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#Warning! This story is incredibly long. It describes my journey from an arrogant teenager to the successful entrepreneur I'm today. A tale about triumphs and failures. There will be no magic or dragons inside, so it may be a little boring. However, if you're looking for an Unscripted lifestyle, I think it's worth a read.
I recall the first time I came across the Fastlane philosophy. I was a teen who was obsessed with making money quickly. I read every book, watched every YouTube guru, and attended every webinar promising millions on my account and seventy-two virgins as a bonus if I bought their limited-time, only $97 program that will "change my life". Needless to say, my approach was not very successful. In fact, I spent my days living with my parents, fantasizing about Ferraris and tropical island villas with pools filled with topless Victoria's Secret models.
My highly successful uncle once gave me several books he thought would put me on the right track, including one titled "The Millionaire Fastlane ." I was ecstatic. "Exactly what I need," I thought. However, as I read on, I found myself growing more and more disappointed. The formula for overnight success was nowhere to be found; instead, the author talked about self-discipline and hard work, and was criticizing my favorite gurus!
"What a waste of paper that was", I moaned. "Imagine people paying money for that!" So I did not waste another thought on it. You see, I wasn't an ordinary kid. When teachers wanted to brag about their students' accomplishments, they would choose me. I consistently received the highest grades in my class, excelled in every competition, and never had to open a book. I've always thought I was smarter than everyone else, questioned the status quo, and believed in my infallibility.
I was "too smart for my own good," as the saying goes. So I ignored the authors' and my uncle's advice. After all, my uncle was just a multimillionaire who ran a few thriving businesses. What is that compared to my brilliant ideas that will make me a billionaire in no time?
As you might expect, it didn't end well. I spent the next few years experimenting with failed business ideas and sinking deeper into depression. We eventually get to the point where I'm 22 years old. I was a total loser; none of my brilliant business ideas came to fruition, I barely made ends meet working at a crappy logistics center, I was obese, and I'd never had a girlfriend, let alone kissed one. My life was in shambles, and I felt embarrassed every time someone asked how I was doing.
Nevertheless, I was too proud to change my ways and was probably going to continue living that sad parody of life for a long time, but as with any good movie scenario, there was an unexpected plot twist to keep things interesting. For many months before that moment, I had been suffering from headaches and fatigue, which I had ignored, blaming stress and overwork. I arrived at the office one day feeling terrible. I was experiencing the worst migraine of my life. I was on the ground a few hours later, having a seizure attack. I was rushed to the hospital, where doctors immediately ordered an MRI and other tests. After what seemed like an eternity, the doctors returned with concerned expressions, stating that the MRI revealed an unusual mass in the brain and that they would like to perform a biopsy.
My worst nightmare became a reality the next day. "I'm so sorry to break the bad news to you. You have a very aggressive type of cancer called glioblastoma, and the tumor is in a very advanced stage and is unfortunately inoperable," the doctor explained. "All we can do is provide you with palliative care to alleviate your pain." I sat there, unable to think coherently. "How much time do I have left?" I inquired. "I believe less than three months. This is the time to spend with your family."
I was neither sad nor angry when I left the hospital. I was completely numb as if it were happening to someone else and I was just a helpless bystander. As soon as I returned to my apartment, I packed my belongings and informed my mother that I would be visiting her and Dad for a few weeks. She was overjoyed because I rarely paid them a visit. My parents, bless their hearts, were unprepared for the news I had for them...
Imagine how devastating it would be for a parent to learn that their 22-year-old only child has incurable cancer and only has three months to live. My mother cried so much that the entire country was flooded. My whole family banded together and spent their days searching the internet for anything that could help me. Herbs, shamans, black magic, pig brain transplant, you name it. But I was uninterested in the results of their research. My depression kicked in, and I gave up completely. All I wanted was to spend the remaining time of my life with my family and die peacefully.
I started organizing my affairs a few days later so that my death would not be a burden on my family. I made a will, ended my apartment lease, and even sold my junk car to a friend to help with funeral expenses. I was going through my belongings, deciding which ones to throw away and which might be useful to someone else, when I came across some books I had purchased previously. Can you tell which one was on top? The book's title was "Unscripted " and it was written by MJ DeMarco. "I swear I've read his book before," I thought. "Did I just buy a book that I already own?" I'm not a fan of superstitions. I don't believe in the law of attraction, fate, or any of that crap. I decided to check out this book and began reading it. Then I noticed this, the second sentence, the first page:
It hit me like a freight train on full throttle. I burst out laughing, then cried as I'd never cried before because I knew the answers to these questions. I don't like to think that one moment can change your entire life, but these words broke something in me. I was sitting in my room, tears streaming down my face. And I knew deep down that I wasn't going to leave this world without a fight. If I were to die, I needed to know that I had done everything possible to beat cancer. There were so many things I wished to do and places I desired to visit first. I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to leave a legacy.
