Dear Xander,
Your life coaching changed everything for me. You revealed my best self, my best life, my next level. You took me from minimal actuality to maximal actuality and then to court.
You life-coached me to act with intention; my intention now is to remind you of me, your most authentic triumph, without violating your restraining order.
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have insisted on coaching sessions seven days a week and twice on five of those days, I shouldn’t have called late late late at night and I shouldn’t have broken into your house to fix you breakfast. It was right around then that you said I’d “overstepped the coach-client boundary.” Putting two and two together here!
You and California require 100 yards between us? No problem!
I get it, you need distance from my empowered vibrancy. Who wouldn’t? Thanks to you, I wield the self-confidence of Tony Robbins, the fierceness of Beyoncé, and the body of The Rock.
I respect the State of California’s 100-yard rule, and I value precision, which is why I bought one hundred yardsticks at Home Depot. In the parking lot, I hired eager men to lay the hundred yardsticks end to end between wherever you are and wherever I am.
The men are happiest when you are stationary. As soon as you move, they must retrieve all hundred yardsticks and start laying them again.
Passersby take pictures of me and my men. They inquire about the yardsticks. I explain the restraining order. They say, “Sure, sure.”
Sometimes the yardsticks cause traffic issues, the police come, and my men scatter. I go to Home Depot and hire new men.
A few of my new men suggest we use a 300-foot open reel tape measure instead of yardsticks. It’s a good idea, but I fire them and hire men who will do things my way. You taught me to stand up for my choices.
You taught me to look for disguised opportunity. This tape measure conflict inspires my inner artist: I paint a 100-yard mural as an ode to your coaching. I blend the blue and yellow dreamscape of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” with a Banksy-inspired time-progression of my success journey. It rolls up like an open reel tape measure.
Out of respect for your “No Contact” order, I hired a skywriter to fly my Extraordinary Life Acceleration Summaries (including this one) over your property.
Each morning I fax a new summary and several pages of magnified-thought-journaling to my skywriter.
While my men are on lunch break, I shove the hundred yardsticks in a sack, tie the sack around my head, and run up and down a hill, exhaling negative thoughts and inhaling positive thoughts, for psycho-physical harmony, per your coaching.
I high-five strangers, because high-fives are psych-up slaps. Yeah!
My 100-yard mural will make you so proud. You always challenged me to make my life a masterpiece, not a forgery. It’s going to be the perfect knowledge-manifestation of your mindset-empower station.
You said persistence overshadows talent, so I show up every day, 100 yards away, per your restraining order. My men ask for more money.
I dream to be the ultimate version of what I can be. I’m turning the invisible visible. I’m making the impossible possible. I’m running out of money.
I set an intention to turn my spiritual flow into cash flow. I really don’t want to go back to catering work.
From this driftwood log on your beach, I can see you 100 yards away in your kitchen, blanching kale. A wealth of positive vocabulary bursts from my being the way my biceps burst from my “Success Whisperer” tee-shirt. I am aphorism-rich but bank-poor.
Finally, I receive an answer from above. Literally: my skywriter calls me from his plane to complement my 100-yard mural. He asks if I’d be willing to place it in a local art competition.
My 100-yard mural wins the competition. The city commissions me to produce art as part of a revitalization initiative. Time magazine declares me the 100th-most influential young artist. Bill Geist interviews me for Sunday Today.
I give my men a raise. Happy, they unfurl the mural between wherever you are and wherever I am, even if you’re out on your surfboard and I’m on my stand-up paddleboard.
Behind Home Depot, I counsel the eager men to awaken, to excel, to grow the flower within. We exchange psych-up slaps.
My purpose crystalizes: I become a Life Coach. One of my clients gets a little clingy. I take out a restraining order against him.
As always, I hope you look up at the sky and see this.
Topher