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Diary Of A Heartbroken Hustler / Memoirs Of A HUSTLER. (2) (3) (4)
The Art Of A Hustler by Nobody: 2:18am On May 03, 2015 |
Prologue If someone had told me when I was seventeen that I would be where I am today, I would not have believed them. I'm not sure how long this feeling will last, but right now, I feel like I'm on top of the world. This is the culmination of a long and arduous journey. Everything I am and everything I have achieved seemed so impossible at one point in my life. I didn't have a trust fund, I'm not from a prestigious part of town, and my family didn't have any connections. I made it to where I am purely based on hustle. *** "They're ready for you, Mr. Morrison." "Thank you," I said, as I peeled myself off the plush leather couch. I followed a production assistant down a long corridor and into the studio. When I entered the studio, I was instructed to take a seat. One perky assistant clipped a microphone on me while another one touched up my makeup. "Are you ready?" the hostess asked. "Yes," I said, then I took a deep breath. "Roll cameras in three, two..." The hostess looked into the camera, which was just beyond my right shoulder, and began to speak. "Hi, I'm Mikayla Martens for In the World of Finance. Thank you for tuning in with us this week. You can find our next guest gracing the cover of this month's issue of Force Magazine. He is a self-made billionaire and is the President, CEO, and founder of Unity Inc. Remarkably, Mr. Morrison accomplished all this before his 30th birthday. Mr. Morrison, thank you so much for being with us today." "It's my pleasure, thank you for having me." "Congratulations on all your success and making the cover of this month's Force Magazine." "I appreciate that, thank you." "I found this article about you fascinating. Is it true you were nearly homeless at one point in your life?" "Yes, that's right. It was a very precarious time in my life. That was just over ten years ago." "That must have been a trying ordeal to go through at such a young age." "It was. I remember feeling as if I were teetering over the edge of a cliff, holding onto a small branch for survival and unable to get a foothold. I was physically drained and all alone. Left to the physical laws of the universe, I would have inevitably fallen - either the branch would have given way or I would have fatigued. I was at that point... I mean down to the last second, where I was facing imminent defeat... then something amazing happened. I reached out my hand in a desperate act of blind faith and somebody grabbed onto it and pulled me out of that situation. I was still not out of the woods so-to-speak, but I was lucky to have at least avoided an early demise." "That's incredible. So from that point, you turned your life around and now you are a multi-billionaire." "Yes, but it wasn't easy." "I'm sure it wasn't. You mentioned the term luck. How much of a role has luck played in your life?" "That's a great question. I don't think too many people would deny luck plays an important part in the lives of successful people, but I like to think people can create their own luck. I also think I have a unique ability to see the value in something. What may appear to be junk to some, may actually be something of great value." "Can you give an example of that?" "Okay, I can give you a trivial example. One time I was playing poker with some friends. It was down to three players at the table and I was the current chip leader. The cards were dealt and I ended up getting 10/6 off-suit. Now, if you don't know anything about poker, 10/6 off- suit is typically a junky hand, most people would fold it immediately. For a moment, I contemplated folding as well, but I decided to play the hand just to see what opportunities may come from it. As it turned out, I got lucky and took out all the remaining players at the table to win the game. Some may say I just got lucky, but I say I created that luck. After all, I was the one who played the hand, right? So, sometimes life is like that. We need to play those junky hands we are dealt once in a while, and they may create an opportunity that would otherwise not exist." "That's interesting. I like your example because you are not saying 10/6 is always a good hand, but if the timing is right and you have the courage to play it, sometimes you can get lucky." "Exactly. I put myself into the situation giving luck an opportunity to affect me. Had I just played it safe on the sidelines, the luck may not have entered my life. Even the most mundane moments can provide you with a life altering lesson, it's up to you to recognize those moments and apply them appropriately." "So I gather there have been many situations in your life that were like this card game?" "Yes, a lot. In fact, there have been too many to count." "Can you give us another example?" "Actually, my investing strategy is based largely on a concept that I learned while I was waiting for the bus one morning when I was in college." "Really? Most people waiting for the bus in the morning are trying desperately to stay awake, or they're kicking rocks to occupy their