I took my medical records and contacted every doctor and hospital in the world that treated an advanced glioblastoma. But, one by one, they all responded, "We're so sorry, we examined your case and determined we are unable to assist you." The tumor was too close to vital brain areas. They didn't want to take any risks. I slowly started to lose hope once again. But then I received a ray of hope from Houston, Texas. MD Anderson Cancer Center chose to operate on me and enroll me in experimental therapy. My uncle offered to cover the costs, and after a brief battle with the embassy to obtain a visa during Covid, I was on a plane to the United States.
The days following surgery were the most helpless and humiliating I'd ever felt. I couldn't keep my body under control. I could hardly walk. I shat my pants more than once. I had to learn again how to write with a pen and eat with cutlery. I was stuttering. Chemo and radiation drained all of my will to live. But I was getting better every day. I fought, and I was winning. Despite surgery and therapy, doctors were cautious in their optimism. I wasn't cured; I simply bought myself some more time.
My uncle surprised me when I returned home. He offered me a hefty sum of money so that I could fulfill my dreams and live out the rest of my life to the fullest. To everyone's surprise, I refused. I did not go through hell to simply take the money and F*ck off to the tropics. I wanted to accomplish something, to show myself that I am capable. When I worked at that logistics center, I began to notice patterns that could be used for automation, potentially saving our clients a lot of money and time. But when I talked to my bosses, they weren't interested in any automation or innovations; they were pre-internet dinosaurs. If they could, they would still be delivering packages using horse carts.
I began acting as soon as this concept formed in my mind. I conducted market research and discovered no direct competition, a large enough market with fat margins, and a high barrier to entry - coping my product would require knowledge of AI programming, including machine learning. But there was one minor snag: I knew very little about programming. Fortunately, my friend, who is an expert in this field, was enjoying his sabbatical somewhere in Asia. I took the rest of my funeral savings and begged him to build the simplest demo possible. All I wanted to know was whether my idea was viable. And this is where dying from cancer comes in handy - people seem hesitant to refuse you. I had a demo in my hands a short time later.
I fell in love with it as soon as I started testing it. It made my work much faster and more enjoyable. It was everything I wished I had at my previous job. But my devotion to my product was irrelevant. I sent the demo to my industry contacts to get their feedback. The response was insane. They were all hooked. The next day, I received a dozen emails from their bosses asking if they could purchase the demo. I knew I had to act quickly because as soon as word got out, there would be a slew of people attempting to less or more successfully reverse engineer my product.
After much persuasion, I was able to convince my programmer friend to join my project on an equity basis. While he was overcooking his brain on the technical side of the product, I focused on UI and UX. I remember that most of the programs we used at my job had the worst, completely counterintuitive interfaces, and were slower than an asthmatic snail. It used to drive me crazy. I decided to change that. I called all of the demo users and asked them seemingly trivial questions: "Would you prefer this button on the top right or left corner? Should we include dark mode? Should this feature be hidden in the options menu or be easily accessible from the main menu?"
We were working in a small 100-square-foot room in my parents' house at the time. We only had two laptops, a desk, and a fickle printer that spilled ink on every third page it printed. We worked nonstop, barely sleeping or eating. I borrowed a car from my parents and drove to every industry conference I could find, soliciting feedback and establishing a client base. My family and friends believed that my brain had been damaged during surgery. "You're insane. "You've been given a second chance, and you're squandering it?" they asked. But I didn't pay attention. I knew I was right.
After we released the full version of the product, the market reaction was astounding. We struck gold. We were bombarded with emails requesting new features. Companies loved how simple our interface was to navigate - you could teach a chimp how to use it in a few hours. But there had been a pressing issue. To expand, we required an investment. Our savings vanished faster than water in the Sahara desert, and we risked being blown out of the market by sharks with inferior products but substantial financial backing.
I'd like to say that some famous Silicon Valley Venture Capital firm was impressed by our product and decided to invest in us, but the truth was more mundane. I asked my uncle if he would be willing to invest the money he wanted to give me earlier in the company. He went above and beyond; after conducting his due diligence and recognizing the company's potential, he and his business partner invested a massive sum in our company, on terms and amounts far exceeding what we could get under normal market conditions.
We began to grow like a weed. In a few months, our company developed from two people in a claustrophobic room to a spacious office with dozen employees. My uncle's assistance was once again invaluable. He assisted us in establishing the proper company structure, hiring trustworthy employees, and navigating through growing pains - all of which we were unaware of. More clients were joining every day, and sums far exceeding our wildest expectations were appearing on the company account.
