The Mercifully Short BIG BANG …
I hail from Serbia or ex Yugoslavia if you prefer … I know I do.
Unlike some naughty rumours may imply Serbia is a dynamic and progressive Eastern European country, under communist regime back in the days and with not two, but THREE [yes three] genders to prove it. At that time, you could qualify to be:
- A Boy
- A Womb
- Or that thing climbing out of the well real fast
Happy to say that I’ve applied AND got accepted for membership in coveted group #3 but more on that in a minute …
At this point I feel that I must warn you of my most privileged upbringing …
In Serbia at a time as in any proper communist country everyone was of course equal, except my family was just a bit less equal then the rest. Our rented family castle was situated on an ambiguous piece of land between a very historic graveyard and a very recent construction site.
It consisted of two tiny magical rooms, each slightly bigger than a shoebox, but expandable on a whim into a kitchen, toiletless bathroom, living room AND bedroom … accommodating a total of four people.
Unfortunately, there was no magic fairy dust left for the rest of the facilities, and we had to content ourselves with a very Earthly outdoor toilet … the old school kind of outdoor toilet where you may have been warned not to look behind it, as it may prove itself too much for the faint hearted.
The kind where you needed to bundle up as for some magical reason, the inside was always more freezing than the outside. To this day, February is still NOT my favourite month ever.
Our bathing facilities have consisted of a very royal bucket, and a bit less royal tin cup, serving as my special spa shower … when angled properly. I must say, strategic thinking I am known for today, was chiselled right there and then with each attempt to feign a Hollywood bubble bath, while fighting two painfully obvious facts:
a) above mentioned bucket not being exactly big, and
b) my respectable behind, even then not being exactly small.
Well yes, I have indeed washed my behind in a bucket until I was 16.
It happened. For real. And no one came to save me…
“A bit nervous” for a decade long alcohol addiction and “bit of an issue” for equally consistent child abuse.
Physical punishment in Serbia was regular as breathing, so one late chilly afternoon when I failed to light a fire in attempt to warm up the kitchen after finishing my school, picking my dopey little brother from kindergarten and walking us both home after almost a two hour long walk … I was punished “just a bit more than usual”.
At one point my skull was expertly guided countless times toward a closet door … until I heard a loud CRAAACK. And with my consciousness shredded to pieces I shockingly discovered how the laud crack was indeed not my skull exploding from the inside out …
but the bloody closet door has cracked.
And I thought I fucking died. But it turned out I didn’t.
In between the now famous crack and what felt like a kick in the chest, my purgatory finally ended with cleaning up the dishes and going to bed without dinner.
And when the next morning came everyone just went on with their day as if nothing had happened. I was sort of grateful for my throbbing head [that I swear was about to swell more, finally explode and fly off to space] because it served as a faithful reminder that something had actually happened. And now I knew something that I didn’t know the day before: they lied.
No one is coming to save you. No one came to save ME.
And guess what?
I didn’t need anyone to save me because nothing had happened to me … according to everyone else. But *I* happened. I was 8 and I was alive, and I had ME. Plus a cracked closet door to prove it. And zero idea what the hell to do with it all.
The day I climbed out of the well …
And like all appropriate “zero to Jedi” business start up stories mine too had THAT Armageddon moment when mushrooms and other stuff hit the proverbial fan.
My husband at the time was unexpectedly made redundant, and we very expectedly had a monthly mortgage plus other fun stuff to pay.
I should mention at this point that I was a stay at home wife.
In Italy. From Serbia.
Door #1 or my secret master plan was to start an international mentoring business and sell marketing and business mentoring online.
Door #2 was to get a first job available. As in ANY job.
And like all aspiring Jedis with master plan that flirted with insanity, my path was no short of trials, or how I preferred to call them … few tiny “issues”:
1. Sub ZERO Start
International implied selling mentoring in English.
I should also add that I have never ever had [NOT even] one lesson in English and have actually learned the whole thing watching subtitled movies on telly in Serbia. Yes … for real.
2. ZERO Budget
My branding, marketing and overall business building budget was close to zero.
Which is likely why all branding pictures crowning my website and social media were taken with one of those teeny tiny digital cameras and yes … they totally look like they did.
3. ZERO Credit
As a recently naturalized Italian citizen AND stay at home wife, I had no credit score and no accounts in my name… meaning NO loans and NO cards of any kind.
4. ZERO Environment
I lived with lovely, but infinitely and understandably stressed-about-the-whole-thing person, who slowly but steadily became the source of a gargantuan sized crushing pressure.
5. ZERO Proof
There was no one like ME.
Just to prove that the whole thing was even remotely possible.
Somehow in between waitressing my way to monthly mortgage payments OR starting an international online mentoring business in a language I NEVER learned with almost NO budget, NO loans and NO proof whatsoever that the whole shebang was even remotely possible … starting my own business made way more sense [I blame the closet door for this one].
So door #1 it was.
In the face of the above mentioned “few tiny issues” I figured out how to sell and consequently built my first 6 figures … as in 6 figures in cash obviously … and in a way that I had to create from ZERO because essentially, I had ZERO items necessary to build a 6 figure cash business in the first place according to 7 figure peeps … both previous AND present.
All that from a kitchen table while sitting on a plastic chair and banging my way thru countless hours on a laptop that occasionally complained with cringy dishwasher like sounds. Which in part is why my clients to this day can do things deemed as ALIEN to the rest of our industry.
