I like my day job. And at the risk of sounding braggadocious, I’m pretty damn good at it. I solve complex problems, work closely with executive leadership, and gain firsthand insight into how top decision-makers think. It’s priceless business education. At 24, I’ve learned more from my job than many do by 35. It’s a blessing.
But I know the job is not... me.
My role gives me a front-row seat to what it takes to be the best in corporate America, and honestly, I don’t have it. I work alongside people who have mastered the game—so much so that it’s become their identity. The small talk about weekends that were “too short,” the endless networking dinners, the vendors wooing you with overpriced drinks to sell overpriced products—it’s part of the culture.
For some, it’s a dream. For me, it’s draining.
I come home exhausted, mentally depleted. I sit on the couch—no phone, no TV, no distractions—just sitting, feeling drained and disconnected. Multiple 12-hour workdays, over six hours of commuting each week, all pulling me further from my family—the thing that matters most to me.
When I die, no one will care how many hours I worked or how much money I made. I know this. As much as I’d like to build wealth, I’d rather have a life that meant something, a funeral filled with people whose lives I touched.
Yet, the more successful I become in my corporate job, the harder that feels.
If my employer reads this, I hope they don’t take it the wrong way—but I can’t do this forever. I don’t want to.
I once had a boss who left for another company, leaving me buried under a mountain of work. When I saw him a month later, the first thing he said wasn’t “hi” but “you look older.”
I get it—poor me, a 24-year-old with a great job, financial security, and real estate investments. What do I know about struggle?
But I do know this: the thing that drains me most is time taken away from what I love. And that’s enough to make me question everything.
The good news? I can do something about it. I have the skills. The only thing holding me back is fear—fear of putting myself out there, of chasing a dream and realizing it wasn’t what I wanted. But the only way to know is to try.
A few months ago, I finally mustered the courage to start making content under my own name. I chose LinkedIn because it’s where I had the biggest following and where my business insights fit best.
I grew to over 4,000 followers in the first year.
But I still didn’t fully commit. I thought, “Maybe I should stick with finance—that’s where my audience is.” Then I considered marketing, since I run a marketing agency. But the truth is, marketing itself doesn’t excite me. Building things does.
I love creating. Music. Software. Clothes—I’d love to launch my own brand one day. Cinematography. Photography. Learning new skills. Teaching myself anything and everything.
But I struggle with sticking to one thing because I don’t know who I am in business. In my personal life, I’m guided by my three core values: Faith, Family, and Finances. But when it comes to making money, I see so many opportunities that I get paralyzed by choice. And even when I start something, doubt creeps in, and I quit before I see results.
Pathetic, I know.
Three years ago, I started teaching myself to program—the skill that could give me the freedom I crave. But I still haven’t launched my own product. I’ve led the development of a product my bank invested in. I built a peer-to-peer betting app that got shut down due to e-gambling laws. Yet, I haven’t created something that generates revenue for me.
That changes now.
I’m committing to building systems and habits that ensure I follow through. I’ll use what I’ve learned from social media to bring attention to my product. I’ll document my journey in real time—every challenge, every win, every lesson.
Right now, my investments in marketing and real estate bring in $2,425 a month in passive income. I don’t count client work because I want to escape the time-for-money trap.
As I build, I’ll keep detailed logs—notes, screenshots, and updates—to document my path toward financial independence.
First, I need systems. Motivation alone won’t get me there. I need a structured process to create content, build products, and share my progress.
My focus comes down to two key objectives:
- Build an audience.
- Convert that audience into customers.
Everything else is secondary. I need clear strategies for audience growth—where I build, how I engage, and how I deliver value. And when it comes to monetization, I need to ensure I’m creating the right product for the right people.
So if you’ve made it this far, I’d love your support. Encouragement keeps me accountable. It’s easy to quit when no one’s watching.
If you’re interested in following my journey, drop your email. You’ll get a front-row seat to what I’m building, how I’m doing it, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll be my first customer.
Thanks for reading.