Our company now generates 8-figures in annual revenue and is still growing. We have a few dozen of employees. We decided to close the office and have all of our employees work remotely. Our clients come from all over the world and range from small family businesses to Fortune 500 corporations. Our product was transformed from an ugly duckling to a beautiful swan. It evolved from a clumsy program with limited functionality into the industry's most advanced product of its kind. Our competition has grown, but we are always a few steps ahead of them.
So far, my best decision has been to sacrifice a sizable portion of my profit in order to hire competent management. It freed up my time; now I only work a few hours per week at most. With a lot of money and free time, I was ready to fulfill my dreams. I became UNSCRIPTED .
I was traveling through the United States in March. My friend's friend in Miami invited me to stay in his newly purchased villa one day. He threw a fantastic party. I was sitting there enjoying my drink and gawking at the gorgeous women playing in the pool. I chuckled to myself as I looked at the beautiful villa, a driveway full of luxury sports cars, and ladies in the pool, remembering my teenage dreams. It finally occurred to me. I made it. I eat the best food, travel around the world in five-star luxury, sleep with a lot of beautiful women, and can afford to fulfill all of my dreams. I'm living out my bachelor fantasies.
Yet, deep within my heart, there is regret and sorrow. I have everything I desire except time. I am kept alive by a combination of experimental drugs and pure spite, but I know that I am living on borrowed time. I can feel death breathing down my neck. I suffer from FOMO all the time. Before I die, I want to try everything. But there are some things I will never experience. I've always wanted a large family. I will never marry a woman or have children. I will not witness my child's first steps and learning about the world. I'm concerned about my parents. I'll leave them a fortune, but who will look after them when they're old and infirm?
In July, I will turn 26. The last three and a half years have been beyond my wildest dreams. I learned and experienced more than I ever imagined possible. I don't want you to pity me. Cancer, ironically, allowed me to rediscover myself and live my life to the fullest. I want you to think about your life choices after reading this story. Do you really have as much time as you believe? How will your family and friends remember you if you died tomorrow? As a man who lived his best life while adhering to his principles? Or as a wet sponge with no character and spine who was too afraid to make a difference? Will they remember and mourn for you? Or simply replace you with someone else, as you would with old TV? What will you leave behind? Legacy and generational wealth? Or debt to pay and more headaches for your family?
I recall the first time I came across the Fastlane philosophy. I was a teen who was obsessed with making money quickly. I read every book, watched every YouTube guru, and attended every webinar promising millions on my account and seventy-two virgins as a bonus if I bought their limited-time, only $97 program that will "change my life". Needless to say, my approach was not very successful. In fact, I spent my days living with my parents, fantasizing about Ferraris and tropical island villas with pools filled with topless Victoria's Secret models.
My highly successful uncle once gave me several books he thought would put me on the right track, including one titled "The Millionaire Fastlane ." I was ecstatic. "Exactly what I need," I thought. However, as I read on, I found myself growing more and more disappointed. The formula for overnight success was nowhere to be found; instead, the author talked about self-discipline and hard work, and was criticizing my favorite gurus!
"What a waste of paper that was", I moaned. "Imagine people paying money for that!" So I did not waste another thought on it. You see, I wasn't an ordinary kid. When teachers wanted to brag about their students' accomplishments, they would choose me. I consistently received the highest grades in my class, excelled in every competition, and never had to open a book. I've always thought I was smarter than everyone else, questioned the status quo, and believed in my infallibility.
I was "too smart for my own good," as the saying goes. So I ignored the authors' and my uncle's advice. After all, my uncle was just a multimillionaire who ran a few thriving businesses. What is that compared to my brilliant ideas that will make me a billionaire in no time?
As you might expect, it didn't end well. I spent the next few years experimenting with failed business ideas and sinking deeper into depression. We eventually get to the point where I'm 22 years old. I was a total loser; none of my brilliant business ideas came to fruition, I barely made ends meet working at a crappy logistics center, I was obese, and I'd never had a girlfriend, let alone kissed one. My life was in shambles, and I felt embarrassed every time someone asked how I was doing.
Nevertheless, I was too proud to change my ways and was probably going to continue living that sad parody of life for a long time, but as with any good movie scenario, there was an unexpected plot twist to keep things interesting. For many months before that moment, I had been suffering from headaches and fatigue, which I had ignored, blaming stress and overwork. I arrived at the office one day feeling terrible. I was experiencing the worst migraine of my life. I was on the ground a few hours later, having a seizure attack. I was rushed to the hospital, where doctors immediately ordered an MRI and other tests. After what seemed like an eternity, the doctors returned with concerned expressions, stating that the MRI revealed an unusual mass in the brain and that they would like to perform a biopsy.