time. However, you are coming up with investment strategies." "To be honest, that wasn't my intent. I was presented with a scenario that on the surface didn't appear to have much value, but I recognized its potential in a broader scope. I knew if I applied it in the right way, it could be a tremendous lesson." "I can't wait to hear it." "It's actually kind of a funny story. One morning, I was waiting for the bus to take me to school and I noticed this gorgeous girl heading in my direction. When she got about fifteen feet away, she noticed I was checking her out, which in turn affected her behaviour. It was like the spotlight was on her and she was trying to ramp up her sexiness. She puckered her lips, flipped her hair, and batted her eyes a few times. She was trying to be subtle, but her actions were actually quite transparent. However, since she was doing all that fancy stuff, she wasn't paying attention to where she was walking and she stepped in this huge pile of dog crap. It was hilarious to me, but obviously she was completely humiliated. She hobbled away quickly with her head down, dragging her shoe, trying to scrape it off. It was great. So the lesson I took from that was - no matter how hot you are, you can always step in some crap if you are not focused." "Those are some very important words to live by, presented to you by the financial prodigy himself, Mr. Trevor Morrison. We are going to take a quick break, but when we return, we will find out when all of his success began.... |
Re: The Art Of A Hustler by StarboyMichael(m): 2:55am On May 03, 2015 |
That's a nice piece, lessons learnt, 1. You can create your own luck, if you are blessed with ability to recognize the right time. 2. No matter how good you are doing, never loose focus of your focus. Waiting for more lessons @Op |
Re: The Art Of A Hustler by Nobody: 3:20am On May 03, 2015 |
StarboyMichael: thanks for following, more posting loading in hours |
Re: The Art Of A Hustler by Nobody: 9:00am On May 03, 2015 |
I checked the time on my phone; I still had to wait
another fifteen minutes until lunch. I had been sitting
through this stupid ceremony for the better part of an
hour and my stomach was growling. There was one
more kid they had yet to announce, but everyone knew
who it was.
"Finally, but certainly not least," Ms. Bennett, the school
principal, said into the microphone. "This next student
has continually demonstrated an outstanding level of
achievement. Not only has he maintained a perfect 4.0
grade point average, but also he is the captain of the
basketball team, and is actively involved with the
community. I think we can all agree this young man has
a bright future ahead of him. It is my distinct honour to
present the Duke Elingberg Award and a one hundred
thousand dollar scholarship from Harvard University to
the student who needs no introduction. Please put your
hands together for..."
I clapped like everyone else, but all I could think about
was what I was going to have for lunch. I decided on a
pastrami sandwich stacked high with lettuce tomatoes
and pickles. By now, Kal-High's poster boy had taken the
stage gleaming with pride. Ms. Bennett congratulated him
on his achievement - a truly remarkable achievement at
that. I had heard Harvard was a really prestigious school,
but I had no idea where it was.
Academics were not my thing. I wasn't really sure what
my thing was, but I also wasn't too concerned about it, I
figured some kind of opportunity would surely present
itself.
***
After I ate lunch, I stood outside with some friends. High
overhead something caught the group's attention. It was
a lone snowball soaring through the air. We all watched
with great interest since based on the trajectory we could
guess who the intended target was - Ms. Abraham. The
snowball hit the ground right by her feet and
disintegrated upon impact. Ms. Abraham did not look too
pleased. She looked toward the group and stormed
over.
"Come with me," Ms. Abraham said.
"Who, me?" I asked in disbelief. "What did I do?"
"You know what you did, don't play dumb with me."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I pleaded with
her as she led me back inside the building. "I didn't do
anything, Ms. Abraham." It was no use; my defense was
ignored. "This is bull-!" I belted out in frustration.
One of the greatest tragedies in life is the unjust
incarceration of a man. I was about to find out firsthand
what that would be like.
"Take a seat and wait here," I was instructed, as Ms.
Abraham entered the principal's office.
Muffled through the wall, I heard the accusations of a
smug Social Studies teacher proudly showing off her
catch to the leader of the tribe. "I caught Trevor throwing
snowballs outside."
A few moments later, I was called in. I stood at the edge
of the principal's desk and waited for instructions to sit.
"Have a seat," Ms. Bennett said. "Ms. Abraham, thank you
for bringing this matter to my attention. I'll take it from
here."
Ms. Abraham exited the office, not before giving me one
last dirty look.
"So..." Ms. Bennett began her interrogation. "Ms.
Abraham said she saw you throwing snowballs, what do
you have to say for yourself?"
