Читать книгу The 5 AM Club: Own Your Morning. Elevate Your Life. - Robin Sharma - Страница 11

“Welcome to The 5 AM Club!” the billionaire bellowed as he bounded down the steps from his seaside home. “Bonzour! That’s Creole for ‘good morning.’ You’re right on time! I love it! Punctuality is the trait of royalty. At least it is in my playbook. Stone Riley’s my name,” he declared as he graciously extended a hand to greet his two guests.

The tattered old clothes had been replaced with a black pair of trimly cut running shorts and a pristine white t-shirt with the line “No idea works until you do the work” emblazoned on it. He was barefoot and cleanly shaven, seemed extremely fit and sported a wonderful suntan, all of which made him look many years younger than he had appeared at the seminar. On his head he wore a black baseball cap, turned backward.

His green eyes were still uncommonly clear. And his smile was astonishingly radiant. Yes, there was something exceedingly special about this man, as the entrepreneur had sensed.

A white dove hovered over the tycoon, floating in the air for about ten seconds as if suspended by magic. Then it flew off. Can you imagine this? It was a miraculous thing to see.

“Let me give you two a hug, if you don’t mind,” the billionaire enthused, wrapping his long arms around the entrepreneur and the artist at the same time, without waiting for a reply.

“God, you have courage. Yes, you do,” he mused. “You trusted a disheveled old man. A total stranger. I know I looked like a vagrant the other day. Hey, it’s not that I don’t care about how I look. I just don’t care that much about how I look,” he said as he laughed at his own lack of self-consciousness. “I just like to keep things real. Nice and simple. Completely authentic. Makes me think of that old insight: Having lots of money doesn’t make you different. It just makes you more of who you were before you made the cash.”

The billionaire peered out into the ocean and allowed the early rays of a fresh dawn to wash over him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The contours of his chiseled abdominal muscles were noticeable through his t-shirt. Next, he pulled a flower from the back pocket of his black shorts. Neither the entrepreneur nor the artist had ever seen a flower like this one. And it wasn’t at all damaged from being in the billionaire’s pocket. Strange.

“Flowers are very important to anyone serious about creating magic in their work and private lives,” spoke the mogul as he sniffed the petals. “Anyhoo, I wanted to mention that my father was a farmer. I grew up on a farm, before we moved to southern California. We thought simple, spoke simple, ate simple and lived simple. You can take the boy out of the country, you know, but you can’t take the country out of the boy,” he added, expressing an enthusiasm that was contagious while his sights were riveted on the magnificent sea.

The entrepreneur and the artist thanked the billionaire profusely. They explained that their adventure so far had been phenomenal and mentioned sincerely that the island and his exclusive beach were more beautiful than anything they had previously seen.

“Utopia, isn’t it?” said the billionaire as he put on his sunglasses. “I am blessed, that’s for sure. I’m so glad you cats are here.”

“So, was it your father who got you into the habit of getting up with the sun?” asked the artist as they strolled along the water’s edge.

A tiny crab raced by while three butterflies ascended above.

Stunningly, the billionaire started twirling around like a whirling dervish. While he spun, he began to shout these words: “I would have it inscribed on the curtains of your chamber: ‘If you do not rise early you can make progress in nothing!’”

“Um, what are you doing?” questioned the entrepreneur.

“It’s an excellent quote from William Pitt, the Earl of Chatham. For some reason I just felt the need to share it right now. Anyhoo, let me answer the question about my father,” the billionaire said awkwardly.

“Yes and no. I watched him rise early every morning of my childhood. As with any good routine, he did it so many times that it became impossible for him not to do it. But like most kids, I resisted what my dad wanted me to do. I always had some form of rebel within me. I’m a bit of a pirate in a way. Rather than fight a small war with me every day, for whatever reason, he just let me do what I wanted to do. So, I’d sleep. Late.”