I have been quiet for some months now…and I hope it was worth it.

I have BIG news!

My new book is now available for pre-order on Amazon.com.

Were you born to be a business owner and don’t know whether you should buy an existing business or start your own from scratch? What is the best answer for you? YOU WILL KNOW whether to build or buy WHEN you follow the 7 SIMPLE STEPS in this book. Or, if you simply want to prepare for entrepreneurship, this book is for you.

“Unleash Your Entrepreneur” will be released June 27^th but you can pre-order today at www.amazon.com/dp/B07RCTY8MM

Today I learned that “Unleash Your Entrepreneur” was awarded #1 Best seller on Amazon. It will be ready for download on June 27 but you can pre-order your copy today.

If you are interested in starting or buying your own business, but are struggling to know where to start, and would like a free 45 minute strategy session, please pre-order the book, and post “Done!” in the comments below. I will get back to you in the next couple of days to arrange a time for our session and we can take it from there.

Please share this post if you would like, and let me know!

This is super exciting for me! And I know you will be excited too.

We all discover things through experience. Sometimes those discoveries lead to major changes in our life’s direction. Sometimes it is small things that can have significant changes in the way we experience life. And so it was for me….

“Are you aware of the time?” Laura asked gently as I examined the stubble on my chin. Neglecting to shave for a few days sure did make me look older, almost like every picture I had seen on wanted posters!

I quickly made the decision to shave, even though we were on somewhat of a deadline, and time marches on regardless of whether we want it to, or not.

I look at the clock on the wall….8.45am…we still have time.

We had spent the night in a gorgeous little bed and breakfast, tucked away in a back street of Mission Beach. The room was Victorian in design but large with a comfortable king-sized bed and a sitting area. The bathroom belied the Victorian style, being modern and with all the best facilities.

We were both excited for the planned activities of the day, while the aroma of bacon, eggs, toast and coffee beckoned us. Breakfast was a sumptuous affair with fresh fruit (pineapple, banana, passion fruit and more) seducing our taste buds as we enjoyed the solitude and peace.

A solitude that was soon broken with the arrival of other houseguests, an Italian traveler with her French husband. Over bacon and eggs, we engaged in the typical sort of small talk that fellow travelers indulge in whilst on the road.

“Where have you been?”

“What have you seen?”

“Where are you heading next?”

“How long will you be here?”

It had been over a decade since I had visited my home country, Australia. Much had changed, but much had remained the same, and I was interested in how our fellow houseguests thought of Australia.

In response to my question, they smiled and said “ Australia is a beautiful country – so…civilized.” They went on “Great food, very clean, friendly and safe.”

While nodding in agreement, my heart swelled with pride that my home country measured up so well to these seasoned travelers.

After breakfast we checked the time, and quickly took our leave knowing we had only a few minutes to finish packing and make it to the docks to meet our launch.

It was a dreary day, heavy clouds threatening to send lightning and chaos toward us, with heavy rain and thunderstorms predicted. Driving toward the dock provided limited opportunity to see the beach, but the occasional glimpse provided a scene of crashing waves, white-tops as far as the eye could see and rolling ocean waters.

I looked at Laura “I hope this launch is a decent size…we are in for a rough crossing”.

The glimpses of ocean I had seen through the thickets of eucalyptus trees, occasional palm trees and thick undergrowth, sent a warning that all who travelled beyond the safety of the shoreline were entering hostile territory. The full might and power of an angry sea was sure to pummel even the hardiest of sailors into submission.

And we were far from being experienced sailors. We knew nothing of the winds and tides that would be our opponents as we made the crossing. Fear of the unknown was magnified by knowledge of the risks. I could feel my sphincter tighten as I realized the enormity of the challenge we faced.

“We are going to need a bigger boat” I quipped, nervously, as we pulled into the boat ramp and saw the small 24ft outboard motorboat waiting for us. (Jaws remains one of the best fish stories ever – and I love to use that line!)

We arrived at the dock right on time at 9:20am and met our captain, Jason.  A tall bronzed Australian, with a strong accent and typical Australian attitude (“She’ll be right, mate!”). He took our bags and dropped them into the front of his boat (launch) bobbing up and down on the water. Of course, the dock was behind a seawall, protecting it from the turbulent waters we were about to cross.

Jason warned us that as we rounded the seawall, we would be in for a rough ride.