Or any industry for that matter.
The day I did it AGAIN and one bloody heavy suitcase ….
I will never ever forget that day.
It was shortly after I made my first ever $10,000 sale and there was an ongoing discussion dissecting something I really desired to do.
That something was investing in a mentor and his 12-month coaching package … garnished with convenient $100,000 price tag.
Pair that with 3 live VIP Day travels to the United States.
And it’s a bit difficult to depict exactly how BIG of a deal this was.
You see, while I was working back in Serbia I used to bust my behind working almost 7 DAYS a week every month for an enviable salary of … 200 euro [not kidding].
Plus, this was potentially my first ever flight to the US and second flight … ever … given the lack of any travel due to years of economic embargo in Serbia.
To say that I was terrified would have been a COLLOSAL understatement indeed.
Add to it all the comment voiced by a familiar voice:
“What if you never sell anything again?”
And THAT was the moment I knew.
It was time to leave.
I didn’t know how or when I was going to do it … but I knew ONE thing …
I had to leave.
So leave where?
Well yes, the city I have previous visited ONCE … for a day.
Yet I knew that was MY city.
I knew I was meant to live here.
So here we go again:
- I did invested in the 100K package and THAT mentor became my mentor.
- I did travelled to the US for the very first time AND managed to land on the right side of the pond.
- Few months later I designed my master plan #2 consisting of moving to London with usual few tiny issues:
✓ NO savings.
✓ NO credit.
✓ AND with ALL my worldly possessions summed up in the following order:
a) my business in diapers.
b) my two laptops [yes, including the one thinking it was a dishwasher].
c) ONE suitcase
iiii[half full with what I thought was my good clothes and other half with … books].
There’s the infamous suitcase [well, technically not mine and later returned back to Italy].
It weighed a bloody ton even when it was empty.
It goes without saying that leaving my Italian home and family was the most difficult and emotionally eviscerating thing I have ever done.
And while it is a still somewhat a work in process, in hindsight … letting go of what has stopped working for either side and focusing on what IS was a good thing for all of us.
So here we are.
Today things are a tad different.
For once I definitely have more clothes and I’m typing this from my London flat while the guys outside are wafting autumnal leaves away and getting the residential garden Instagram ready.
The kind of residential garden in a private gated residence where you are greeted upon entrance with a waterfall and private concierge available to change your light bulbs … among other perks.
Jimmy Choo store in central London has my address for off-hours shopping with currier delivery. And I most certainly expect to be publicly anointed as a protector of the realm after the latest tax bills I paid, as always … before time.
See the image in the header above?
Yes, I know it’s me in the bra, but the focus worthy detail is the place where it’s taken or my favourite US venue hotel suite where I hold my live private and group intensives.
Although you should note that I most definitely wear more clothes than THAT when I work.
Gorgeous hotel is in LA or … Beverly Hills to be exact.
But what I secretly love about it is the bathroom … ‘tis bigger than my entire magical two room Serbian flat from the beginning of the story. AND it’s so fancy you don’t even need a bucket.
God indeed has a cheeky sense of humour, don’t you think?
What’s So Special About ME?
Many things actually 😊
But the thing you should be excited about the most is my GENIUS’s unique fetish for igniting YOUR Genius.
Or that thing that makes YOU special.
Special in the way it actually makes ‘A’ difference on planet Tangible, like transitioning from selling packages to selling that thing ONLY you can do. Which in turn makes receiving AND keeping fees or even deposits other premium folks make in a year or in a month … well, easier.
I should also mention that one of the consequences of prolonged exposure to MY persona is evolving into extraordinary mentors with ALIEN client results at ANY level of work from … in my client’s words … very ordinary coaches. Who then in their own turn teach what NO ONE else can teach to their peeps, which makes that part when you are being ASKED for sale … normal.
Outrageous confidence with or without of your business is another.
And when I say outrageous I mean OUTRAGEOUS.
So be warned.
In my experience people tend to LOVE being a GENIUS.
But concept of GENIUS is actually not about charging or getting anything … each being an echo of an outdated linear thinking you can absolutely afford to let go off.
Your Genius is the missing link securing ALIGNMENT between three building blocks:
1. What YOU consciously desire
2. What YOU subconsciously deserve
3. Collective EVOLUTIONARY forward movement
Yes … there are three variables in the equation.
Just in case you were pondering those pesky thingies showing up out of nowhere and “not making absolutely ANY sense” … especially at THIS level… when you thought you had it all figured out by now.
Or think of it as that thing making sure that at ALL times YOU hold the whip over making AND unmaking of the fabric of YOUR reality. And then whip a day keeps the doctor away.
I should know.
Am I Weird?
By now you should know that I am sub marine deep thinker.
Mentors mentor [mentor as in according to my standards] is one way you can think of me. Philosopher, polymath and evolutionary strategist … all being one and the same naturally … is another.
The kind of philosopher devouring stacks of books weekly, connecting the unconnectable and creating things that didn’t existed yesterday out of dislike or sometimes disgust for the available options tagged as acceptable.
See what I mean?
So there you go, now you sort of know what are you getting yourself into.
And if you are one of those people that just like to scroll to the end of the page … just like me … then have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
Live long and prosper!