"With all due respect, I think Ms. Abraham is very much
mistaken. I saw the whole thing and there is no way she
saw who threw the snowball. All I can tell you is that I'm
innocent." "Is that so?" "Yes, Ms. Abraham was more than a hundred yards away and looking in the opposite direction, how then could she have made out my face in the crowd?" "She must have seen something since she picked you out of the crowd. How do you explain that?" "I don't know, perhaps she saw someone who matched my general description throwing snowballs, or maybe she saw me with my hands in my pockets and erroneously deduced they were cold from throwing snowballs, I can only speculate. Regardless, I contest these horrendous allegations." "So it's a case of mistaken identity, is it?" "Precisely." Ms. Bennett looked at me for a moment, almost as if she had the ability to tell if someone was lying. "Trevor, I have to say, I'm very impressed by how you defended yourself just now. You were calm, collected, and articulate with your words," she said with a slight smile. "You are obviously a very bright young man, but you wouldn't know that based on your grades. You are a few months away from your projected graduation date and you are failing, or nearly failing, most of your courses, with the exception of a few classes," she said, as she continued to study my file. "I see you are currently getting an 'A' in Philosophy, which tells me you are a very patient and careful thinker. The comments from your teacher support that. Your teacher writes, 'Trevor attends every class and participates actively.' So it's not that you're not capable of good grades, perhaps you just lack the motivation." Ms. Bennett paused and there was a brief moment of silence. I just stared back at her, waiting for her conclusion. "As I'm going over your record, it looks like you're missing a lot of classes and you've been suspended twice this year, once for breaking into the games room, and once for fighting. I could suspend you a third time for this incident today, but I don't think that would be in your best interest. To tell you the truth Mr. Morrison, I'm not really sure what to do with you at this point." Again, I didn't say anything. I just bowed my head in shame. "Mr. Morrison, assuming you can graduate on time, what are your plans after June?" "I'm not really too sure, probably just find a job somewhere, try to save up some money." "Trevor, I'm going to be blunt with you. I see a lot of potential in you, but it seems like you're just throwing it away. I hope you realize the choices you make and the people you surround yourself with will determine how your life will turn out. Now, you have to ask yourself, are the choices you're making and the people you're hanging around with leading you down the path of success...or failure?" As I was thinking about what she had asked me, the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch break. "I'll let you think about that. You're dismissed." I left her office and sauntered down the hall towards my locker to grab my math books. I didn't mind math, it was one of the few courses I was actually doing well. I enjoyed the instant gratification of solving complex equations. Plus, I liked the teacher. He always wore these really nice three-piece suits and drove a brand new Mercedes. He seemed to be much more successful than a typical high school math teacher, and for that reason, I tended to listen to what he had to say. About twenty minutes into class, the phone in our room rang and our dapper teacher answered. "Yes, he's here," Mr. Stirling said softly into the receiver as he swiveled around looking in my direction. "Okay, I'll send him down right away." "Trevor, Ms. Bennett would like a word with you," he said. The whole class chuckled as if they were in the third grade. I packed up my Superman comic with the rest of my things. Something told me I wouldn't be coming back. I walked down to Ms. Bennett's office - the long way. I arrived a few minutes later and poked my head into her door. "You wanted to see me again?" I said. "Mr. Morrison, please come in and have a seat," she said, as she gestured for me to sit. "The reason I called you back to my office is to apologize to you. A witness has come forward to advocate for your innocence." "I appreciate that, but I was trying to tell you that I didn't do it." "Yes, but given the situation, this person's testimony is more credible than yours. Do you know what that means?" "Yes." "What does it mean?" "It means the person does not have anything to gain from the situation, but since I do, their word can be trusted more than mine," I answered. It was obvious she was testing me, but it was not clear why she was doing it. "Good," she smiled proudly. "Trevor, I'm glad to hear you were not the one throwing snowballs today; however, I would be perfectly within my right to suspend you over the coarse language you used with Ms. Abraham." "But I didn't even swear, I just said that this was 'bull...'." "Yes, but the swear was implied. Mr. Morrison, that kind of conduct is unacceptable and I could suspend you on that alone. But I won't do that, provided that you meet one condition." "Which is?" I asked. You cannot miss a single class from now until graduation. In addition to that, for your two free blocks, you will come to my office and do your homework." "Come here?" I asked in disbelief. "Yes, I expect you here every day. You will sit in that corner and do your work." I sat there in silence pondering this strange proposal. When I realized this was not open for discussion, I left. On my way out I saw my friend Darrell sitting outside the principal's office. Darrell and his sister were raised by their single mother and were not afforded many of the same opportunities most kids had growing up. Without a proper male role model and supervision, Darrell got into all types of trouble. His activities included smoking a lot of pot, selling pot, writing graffiti, and...well, that was about it. He was probably one of the least ambitious people I had ever met, but for some reason, we were friends. "Hey, Darrell, what did you do?" I asked. "I didn't do nothin'. How bout you?" he replied. "I didn't do anything either. |