“We will have a few bumps at first as we go round that reef, there” he said, pointing to our right, “and then we will hug the beach as much as possible before making the crossing. I will try to get you there without you needing a chiropractor when you arrive. Stay seated, there are grab handles each side, and the life jackets are under your seat. It may get a bit rough at times.”

A passenger subject to the debilitating effects of seasickness would have been in trouble the minute we left the dock. Rounding the seawall, we were hit with the full force of the ocean, her four-foot swells lifting and dropping our launch (boat) mercilessly, causing it to bob like a cork.

But, for us, it was exhilarating!

Neither Laura nor I suffer from the effects of motion sickness and found the rise and fall of the boat exciting. The bow dug into the swell sending walls of salt water over the bow and onto the heavy plastic squall sheets that surrounded the front of the boat, obliterating everyone’s view for a few seconds.

The 50-minute trip across to our island was filled with the sound of bumps, crashes and roars of excitement as the boat lurched, dropped and climbed the ocean swells.

There were times, I confess, when I thought we were doomed to break apart and end our days swallowed by the angry sea. In those moments, caught between fear and exhilaration, my mind raced through my life. Memories of the wonderful things I knew, and the mistakes I had made, intermingled with my hopes for the future created a blur of emotion.

At those moments that seemed to last forever, among the cacophony of the raging ocean around us, I understood that life can be extinguished in the blink of an eye. It was up to us to wring from our lives the joy, fulfillment and purpose that gives life meaning…before that eye blinks closed permanently.

Eventually we found safe harbor as the captain expertly navigated a series of rocks protruding from the sand of a small protected cove. The sandy beach was surrounded by palm trees, the white sand beckoning to us as I could only imagine the calls of the Sirens beckoning the sailors of old.

As Jason expertly guided his boat, he reminded us “You are in Far North Queensland. These are tropical waters. We do have sharks and crocodiles, so I suggest to you that you refrain from swimming at night. Stinger season (a deadly jellyfish in tropical Australian waters) has started but you will be really unlucky if one were to sting you here.”

With those words ringing in our ears, we jumped into a few inches of warm tropical water and met our caretaker, Chris, whose skin was like deep brown leather from too many hours in the hot tropical sun.

He showed us to our house, gave us a quick tour, and before departing said “Now, you may hear me blowing leaves away each day. I usually do it in the mornings. I like to do it each day because here on the island we have a snake known as the “death adder”. It is about 12 to 18 inches long and likes to sleep in the leaves. It will probably only bite you if you step on it, but be careful, ok? It probably won’t kill you if it bites you, but it will make you pretty sick.”

Two warnings in the space of 15 minutes reminded me of the truth of something I have known since I was a young boy.

Everything in Australia wants to kill you!

Another reminder of the fact that life can be cut short at any time. Another reminder that it is our responsibility to create and live the life we want.

It took less than 60 seconds for that thought to leave me when I walked into the living room, an open-air affair looking over the trees and down to the rocks surrounding the cove we landed on.

Thoughts of sharks, crocodiles, stingers and snakes were replaced instantly by the peacefulness that can only be found when nature in all its glory sneaks up and tells you to open your eyes.

Gazing out over the tropical ocean, the seas became calm in that instant of time, the howling wind reduced to a gentle breeze, and the scent of eucalypt filled the air with hope and peace and the promise of good things to come.

Fear and anxiety was washed away, replaced by calm and purpose.

In that moment time became meaningless and life became simple.

As busy professionals, both Laura and I had found ourselves tied to our laptops and cell phones almost 24/7. There was always another email to read, a phone call to make, a problem to fix, and a decision to execute. Our lives were not our own – they were driven by the needs of the corporations.

Our trip to Australia was planned to include some family time, and some work time. Computers were never far from our fingertips while cell-phones sat in our pockets ever ready to disrupt the day with calls.

Knowing we were on vacation, thousands of miles from work did not change the fact that we were tethered to somebody else’s demands.

We made a conscious decision to unplug for a few days.

After a week of family reunions in Melbourne, a short but awe-inspiring trip along the Great Ocean Road in Victoria, and a few days working together in Surfer’s Paradise, Queensland, we now find ourselves here, in Far North Queensland, on an island.

With no clocks.

***

Time is not relevant here.

Life is driven by the geography of the landscape.

We allow ourselves to be tied only to the biological needs of the body, the movement of the sun, and the path of the moon across these endless skies.

