Meshri

Trading has given me and my family our dream lives, but it has completely fried my brain. Last week I was at a friend's wedding and I snuck to the bathroom 6 times to check my position. It wasn’t doing well either which put me in a bad mood and I couldn’t enjoy the event like everyone else.

This is the most requested article I've ever written. I've never told the full story before because, frankly, I wasn't sure I wanted to be this vulnerable publicly. But after my post about mindset went viral yesterday, I decided it was time. Maybe someone reading this is in a place right now where they need to hear it. The White Whale - The Rags to Riches Story My family was incredibly poor growing up. There were multiple years where, without government and charitable assistance, we would have struggled to have enough food to eat. But I've always had the entrepreneurial bug. At 19, I started experimenting with different business ideas, trying to figure out how to build something of my own. In my early 20s, I also developed a passion for law enforcement and decided to pursue that as a secondary career. I've always hated bullies and people who take advantage of others. Stemming from my own experiences with abuse in childhood, I found real fulfillment in being a voice for the voiceless and a defender of the defenseless. I became disillusioned with that career fairly quickly after I began uncovering corruption inside my local agency. Even though I was good at the job, I decided that world wasn't for me. Being young, naive, and lacking the wisdom that usually only comes with age, I became a very outspoken political activist. Instead of quietly walking away, I started attacking that corruption directly and publicly. I didn't care that I was making powerful enemies. At the same time, I had grown my existing business enough to provide me with a six-figure income. For a guy in his 20s, I was doing pretty damn well. But I poured myself into my activism. And naturally, backlash followed. The law enforcement officers I was speaking out against began doing everything they could to silence me, including multiple attempts to manufacture criminal charges against me. The young, dumber version of myself thought that as long as I hadn't done anything wrong, I had nothing to fear. Their first few attempts to "get me" failed miserably. That gave me a dangerous false sense of security. I still had friends inside the law enforcement community - because no group of people is entirely good or entirely bad - who warned me. Be careful. They're coming for you. Lay low. Quit causing a scene. I didn't listen. Eventually, I was arrested on charges I maintain were completely false. At first, the arrest itself didn't scare me. I knew what had happened. I knew I was innocent. I believed the facts would eventually win. Instead, everything escalated. I expected the case to get tossed out. It didn't. About a year into fighting it, I was given a horrible choice: plead guilty and serve two years in prison, or take the case to trial and risk eight years if I lost. By then, I had seen witnesses in my defense intimidated against testifying for me. I saw how badly the deck was stacked against me. I no longer had any belief in the system, and that the side of right would prevail. So I made one of the decisions I am least proud of in my life. I pled guilty. Not because I believed I was guilty. Because I did the math. Two years guaranteed versus the probability of eight. And with that decision, I lost everything. My business. My possessions. Even people I believed were friends, whom I had trusted to hold assets for me, ended up stealing them instead. The first nine months of my two-year sentence were spent in solitary confinement for my own protection. During my first week inside, someone I had previously arrested recognized me. Having an affiliation with law enforcement is one of the most dangerous things a prisoner can carry. If you've never spent a prolonged period of time inside a tiny room with nothing but your own mind for company, let me tell you: It's a special kind of hell. Eventually I was transferred to another facility where I could enter general population and get a job. The pay was a whopping 65 cents an hour. Living large, by prison standards. But I was still incarcerated. For a crime I didn't commit. I knew that whenever those doors finally opened, I would walk out with nothing but the clothes on my back and whatever money I could save up. So I became obsessed with one question: How will I build my life back? While I was incarcerated, I developed an idea for an e-commerce company in a product category I was passionate about. I maintain that you'll never be successful if you cannot find a passion for what it is you do. I would lie on my bunk staring at the ceiling, building the company in my head. Marketing campaigns. Branding. Products. Growth strategies. When inspiration hit me, I'd grab my notepad and write it down. While other inmates went to recreation, I often stayed behind because the dorm was finally quiet enough for me to think. I wasn't just doing time. I was planning my future. Planning my escape from what many would simply call destiny. I saved almost everything I made from my prison job. I ate the terrible cafeteria food instead of blowing the money I earned on snacks and commissary. When I was finally released, whatever money I had accumulated was loaded onto a prepaid debit card. The balance was $263. I had no home to call my own. A friend offered me a couch to sleep on. And the very first charge I made on that prepaid card? GoDaddy. I registered the domain name for the business I had spent all those months building inside my head. The second charge was at a thrift store because I needed a couple sets of clothes. I told my friend about the idea. I told my parents. I told anyone willing to listen. A few people believed in me enough to give me a few hundred dollars extra to help get me started. I went to work. Using a borrowed computer, I built my e-commerce website. I bought the components for my first products and assembled them myself right there at the computer desk. I had no marketing budget, so I hustled. Craigslist. Message boards. Anywhere I could post for free without immediately getting myself banned. I learned how to hustle attention because hustling was the only thing I could afford. Slowly, orders started coming in. I took the profit from those first customers and bought more inventory. Then more. I kept repeating the cycle until the business had a couple thousand dollars in operating capital. That's when I finally decided to try paid advertising. My first budget for Google pay-per-click ads was $50. I still remember how terrified I was to spend that money. Fifty dollars doesn't sound like much when you have money. When you don't? It feels like a life or death gamble. It was $50 I genuinely could not afford to lose. But I spent it. And then I repeated the same process over and over again. Invest in myself. Invest in the business. Reinvest the profits. Let the snowball grow. Within one year of being released from prison, that company had reached $1 million in gross sales. Years later, I remember watching an episode of Shark Tank. An entrepreneur told the Sharks he had gone from zero to $1 million in sales in a year. They didn't believe him. I was sitting on my couch thinking: "I know it can happen. Because I did it." Eventually the company moved out of the little apartment that wasn't even mine and into a two-car garage, where I hired my first employees. And let me tell you, you haven't fully experienced entrepreneurship until you've had ten employees working across two shifts in a two-car garage. Just saying... That company - the business I designed while sitting inside prison with nothing to my name - ultimately became a large organization. Over the years, it employed well over 1,000 people. At its peak, the business was valued in the hundreds of millions of dollars. And nearly 20 years after the ordeal began, I was eventually able to have my conviction reversed and clear my name. I no longer have a criminal record. Although I'll always contend that I was never a criminal in the first place. So when I talk about the importance of mindset, I'm not repeating something I read in a self-help book. I'm not telling you circumstances don't matter. I'm telling you that circumstances don't get the final say in your life. All I had was an idea, a borrowed computer, a willingness to work, and the absolute refusal to believe that the worst chapter of my life had to become how my story ended. Let me say that again, a different way: What I had was an absolute stubbornness and refusal to accept anything but eventual success. That's the part of mindset people don't seem to get. It isn't pretending life is easy. It isn't standing in front of a mirror repeating affirmations. It's looking at a situation that gives you every rational excuse to quit (or to not even try) and deciding: I'm going to find a way. You can't always control the hand you're dealt. You can't even control where your personal starting line is. But you can take control of where you finish. A homeless ex-con with $263 and a borrowed laptop managed to change his stars. So can you. 🫡 From the depths — The White Whale 🐋