Re: The Art Of A Hustler by LarrySun(m): 12:28pm On May 03, 2015 |
You need to place the paragraphs well. And the alignment of your first post is confusing. It looks as if you copied and pasted the work from another thread or site. |
Re: The Art Of A Hustler by Nobody: 12:50pm On May 03, 2015 |
LarrySun: the first post is the prologue where Morrison is been interviewed, and other post means the narrative part. |
Re: The Art Of A Hustler by An0nimus: 4:17pm On May 03, 2015 |
TheAlpha you can re align the first post using the left alignment function when modifying. It should correct what Larry talked about. Then the paragraph thing too. Double enter to leave a paragraph like this before my next sentence... I enjoyed the dialogues. Nice |
Re: The Art Of A Hustler by Nobody: 7:12pm On May 03, 2015 |
An0nimus: Thanks, i really do appreciate you guys here 1 Like |
Re: The Art Of A Hustler by Nobody: 10:06am On May 04, 2015 |
The sound of my dad mowing the lawn at 7:00 a.m. was
enough to wake me up. The fact he was up so early
doing yard work meant there was a good chance he
would come inside and put me and my brother to work
as well. I peered out my window to see how much
longer he would be. He was about halfway done, so by
my estimation that gave me about thirty minutes before
he came inside and started barking orders at me.
Somewhere along the way in his life, he had not reached
his goals. So ever since I could remember, he had been
pushing me to make something of myself. That was fine,
except that nothing I ever did was good enough for him.
Since the bar was set so high, after a while, I had just
stopped trying. A saying that summed up my life
perfectly was, 'Don't reach for what you can't grab'. As hard as I tried to think about it, it wasn't obvious which direction my life would go. It wasn't as if I was standing at a fork in the road with several paths laid out in front of me; I was standing at the edge of a jungle. I knew I had to enter it, eventually, and there was no better time than the present. Still in bed, I leaned over and grabbed my phone. I spoke with a friend of mine who had recently moved out of his parents' place. He had forged ahead into the so-called jungle and was encouraging me to join him. During our short conversation, I made the decision to follow in his footsteps and walk the path he had already carved out. It was a hasty decision, but not a completely irrational one. It had been about a week since graduation and I still had nothing going on. My dad kept bugging me to get a job and move out, so that was what I decided to do. I got out of bed and went into my closet. I grabbed a small backpack and began filling it with everything I thought I needed to survive in the real world. I packed a week's supply of socks and underwear, my favourite t- shirts, a pair of pants, a small knife, some Band-Aids, a toothbrush, and some food. After my bag was packed, I secured the zippers with a small lock. I stood up, tossed my bag over my shoulder, and took one last look around my room. I wondered if I would ever see it again. I made my way downstairs and saw my dad eating breakfast. I poured some cereal into a bowl and sat down at the kitchen table across from him. "Going somewhere?" he asked, taking notice of my backpack. "Uh, yeah, I'm going to stay with Will for a little while," I responded. That was somewhat true; I just didn't know how long 'a little while' was going to be. "Do you need any money?" "No," I responded coldly. I rejected the money to prove a point. I wanted to show him I did not need his help. Or maybe I was just too proud to admit that I did, especially since he had such little faith in me. I had less than a hundred dollars to my name, the last bit of money that I had left from selling bootleg mix tapes around school, but I was determined to make it work. My brother, Brian, was really smart; he was already halfway through a university degree and was an all around good son. I, on the other hand, had poor grades and no direction. With all the trouble I had at school and home, I felt like my dad had pretty much given up on me. However, when it was time for me to leave, I was surprised at how little he fought with me to stay. I guess he didn't disagree with my decision. Or maybe he thought Will still lived down the street. Either way, I was happy for the freedom. My dad finished his breakfast and started to clean his dishes. Not another word was spoken between us. I didn't even bother to say 'goodbye'. Before I left, I knocked on my brother's door. Seeing as it was early in the morning and I had a large backpack slung over my shoulder, he made the logical deduction as well. "Where you going?" he asked. 1 Like |
Re: The Art Of A Hustler by smartkester(m): 6:07pm On Apr 10, 2017 |
Where the heck is the OP of this story na.. Comman and complete this story.. Why start what you can't complete |
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