In fact, time has no meaning without these movements in the sky, and without our biological patterns. Without these things, time has no meaning and no relevance beyond reminding you of what you think you need to do.

***

Laura and I spent several days without clocks, without cell phones and without work. We slowed down, reconnected with each other and were able to live in the joy of simple things…like watching the sunrise after waking naturally from a sleep free of dreams and interruptions. Feeling the cool sand between our toes as we walked along an untouched shoreline, listening to the native birds as they settled for the night.

I took some time to start writing again, something I had not done for years.

And this blog emerged.

But I want to keep it as simple as life without clocks. Life without locks, without thinking about thinking you have to think about what you should be doing.

As I look around me, every day I see people struggling through life, filling it with the empty calories that do little to create fulfillment, purpose or joy. I see people willing to swap time with their children for dollars to buy a bigger house. I see people who can’t afford to feed their children, betting on a big win in the lottery to take away their cares.

I see young adults slaving away at college courses to satisfy their parent’s wishes, and I see others who have been dumped off the roller coaster of life, falling through the cracks and now spending their days on the streets, seeking safety in the emptiness of a cardboard box.

Life can be hard.

And we humans have a way of complicating everything we touch. In fact, if something is not complicated yet, we create ways to make it harder. If something is simple, we don’t believe it can be any good.

So, what can we do about this?

I feel like I was brought into your life to help you discover one thing, and one thing only: life is simple. Not “life can be simpler” or “simplify your life.”

 Life is simple. Just that.

Now that you know why I am here. I’ll be writing about this topic and others as the months go by. I’ll probably be influenced by comments from readers. Go ahead, influence me, Why are you here? I promise to keep things simple 😉

***

And here is a tip for today:

Try unplugging. Leave your cell phone at home when you go to a movie, or in the car when you meet friends. Just try it for an hour or so…and, after the first few minutes of anguish and feeling lost, you may discover that being unplugged is simple…and fun!

Don’t settle for the ordinary. If you want something extraordinary, go out and get it. Do what you need to do to get there, and don’t shy away from hard work or effort. Change is difficult but the rewards are amazing.

“All systems are go.”

The calm voice crackled in my earphones as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. The parachute strapped to my back and forming part of my seat did little to calm my nerves. I could feel the adrenaline building inside me as a single bead of sweat rolled down my forehead and into my eye.

Looking to my left, I could see Colonel Richard (Rick) Searfoss, confident, collected, going through the pre-flight checklist. I was thankful that I was in the hands of this experienced pilot and astronaut, who had completed 3 shuttle flights, and served as a US Navy Test Pilot in another life prior to joining us as our test pilot.

And there I was, sitting in the right seat; flight test engineer for this test flight of the X-Racer, a modified hand-built Velocity aircraft. The Velocity had originally been built with a conventional piston engine fitted to the rear of the vehicle. The Velocity I was sitting in today did not have a conventional engine. It had been removed, and in its place was a 2600 lb. thrust rocket engine, running on a mix of kerosene and liquid oxygen.

The kerosene was stored in the original fuel tanks within the wings of the plane. The liquid oxygen (lox) was stored in a tank immediately behind our seats. The rear seats had been removed to enable installation of the tank.

For all intents and purposes, this was akin to riding a highly explosive bomb … bareback.

But there I was strapped in, waiting, as I heard the countdown. “3 … 2 … 1 … ignition.”

It was too late to get out now.

I had no choice.

My heart beat a rapidly in my chest, my breathing was irregular and my hands curled into tight fists, as time stopped.

“We have ignition”, I heard the Colonel say, as I looked at the console dashboard where I could see the rocket engine roar into life, spitting blue, yellow and red flames behind us.

My job as flight test engineer was surprisingly simple … I was expected to watch the flame from the engine; there was a camera mounted on the rear wing tips aimed at the engine, with a feed directly to the cockpit. I was to inform the Colonel of any abnormality I saw in the flame as we conducted the flight test.

The plane rapidly gained speed as it literally rocketed down the runway, bouncing and shaking like it was trying to tear itself to pieces … or perhaps it was trying to outrun the forces that propelled it?

After what seemed an eternity, but was really only about 13 seconds, the plane lifted from the runway.

We rotated to the right and pointed our nose to the heavens.

The sky was deep blue with nary a cloud.

And appeared endless.

