The Millionaire’s Mindset:: (What do you say to yourself?)

Do you tell yourself ‘No’? That it can’t be done? That you are inadequate? For the task? The job at hand? Well, you are right.

Do you tell yourself ‘Yes’? That it can be done? That you are good enough? Maybe, excellent at getting the job done? Again, you are right.

For we become what we tell ourselves. What we only allow ourselves to be. What we permit ourselves to be.

This, then, is the difference between those who can’t and those who can. The cowardly and the bold. The naysayers and the adventurers. The poor and the millionaire.

For while the poor man curses, blaming everyone for his present circumstances – the government, his parents, his employer, his landlord…

The millionaire tarries not, for he looks inwards. He says to himself, “This can be done.” And affirming himself so, he asks that million-dollar question: “How can it be done?”

If he lacks the skill-set for getting the job done, he gets another with the requisite skill-set. If he lacks the resources, he convinces others to put their money into the project.

The millionaire’s faith is unshakeable. He is all grit, all getting down to business. Getting things done. He levels mountains. He fills up oceans. He tells his story boldly, with conviction… and the world hears him. The world bends to his will.

And so, we have cars and planes and ships and railroads and banks and nations… for there were those with the millionaire’s mindset who made all these possible. Your choice – I can, I can’t. Either way, they say – You are right.

Like, share and subscribe to this my channel. Thanks!!!

(The link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDFIEbTBQ0E )

(Meanwhile, get my short stories collection at: https://nuriakenya.com/product/a-funeral-dress-for-nyasuguta-by-mark-mwangi/) – ‘A Funeral Dress for Nyasuguta’ by Sant Mark (Yours Truly)

Comments

My-Once Molly (Praying for a Rainbow),

Dear Molly, I hope you are ok and are keeping safe in these floods. As for me, I am heartbroken. I am in pain. My mind, my body, my spirit aches. I am numb with grief. As is the nation of Kenya. The picture just won’t get out of our minds – the father, trudging stoically, his dead, muddy son slung over his shoulder. It’s a devastating image… the screams, elsewhere, as a boat capsizes, the swollen river swallows a lorry… Izrael has visited the land. Dear Molly, a while back, the nation faced drought. Then, images of dead livestock, emaciated men, women and children, parched, cracked earth, haunted our screens. Elsewhere where there was a glut in food production, the farmers cried for their fellow starving countrymen. They demanded for lorries to traverse the rutted roads and take the produce to their brethren… collectively, we prayed for rain. Dear Molly... will we ever catch a break as Kenya? The Covid-19 pandemic that paralysed lives and livelihoods in 2020 as we recovered from th...

My-Once Molly (thinking of Valentine),

My-Once Molly… the girl who broke my heart, the one who got away, the one who promised me the world and left me to survive alone – typical of our Kenyan politicians… I hope you are good. Now, as February – the month of love – lurks about, I find myself thinking of you. Thing is, my dear Molly, I have new neighbours. A young couple, very much in love like we once were. The young lady, her name is Val… maybe Valentine… I don’t know. This Val, a spirited girl with rich, deep, heaving laughter - almost like yours. Her smile… ah! You should see it. The shine of the morning sun distilling the dew upon cool meadows… I am totally in love with her. Alarmingly, she teases me much and I am getting ideas… Molly, dear, wherever you are, please pray for me… the temptation is too much. If you don’t, the frail creature that I am may fall. This, despite having numerous songs in my playlist to warn me. Invariably, Majengo – that infamous locale – does a dishonourable appearance in most of them… ‘Maj...

My Once-Molly (A Theft),

Hi Molly. How are you? The floods are here and I almost drowned – should have gone for swimming lessons as you often times suggested. Anyways, I now walk with a motorcycle tire’s tube and pump in my backpack. DIY lifesaver gear as instructed by Grade 3 CBC cohort. Dear Molly, as I informed you last time, I shifted. Partly, the floods, partly, change, partly, finances. This Creative Writing journey is taking a bit of time to yield fruits, but I hang on, consoled by the words of one Ernest Hemingway, whose ending was horrible: “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” Where I shifted to, is a downgrade. ‘Mabati’ rooms – plenty of stories, though as living is communal and one’s business is everyone’s business. Such as the recent theft – a woofer, charger, ‘meko’ gas, a bar of soap, and a bucket of maize flower - that’s how ‘flour’ is pronounced, FIY. Must have been pretty hungry, them thieves. How it unfolded. A bit of commotion early mor...

Upya Fresh

Search This Blog