I was going to write a book (about myself) called Turning It Around. I decided that total sales might be < 10 units, so I decided to post it all here instead. This is chapter one.
When in Rome… – Ron Burgandy
First, a bit of background. I grew up in Magnolia, TX. I remember passing by the green city limits sign on the edge of town, showing that our population was around 6,000. That’s a lot compared to nearby Todd Mission, whose population was a whopping 54 according to the 1990 census (146 as of 2000).
I had an amazing, small town, suburban-America childhood. I played little league baseball and basketball. I built countless forts, fished, swam, ran, jumped, and played all day long. My two brothers and I had ideal neighbors, the Taylors, who had three boys also. Between the six of us, there are stories to tell for days and days.
Our house at 511 Kelly Road sat on about an acre and a third of land. The empty lot next to us served as a baseball field, a race track for dirt-bikes and go-carts, and sometimes just a beautifully manicured lawn. I volunteered to mow the grass at quite a young age. It seemed like such an amazing, grown-up thing to do! Although the interest died after the first few times behind the lawnmower, I would continue to maintain our lawn and a host of others all the way through high school.
My Nana and Papa lived down the street and were always there for us when we needed them. They also had a golf cart and several driveways. Their circle drive would fill up with heaps of leaves every fall. We (mostly me) would rake the leaves into various patterns — making a mini city that included roads, shops, and laws to abide by. My Mama and Papa Joe (my father’s parents), lived about 45 minutes away — closer to Houston. There were an equal number of fascinating things to play with there, including a massive bayou out back, a working typewriter, building blocks, and a garage so full of stuff you’d never get through it in a lifetime.
Life was grand — for about 11 years. We took vacations to Colorado, Nashville, Florida, and pretty much every other state that surrounded Texas. The important events in life were All Star games, the toys in the cereal box (a major issue when there’s one box and three boys), and when the next trip to Lake Livingston was. Then came the age of 12, at which I was introduced to death, divorce, and a move. These are life changing events that will alter the life of any child. Aside from my grandfather passing away, my entire world was now split over two homes in two different towns. My mother decided to take a job and move to Tomball, about 30 minutes away from Magnolia. From day one after my parents separated, I would vow to spend precisely 50% of my time with each of my parents.
The Tomball schools were supposed to be bigger and better. I far as I can tell, they were. I would go on to graduate from Tomball high school, mostly being interested in football and basketball. I was rarely interested in anything I was studying. During Coach Fowler’s Algebra II class, I once fell asleep right in the middle of an exam. I enjoyed watching To Kill a Mockingbird, but I never read the book. Coach Norwood’s American History was probably my favorite because he told stories and communicated in a personable way. He was probably never given a golden apple, but he should’ve been. He was a teacher of the year in my opinion.
After my senior year basketball season was over, I was left with a massive void in my schedule. I had three months left of high school and I didn’t care about a single thing I was involved in. In Mr. Eaton’s second period English class, I sat next to the very first friend I made on my first day of school in Tomball, Julius Myren. Jam (his initials) and I met on the first day of 5th grade at Tomball Elementary. We would continue to be casual friends throughout the years, one level above an acquaintance. One morning in the spring of 1999, we were discussing our current favorite songs. We decided to start a band.
Graduation would come and go quickly in the May of 1999. I didn’t go to any graduation parties because I didn’t really drink or enjoy parties. I found them utterly ridiculous and I was never comfortable. I also hated the taste of Bud Light and liquor. I found it repulsive at the time. The few times I had tried to drink I ended up sick and wondered what the point had been. With my leftover graduation money, Jam and I made our way to a music instrument convention at the Astro Hall in Houston. I found a drum set, Jam found a bass guitar and amplifier, and we raced home to feverishly unwrap our new toys and become rock stars. My new girlfriend Sarah, along with everyone else in the world, was highly suspicious of my new ambition. As always though, she supported me 100% and was there every step of the way.
I should mention that neither of the two of us had ever touched a musical instrument. Actually, I played the tuba for two years in 6th and 7th grade. I can’t say that counts for much when trying to start a rock band. We invited our friend Tim to join the band because he was a great guitar player already. We knew we needed at least one person who already knew how to play (Tim would also get me my first computer programming job). I could write an entire book about the trials, tribulations, ups, downs, blood, sweat, and tears that went into Second Class, but I’ll spare you the details here. In short, we managed to achieve a moderate level of success through sheer determination and focused energy. There was never a doubt in our minds that we would achieve the highest level of success. We went from a garage and keg parties to Music Lab Studios in Austin, TX and the Warped Tour. We sold albums all over the world through an online store and website that we created ourselves. It was hard work, but it was heavenly.