My entire body was pushed backwards into the seat, the thrust from the rocket engine continuing to accelerate us through the air as we went higher and higher. The rattling reduced to a level of vibration that was scary but not as horrifying as it had been.

I took my eyes off the engine flames for a moment and glanced out the window … we were already 8 or 9 thousand feet up, with no sign of slowing down.

The noise of the engine permeated the earphones as a loud thrum, and penetrated our bones in a similar way a deafening subwoofer might.

And then, suddenly, nothing.

I was thrown forward in my seat, caught by the full harness seat belts.

Acceleration stopped dead.

Noise was replaced by silence.

Glancing at the monitor in front of me I saw a flicker of blue and orange as the flames died.

The left side of the plane dipped violently as the pilot sent it into a rapid barrel roll.

Before I knew it, we were flying inverted … heads pointed groundward before the roll was completed.

And we were right side up once more.

“3 … 2 … 1 … ignition” came the colonel’s voice once more. Again, the engine fired up, a long trail of flames shooting out, the shock diamonds (blue diamonds that can be seen in the flames when the rocket engine is running efficiently) visible on the monitor I was watching.

In seconds we were again facing straight up, shooting into the endless sky under rocket power.

I was now enjoying the adventure.

The adrenaline had done its work. I tried to remember a time when I had felt so alive as I did at that moment.

Again, the engine was turned off … and again relit.

Shutting a rocket down in flight and re-lighting it, in flight, was a huge technological advancement, and one that differentiated our company from the few competitors in our field.

As we coasted back to the runway in the Mojave desert, the heat haze shimmering below us, the plane buffeted by the strong breeze that had sprung up seemingly from nowhere, and my job being done, I could now spare a moment to think about how I – a finance guy, an accountant, a marketing guy – could have found himself sitting in the right seat of a rocket-powered airplane, doing the job of flight test engineer.

I am guessing that there are fewer than 500 people alive today who have flown in a rocket plane of any sort. And here I was, about to land on a little airstrip in the desert, having flown in an experimental rocket vehicle.

Looking back to that day, a decade ago, and thinking about my journey in life, there are a few small, simple insights I have that I think would be worthy of sharing.

1. We often think about journeys as being arduous, hard, perhaps even a test of our courage. This can be true, but the journey should also (and perhaps more importantly) be filled with adventure, fun, enjoyment, and ultimately allow you to look back and love the life you have lived
2. Journeys may have an element of risk, an indeterminate destination, or even no destination. But the best journeys are those where there are: direction, objectives, and broad-stroke goals. Bobbing meaninglessly like an empty bottle on the ocean, driven by wind and tide, may be a journey in life, but will result in life determining what happens to you, rather than you being in control of your own direction.
3. Fun and adventure await those who follow their hearts, if you also do the work, and take the steps necessary to allow opportunity to come knocking. And if you are brave enough to answer the call.

Over the coming weeks I will give you guidance that will lead you toward a life of abundance and fulfillment, and if you desire, adventure. You will learn how to think about money and finances, relationships, health and other factors that may be keeping you from living the life you want to live.

Change may not be easy, in fact it can be extremely difficult when you don’t know where or how to start.

But change can only happen if you make it happen!

Why not start the process by telling me in the comments below what you would like for your life? Just one word will be enough for you to start the process of change.

Until next time….

Randy

It’s not the danger that’s important. It’s the action.

Let me explain.

“I wonder how deep it is?” It was 1964 when my brother asked this question, two months before my 8^th birthday. The world was in turmoil…the failed invasion of Cuba in 1961 was followed by the assassination of JFK in November 1963. The cold war was in full swing and every sane American was searching for Russian spies.

But I didn’t care.

At that moment, the world was something that I could see, touch, bask in. It was summer, and I had no deeper thoughts than the sun, beaches, and – yes – the enjoyment of watching girls in bikinis walking along the shoreline, the gentle waves lapping at tanned legs as they strolled along the shore. (I was starting to understand why my oldest brother was spending less time playing with me and far more time talking to the tanned bombshells that inhabited this beach resort every summer.)

With the arrival of the summer holidays, the population of Rosebud (a sleepy little beach resort a couple of hours’ drive from Melbourne, Australia) would swell from a couple of thousand to tens of thousands of sun-worshipping beachgoers, the money in their pockets supporting the local community for the non-summer periods.

But I didn’t care about that either. I didn’t give it a thought.

