enough of. We all choose to 'crack out,' just with different ingredients. How else can I describe my unexpected love affair with a subject that formerly sent alarm sirens blaring through my skull?

'Econ' is the quickest and most painless way that college students can refer to a subject that no one should broach unless in a moment of absolute necessity (you know, the night before a final, or at gunpoint). But Econ to me has recently taken on a new identity, and in the words of Nat King Cole, “ it's almost like being...... in loooooooooove!”

Before you wheel me to a room with rubber walls, let me plead a case for sanity. First, even if I am a finance geek, can't you think of worse things to be? (Like a real crack addict, or a “Wookie”). 

Second, the study of Economics provokes free thought and fun, intelligent, often controversial, conversation. This means you get to know people who not only follow the current financial situation in America, but have actually pooled enough neurons to form an original opinion about it. There is something sexy about a non-conformist; of that I'm sure. 

You may want to join this group of market watchers, and I'll give you some good reasons to do it. Many don't realize the consequences of all the money being printed by the Fed, or how it will affect them. But knowledge is power, especially in this case. We're cranking out $1 trillion a year with no signs of slowing down. That much cash is diluting our money supply, just like melting ice dilutes what was once a good, cold drink. This is why the American dollar has been losing its value for almost an entire century. 

This is also the reason that inflation will continue to rise. What does this imply for us average American joes? The game of follow the leader goes sour when the leader walks off the cliff. So you can be a sheep, and follow Uncle Sam into certain doom, or you can break formation. In order to think originally, you need information! This is where Economics can help you.

Clear your mind of what you think you know about Economics, and try to view it as an investment in yourself. Your mental health is your greatest asset, and therefore understanding money and the way societies use it is an essential foundation for anyone who hopes to exit the 9 to 5 rat race. These are not my words - they are those of a billionaire investor. When billionaires talk, it's probably a good idea to listen. 

The truth is we don't learn about the real value of money and assets in traditional school, so those of us who want to explore our curiosity about the market and use it to our advantage must take our education into our own hands. It doesn't matter if you have a little money or a lot. It's better to start off wise and poor than to suddenly find yourself rich, but with no idea as to how money works. As my father says, “a fool and his gold are soon parted.”  Sit back and think about all the people you know who suddenly earned or somehow came into a large sum. Chances are good that they burned right through it (just Google "the curse of the lottery" if you need extra assurance.) 

Yet if you choose to go against the majority, and allow yourself to be educated, you will be fascinated. 

For instance - do you know the difference between money and currency? And that one is much stronger than the other? Why do only 1 out of 10 people in Singapore drive a car, and does this have anything to do with the nation being home to a higher percentage of millionaires than any other in the world?

Would you be interested to know why have so many U.S. businesses have disappeared overseas, and what can you do to protect your money despite impending dollar inflation? How did Jim Rogers retire at 37 doing something you can do, too?

Oh, and should you consider being a farmer? According to some very wise, wealthy people, yes, you should!

Economics answers these questions, and will make you think about so many more. You might even get to the point like me at which you have a favorite economist. That's when you are knee-deep in dorkiness. Not even Screech from Saved by the Bell will challenge you at this point. But come on.. who wouldn't value the opinion of the only person to predict in detail the housing crash and depression of 2008 – 2010? Peter Schiff, cheers to you.

Does anyone smell a wealth transfer cooking? Crank up the heat. 

Cheers,

Cherry Pie

Leaders are Readers! ...What I'm Reading This Week:

Crash Proof 2.0 by Peter Schiff: interesting insight into how the U.S. got into its current mess, and how it's going to painfully wedge its way out 

The Advocate: the newspaper is powerful!

Environmental Report: How Asphalt Shingles Are Recycled, and Their Potential Uses

-----Do you have any good books to recommend? Please comment below..---- 

One of my goals of 2013 is to acknowledge those who inspire my blog posts, so, this week's inspirations are:

My Dad, who finally talked business today with me after what seems like years of pestering. Thanks, Grogg!

My future business partner who just by believing in me makes me feel invincible

My close friend Ray Schlabach, who has always inspired me to dream big