While utterly consumed with Second Class, I also managed to attend the University of Texas at Austin. Again, I completed my course of study, a Bachelor of Arts in Government and Economics, but with little enthusiasm or excitement. I just wasn’t interested in what I was being taught. I was still working for Tech-X Consulting, earning $9 an hour (which I was happy with). I had been admitted into the College of Computer Science at UT, but I changed my degree to Liberal Arts at the last minute. I sometimes wonder what life would be like if had chosen to pursue Computer Science at UT.
Looking back, my 23rd year turned out to be much like my 12th. Things had hummed along for quite a while, but at 23, I would experience the end of my band, the end of a five year relationship, and the end of my schooling at UT. Now what?! I knew I needed more from life and I knew I wanted to see the world, but I wasn’t sure how to get started. For 23 years, I had been involved with or told where to go and what to do — either by a curriculum, a parent, a girlfriend, or a rehearsal and live show schedule. Now, I was starting with a blank slate and I was the only one in charge.
Because college was over and the band was dead (what an awful ending it was!), I was now fully responsible for my financial situation. There would be no more allowance money from dad and no more CD/merchandise sales from the band. I had a history of working retail jobs, so I sought out to work at the talk of the town, the new Nordstrom in Austin, TX. In February of 2004, I started selling women’s shoes. At first, I was awful! I was slow, timid, and just an all around lousy salesperson. My managers and teammates were very helpful (thank you, Denise) and instrumental in my improvements. I still go back and visit Irma, who taught me so much about shoe sales and personal finance.
The truth was, however, I was bored in Austin. I had been introduced to happy hour — and then any hour. Can you believe that I didn’t know what happy hour was at 23 years old?! I had no goals to work towards, so I ended up idle — drinking and dating. It was fun for a minute, but I needed more. True to my impulsive nature, I looked up the highest grossing stores in the company. This led me to stores 220 and 320 — Michigan Avenue in Chicago and South Coast Plaza in Costa Mesa, CA. Because winter was near, I chose Orange County over the bitter, absurd cold of Chicago. I was finally leaving Texas. I packed up my life into a U-Haul and drove west. I didn’t even have a map. I just got on I-10 and drove west. I didn’t even have an apartment or a place to stay. I did have work on Monday morning, though.
I had a loose contact who mentioned that she knew of an apartment for rent. I called the individual who was leasing the apartment and he informed me that he wanted two full months up front. I didn’t have that kind of money. I was driving to CA with a few hundred dollars and a direct deposit that would hit in a few days. I had planned on writing a check that would float for a few days (a stressful practice I would employ frequently for many years). Somewhere in Arizona I panicked and called the only person I could think of, Sarah. By some crazy twist of fate, her brother had been located by his job in San Diego just two days prior. Todd would prove to be a lifesaver and one of the best roommates I’ve ever had.
For a month, I drove back and forth between San Diego and Orange County to sell shoes at Nordstrom. For anyone not familiar with the trip, it was 75 miles of the 5 and 405 freeways each way. These freeways are hellish. It’s some of the worst traffic in the country. If not timed properly, the commute time can double. I barely remember these days. I was hanging on by a thread. I didn’t know a soul in Orange County and I was nearly falling asleep driving back and forth. Something happened, though. This was a fork in the road of life and I could have easily quit and given up, but that thought never even occurred to me. I just kept on driving and kept on selling. The gas alone was killing me (I was driving a 1998 Dodge Ram V8 truck). I had to fill up every two days. I would take short naps along the way in Encinitas, San Clemente, and Mission Viejo. It was brutal.
After a month, a teammate at Nordstrom put me in touch with a friend and I found a place right next to the store in Costa Mesa. A switch flipped and I became fully consumed with work. I was no longer the shy, timid salesperson that took one customer at a time. I was working six days a week, open-to-close, and I was on fire. An assistant manager asked me, “Are you selling used cars out there?! Your numbers are out of control.” My paychecks were beautiful and, for a while, I was in the top 10 salespeople in the entire country for Nordstrom.
Then came the boredom. I was burnt out and I had achieved my goal of the top salesperson at the top store in the country. I tried a vacation, but I came back even more disenchanted. I knew my time at Nordstrom was drawing to a close. Just then, fate stepped in again when. I got a call from Todd in San Diego who wanted to know if I was interested in a two bedroom apartment. I spoke to my Mom on my lunch break and decided right then that I needed to move. I knew I could transfer to a Nordstrom in San Diego, but I knew it would never be as grand as South Coast Plaza — and thus I would force myself to quit.