Nope. At that moment, my thoughts were echoing those of my brother’s. He was just one year older than me and I idolized him.

How deep could it be?

Earlier that day, we had broken the rules. In a big way.

My family owned a small vacation house, nothing special, but it was a place that brought us kids a great deal of joy every summer when we would spend several weeks at the beach – swimming, playing, exploring. The only thing more important than playing on the beach was the occasional visit to the local carnival. Every summer the carnival lights would turn on, the music would blare and the crowds would come. I recall watching the lights on the ferris wheel, and the carnival rides, blinking and flashing … a cacophony of light, whirling endlessly among the faces of the children looking in awe at the scary rides (and wishing we were brave enough to try them).

But on this day many decades ago, the carnival was silent.

I was aware of the brilliantly hot sun baking my tanned skin. It was still morning but the temperature was rising rapidly, ominously predicting record temperatures. The sun reflected from the water making it impossible to see below the surface. A few seagulls were circling, squawking loudly as they fought over a scrap of food they had found. The breeze was non-existent; an omen, perhaps?

Squinting against the sun’s reflection, I could see the bottom…it wasn’t that far! Squinting tighter, my eyes becoming dark slits in my darker tanned face, and I could see a couple of small fish swimming along the bottom, a few strands of deep green seaweed seductively stroking the floor, and a small crab scurrying back to its hole in the sand.

“It’s not deep,” I yelled, as I stood and jumped over the side. We had taken our eldest brother’s paddle board that morning.

While we had a great degree of freedom in our childhood, one of the rules that was inviolable was that we were not to take the paddle board out without adult supervision. It was too big for us. At around 6 feet long and 2 feet wide, the plywood board was too difficult for use to carry, even though it had carry handles. The layers of marine varnish kept the wooden board in seaworthy condition, but also meant it was slippery, especially when it was wet.

At 8 and 9 years of age, we lacked the physical size and strength to maneuver the beast out of the water, and when on the water we had to work as a team to move it, with Les taking the front, standing up and balancing as he used the paddles to propel us. I sat at the back, doing everything possible to keep it balanced.

On this day, we had discovered that if Les grabbed the front handle, and I grabbed the back, we could carry it short distances. We took it to the beach. We pushed it into the water. We paddled furiously away from shore…and went further than we had ever been before.

Far further than any adult would have allowed us to go.

The water was colder than expected, causing me to nearly gasp and suck in a lung-full. It was much deeper, too.

Before I knew it I was sitting on the bottom of the ocean, bubbles coming out of my mouth, eyes wide open as I surveyed the sea life … from under the sea.

My eyes followed the air bubbles.

Up and up they went, and I remember seeing the shape of the paddle board way above me; the light of the sun creating a halo around its shape.

It was then that I realized that I was in trouble.

Yes, I could swim a little, and was comfortable in water … but I had never been this deep before, and I had never been this scared before.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I had a couple of choices, and that if I chose the wrong one, I may not survive: 1. I could panic and flail my arms around, until my breath fully escaped and I sucked in the relief that only a lung-full of water could bring, or 2. I could use all my strength to push up off the bottom and fight my way to the surface – a single objective, a single path, a drive to success.

When I broke the surface, gasping and coughing, my brother looked down at me and said, “Well, that looked like fun! Did you enjoy the view?”

Clambering back onto the paddle board, laughing and coughing at the same time, I had no idea that this event would be so important to my life.

After all, we were just kids doing something dumb, right? Was I ever really in danger? To this day, I have no idea. How deep was it? If you asked me back then I would have said, “5 miles,” but today … maybe it was only 8 feet, maybe ten?

You see, it is not the danger, or even the perceived danger, that is important here.

It is the action.

And I learned that day, and many days since, that the decisions we make can make a huge difference to the direction of our life. But making a decision is only half the story – it is the action that follows that makes the difference.

I am starting this blog to help you understand how simple life can be. I don’t care where you came from, or how you got to be where you are today.

None of that matters.

The only thing that matters is where you want to go, and whether you are willing to make the choices and take the actions needed to get you there.

If you are are tired of the excuses, weary of the things that hold you back, ready to take positive steps, then follow my simple writings here and we will go on a journey together.

Our journey:

• will not accept excuses
• will require personal accountability
• will require responsibility
• will get you ever closer to that abundant, financially stable life you want.

Are you ready?

Let’s go!