My worst nightmare became a reality the next day. "I'm so sorry to break the bad news to you. You have a very aggressive type of cancer called glioblastoma, and the tumor is in a very advanced stage and is unfortunately inoperable," the doctor explained. "All we can do is provide you with palliative care to alleviate your pain." I sat there, unable to think coherently. "How much time do I have left?" I inquired. "I believe less than three months. This is the time to spend with your family."
I was neither sad nor angry when I left the hospital. I was completely numb as if it were happening to someone else and I was just a helpless bystander. As soon as I returned to my apartment, I packed my belongings and informed my mother that I would be visiting her and Dad for a few weeks. She was overjoyed because I rarely paid them a visit. My parents, bless their hearts, were unprepared for the news I had for them...
Imagine how devastating it would be for a parent to learn that their 22-year-old only child has incurable cancer and only has three months to live. My mother cried so much that the entire country was flooded. My whole family banded together and spent their days searching the internet for anything that could help me. Herbs, shamans, black magic, pig brain transplant, you name it. But I was uninterested in the results of their research. My depression kicked in, and I gave up completely. All I wanted was to spend the remaining time of my life with my family and die peacefully.
I started organizing my affairs a few days later so that my death would not be a burden on my family. I made a will, ended my apartment lease, and even sold my junk car to a friend to help with funeral expenses. I was going through my belongings, deciding which ones to throw away and which might be useful to someone else, when I came across some books I had purchased previously. Can you tell which one was on top? The book's title was "Unscripted " and it was written by MJ DeMarco. "I swear I've read his book before," I thought. "Did I just buy a book that I already own?" I'm not a fan of superstitions. I don't believe in the law of attraction, fate, or any of that crap. I decided to check out this book and began reading it. Then I noticed this, the second sentence, the first page:
It hit me like a freight train on full throttle. I burst out laughing, then cried as I'd never cried before because I knew the answers to these questions. I don't like to think that one moment can change your entire life, but these words broke something in me. I was sitting in my room, tears streaming down my face. And I knew deep down that I wasn't going to leave this world without a fight. If I were to die, I needed to know that I had done everything possible to beat cancer. There were so many things I wished to do and places I desired to visit first. I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to leave a legacy.
I took my medical records and contacted every doctor and hospital in the world that treated an advanced glioblastoma. But, one by one, they all responded, "We're so sorry, we examined your case and determined we are unable to assist you." The tumor was too close to vital brain areas. They didn't want to take any risks. I slowly started to lose hope once again. But then I received a ray of hope from Houston, Texas. MD Anderson Cancer Center chose to operate on me and enroll me in experimental therapy. My uncle offered to cover the costs, and after a brief battle with the embassy to obtain a visa during Covid, I was on a plane to the United States.
The days following surgery were the most helpless and humiliating I'd ever felt. I couldn't keep my body under control. I could hardly walk. I shat my pants more than once. I had to learn again how to write with a pen and eat with cutlery. I was stuttering. Chemo and radiation drained all of my will to live. But I was getting better every day. I fought, and I was winning. Despite surgery and therapy, doctors were cautious in their optimism. I wasn't cured; I simply bought myself some more time.
My uncle surprised me when I returned home. He offered me a hefty sum of money so that I could fulfill my dreams and live out the rest of my life to the fullest. To everyone's surprise, I refused. I did not go through hell to simply take the money and F*ck off to the tropics. I wanted to accomplish something, to show myself that I am capable. When I worked at that logistics center, I began to notice patterns that could be used for automation, potentially saving our clients a lot of money and time. But when I talked to my bosses, they weren't interested in any automation or innovations; they were pre-internet dinosaurs. If they could, they would still be delivering packages using horse carts.
I began acting as soon as this concept formed in my mind. I conducted market research and discovered no direct competition, a large enough market with fat margins, and a high barrier to entry - coping my product would require knowledge of AI programming, including machine learning. But there was one minor snag: I knew very little about programming. Fortunately, my friend, who is an expert in this field, was enjoying his sabbatical somewhere in Asia. I took the rest of my funeral savings and begged him to build the simplest demo possible. All I wanted to know was whether my idea was viable. And this is where dying from cancer comes in handy - people seem hesitant to refuse you. I had a demo in my hands a short time later.