San Diego has the best weather in America and the lowest level of motivation in America. I wonder if these things correlate. Surely they must. The main concerns are surfing, beer pong (which I discovered only when I moved to San Diego), and surfing. My prediction was correct, the Fashion Valley store was good, but it was not great. It would still take me several months to quit, however. I didn’t have a clue what was next. My time at Nordstrom was finished, but to this day, I still quote stories, policy, and procedure from Nordstrom. It’s by far the best company I have ever worked for. It’s the kind of company that makes you voluntarily drive to the DHL hanger at the Austin airport and hand deliver a pair of shoes to a girl who needed them for an event the same night, something I proudly did in the name of Nordstrom.
What came next turned about to be shameful, but I didn’t know it at the time. Like a fish that sees the shimmer of lure, I saw the bloated numbers of San Diego mortgage companies. The housing market was booming and I wanted in. I could sell shoes, so why not mortgages? I took a commission-only job at a gem of a company called Mortgage Options Financial (www.lendingresults.com). The website doesn’t exist anymore, so I’m guessing they’re extinct with the result of the shady business operations that went on in Southern California during this time.
I sold five adjustable rate mortgages (ARM) in 2005. I hated it. I understood the product, but I was making cold calls to people who didn’t need these mortgages. I was only proud of one out of five of the deals because I had truly helped that family out. The other deals were very high loan-to-value, subprime, unnecessary deals. These were the mortgages being sold off to Wall Street in order for them to package the Residential Mortgage Backed Securities. I ended up getting fired from Mortgage Options Financial, thank God. I had put my resume online with Monster and my manager came across it — oops!
In my final days at Nordstrom had a met a lovely young woman named Nicole. She was a summer employee at Nordstrom, home from a summer break at Parsons Fashion School. Nicole and I began seeing each other and I made a promise to visit New York City in the fall. I had only been once when I was 15 with my mom and younger brother. I got fired the day I got back from New York in October of 2005. This was truly a blessing. I spent the next five months next to the pool at our apartment complex in San Diego. Todd and I lived in one of those fancy Archstone communities that was gated and way too expensive. I have no idea how I made rent every month and I’m pretty sure Todd was a little worried as the 1st of each month approached.
Next to the pool, in my oh-so-awesome Southern California bathing suit (black Billabong board shorts with pink pin-stripes), I was voluntarily reading for the first time in my life. As cheesy as it may sound, I started out with Rich Dad, Poor Dad. My complete and total disregard for saving and record keeping had kept my personal finances in shambles from day one of being employed. I had paid thousands to Wells Fargo in overdraft and bank fees. Although I don’t regret anything — ever — I would like it if Wells Fargo would give me that back. Rich Dad, Poor Dad was motivating and insightful. Kiyosaki is right, the education system falls terribly short of teaching financial literacy.
After Rich Dad, I moved on to two other books that would profoundly change my life, Stephen Covey’s 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and Napoleon Hill’s Think and Grow Rich. Whether I’m cremated or laid to rest, I want my little copy of Think and Grow Rich to be with me. It means that much to me. Covey’s book completely changed my lens through which I see the world. I became much more aware that I am in complete control of my thoughts. His breakdown of the word “responsibility” — the ability to respond — always helps me remember that I can choose how I react or respond to any situation. Napoleon Hill’s book reminded me that anything is possible (like Kevin Garnett yelled after the Celtics won the NBA title). It reminded me that I had started a successful band without ever touching the drums. It reminded me that the universe will work with me if I focus my energy and effort long enough.
With renewed confidence that I could achieve anything, I decided it was time to take another step forward. This time, there was no question as to where. With a pretty girl and an abundance of expensive real estate and opportunity, I was bound for New York City. I decided to make a dramatic entrance and surprise Nicole. It was Valentine’s day of 2006 and as far as Nicole knew, I was at a real estate conference in San Diego, her hometown. In reality, I was on a Delta flight heading for LaGuardia airport. As we made our approach up the Hudson river on the left side of Manhattan, I could see that all of New York City was blanketed in snow. It was beautiful. I could see how cold it was. From above, it looked so peaceful. I had left sunny, slow-paced San Diego for the brutal cold of an unforgiving New York City.
My dinner reservation was at 8:00. I made it to Nicole’s friend’s apartment with all of my belongings (a whopping two bags) by 7:30. I confusingly made my way Acqua Santa in Williamsburg just in time. Anyone who has just moved to New York can attest that sometimes it’s impossible to tell which direction is which. Everything looks the same! I was seated at the table as Nicole’s friend Olivia led her in. She walked right by me without noticing. Olivia pointed me out. My surprise had gone perfectly and I was now a resident of New York City. Hmm… now what?
