I will be the first to admit that I hate the process.
I hate grinding twelve to fourteen hours a day just to make one of my many ambitions a reality, which is to become an international best-selling author. Why couldn’t I have the luxury of having a Genie to grant me three wishes?
I want to be clear. I am not anti-process. I just hate the process.
I am one of those individuals who wished he had a physique like The Rock, but without having to hit the gym every day. I wish there was a magical pill to put on muscle mass—I’d pop a handful in a heartbeat.
I like being able to walk through a peach orchard (like I used to do in Michigan) and pick a ripe peach off the tree and enjoy the ocean burst of carotenes and flavonoids satisfying my palate and invigorating my body. I did…
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