I fell in love with it as soon as I started testing it. It made my work much faster and more enjoyable. It was everything I wished I had at my previous job. But my devotion to my product was irrelevant. I sent the demo to my industry contacts to get their feedback. The response was insane. They were all hooked. The next day, I received a dozen emails from their bosses asking if they could purchase the demo. I knew I had to act quickly because as soon as word got out, there would be a slew of people attempting to less or more successfully reverse engineer my product.
After much persuasion, I was able to convince my programmer friend to join my project on an equity basis. While he was overcooking his brain on the technical side of the product, I focused on UI and UX. I remember that most of the programs we used at my job had the worst, completely counterintuitive interfaces, and were slower than an asthmatic snail. It used to drive me crazy. I decided to change that. I called all of the demo users and asked them seemingly trivial questions: "Would you prefer this button on the top right or left corner? Should we include dark mode? Should this feature be hidden in the options menu or be easily accessible from the main menu?"
We were working in a small 100-square-foot room in my parents' house at the time. We only had two laptops, a desk, and a fickle printer that spilled ink on every third page it printed. We worked nonstop, barely sleeping or eating. I borrowed a car from my parents and drove to every industry conference I could find, soliciting feedback and establishing a client base. My family and friends believed that my brain had been damaged during surgery. "You're insane. "You've been given a second chance, and you're squandering it?" they asked. But I didn't pay attention. I knew I was right.
After we released the full version of the product, the market reaction was astounding. We struck gold. We were bombarded with emails requesting new features. Companies loved how simple our interface was to navigate - you could teach a chimp how to use it in a few hours. But there had been a pressing issue. To expand, we required an investment. Our savings vanished faster than water in the Sahara desert, and we risked being blown out of the market by sharks with inferior products but substantial financial backing.
I'd like to say that some famous Silicon Valley Venture Capital firm was impressed by our product and decided to invest in us, but the truth was more mundane. I asked my uncle if he would be willing to invest the money he wanted to give me earlier in the company. He went above and beyond; after conducting his due diligence and recognizing the company's potential, he and his business partner invested a massive sum in our company, on terms and amounts far exceeding what we could get under normal market conditions.
We began to grow like a weed. In a few months, our company developed from two people in a claustrophobic room to a spacious office with dozen employees. My uncle's assistance was once again invaluable. He assisted us in establishing the proper company structure, hiring trustworthy employees, and navigating through growing pains - all of which we were unaware of. More clients were joining every day, and sums far exceeding our wildest expectations were appearing on the company account.
Our company now generates 8-figures in annual revenue and is still growing. We have a few dozen of employees. We decided to close the office and have all of our employees work remotely. Our clients come from all over the world and range from small family businesses to Fortune 500 corporations. Our product was transformed from an ugly duckling to a beautiful swan. It evolved from a clumsy program with limited functionality into the industry's most advanced product of its kind. Our competition has grown, but we are always a few steps ahead of them.
So far, my best decision has been to sacrifice a sizable portion of my profit in order to hire competent management. It freed up my time; now I only work a few hours per week at most. With a lot of money and free time, I was ready to fulfill my dreams. I became UNSCRIPTED .
I was traveling through the United States in March. My friend's friend in Miami invited me to stay in his newly purchased villa one day. He threw a fantastic party. I was sitting there enjoying my drink and gawking at the gorgeous women playing in the pool. I chuckled to myself as I looked at the beautiful villa, a driveway full of luxury sports cars, and ladies in the pool, remembering my teenage dreams. It finally occurred to me. I made it. I eat the best food, travel around the world in five-star luxury, sleep with a lot of beautiful women, and can afford to fulfill all of my dreams. I'm living out my bachelor fantasies.
Yet, deep within my heart, there is regret and sorrow. I have everything I desire except time. I am kept alive by a combination of experimental drugs and pure spite, but I know that I am living on borrowed time. I can feel death breathing down my neck. I suffer from FOMO all the time. Before I die, I want to try everything. But there are some things I will never experience. I've always wanted a large family. I will never marry a woman or have children. I will not witness my child's first steps and learning about the world. I'm concerned about my parents. I'll leave them a fortune, but who will look after them when they're old and infirm?
In July, I will turn 26. The last three and a half years have been beyond my wildest dreams. I learned and experienced more than I ever imagined possible. I don't want you to pity me. Cancer, ironically, allowed me to rediscover myself and live my life to the fullest. I want you to think about your life choices after reading this story. Do you really have as much time as you believe? How will your family and friends remember you if you died tomorrow? As a man who lived his best life while adhering to his principles? Or as a wet sponge with no character and spine who was too afraid to make a difference? Will they remember and mourn for you? Or simply replace you with someone else, as you would with old TV? What will you leave behind? Legacy and generational wealth? Or debt to pay and more headaches for your family?
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