Obnoxious
Last night, my wife told me I was obnoxious.
I mean, she didn't use that word because she's far more tactful and diplomatic than I am.
Nevertheless, she said I was obnoxious.
I don't always listen to her because she tends to worry over things that don't need to be worried over, but this time she said something that caught me off guard.
"You have to stop bragging about all this money you're making," she said, "I don't think people like it."
My face wrinkled up in sort of a "Watchu talkin' 'bout, Willis" way.
First, I was confused.
Then, I was worried.
"Shit! Am I dense? Is that what the other Julia was talking about when she sent me that Morgan Freeman quote last week?"
"Have I been an ass?"
I've been sharing stories on Facebook and my blog for around six years now. Early on, I discovered that if I were going to do something like this, I'd need to have thick skin.
No matter what I write, somebody always doesn't like it.
I can write about a beautiful sunrise, and somebody will say, "Jesus! This guy and his sunrises! Does he ever shut up? Where does he get off talking about the sun like that?"
But then, a couple of days later, the same person will comment, "OMG! You're so right, I was thinking the same thing!"
So, I've learned to brush off the times when my writing doesn't resonate with someone.
In sharing my stories, I aim to be open & honest. Above all, I hope sharing my experiences can be helpful, inspirational, or otherwise beneficial.
The thought that I could come off as braggadocious turns my stomach, so you can be sure Julia had my full attention last night.
And I was defensive.
"WTF are you talking about? I haven't said anything about how much money I make."
"Well, you said you wanted to make $10,000 every week."
"Yeah, that's what I WANT to make. In like a DECADE! After ten more years of busting my ass. That's the future, NOT NOW! Am I not supposed to talk about financial goals?"
"I just think you should be more cautious."
In this case, maybe she's right.
Perhaps finances - present or future - are best left out of the conversation.
I don't know.
My style of communication is often described as blunt. Usually, I'll call a spade a spade. I'm the guy who will say the shit that other people won't say.
Maybe I listen bluntly, too?
Or something like that - here's what I mean.
I'm in a group started by one of my mentors that has a monthly membership fee. This guy is ultra-successful. Like me, he's an open book, so I know he has a seven-figure annual income.
So here I am, paying him to be part of the group, knowing that my membership fee contributes to his seven-figure income. When his wife posts pictures of their vacation, I know that it was paid for, in part, with my money.
But I don't care; I'm happy for him!
When he sends me a picture of the $6,000 cold plunge he bought after I introduced him to ice baths at a recent event, I don't get upset that I'm still schlepping buckets of ice into my $110 poor man's version.
Like his vacation, I'm happy for him.
I think it's freakin' awesome.
Now and again, he'll send me an email that says something like, "I had this idea for a promotion last week. It took me 45 minutes to write the ad, which I ran for two weeks, and I made $17,000 from it!"
Again, I think it's freakin awesome.
I don't want to make money that way, but I like seeing someone else do it. It shows me what's possible and reminds me there are a million ways to make a buck.
I've never once thought he was bragging.
And I damn sure don't want anyone to think I'm bragging since that would be neither helpful, inspirational, or beneficial.
It would only be gross, so I'll spend some time thinking about this, and I may realize I need to tweak my style.
Anyway, that's what's on my mind this morning while I run around and tend to some last-minute stuff before we head to the airport.
At the risk of tooting my own horn, I'll be in San Francisco later today.
And tomorrow, I'll have my picture taken in front of the house at 710 Ashbury St. For those who know that address, that might actually be something worth bragging about.