“That can’t be done.”
Four words that have launched every major chapter of my life.
You’re not supposed to quit your job, promote a style of music no one had heard of, and become one of the world’s biggest DJs. (I sold 400,000 albums and over 100,000 tickets to my groundbreaking 90s raves)
You’re not supposed to hypnotize 5,000 people and appear on TV performing across the country after a weekend of training. (The videos are still circulating)
You’re not supposed to turn your hypnosis mentor into your tech co-founder and build a software company with no experience and processes that would make an MBA cry. (Created a multi-million dollar tech company and sold it to a $100 million Private Equity Fund anyway)
You’re not supposed to think you can help solve climate change with no scientific background. (Watch me)
You’re not supposed to admit this part either:
I struggled as a student and never even finished high school. I spent two years sleeping on my office floor, technically homeless. I was banned from entering the US, destroying my DJ career overnight. I went through a soul-crushing bankruptcy after my DJ success and had to start over. For years, I was so deep in imposter syndrome I couldn’t even write an About Me page and isolated myself from my business partner while we ran a multi-million dollar business.
I made millions of dollars while feeling like Bernie Madoff in my head. Every time someone praised my success, I wanted to scream “You don’t understand… I’m a high school dropout who got lucky! I’m going to lose everything and everyone will finally see I’m a fraud!” The more success I achieved, the more terrified I became that someone would expose me as the impostor I felt I was.
Then I hit crisis. The kind where you either break down or break through. I chose therapy, twice a week for years. Slowly unpacking why a successful person could feel like such a fraud.
It took writing two books about shame and success. One over 14 years, one in just 60 days, to finally understand: The things that make me great I was carrying as secret shame. Now I know they’re the most important part of the story.
Because every time I share these moments, someone whispers “me too.”
That’s when I realized: My greatest shame was actually my greatest gift.
Even this page breaks all the rules of what an “About Me” is supposed to be. But you’re still reading, aren’t you?
Here’s something else you’re not supposed to do: I don’t advertise. I don’t do social media. I don’t chase followers.
Right now, I’m running my most audacious experiment yet. The kind that makes people uncomfortable just hearing about it. The kind that makes them say “You can’t do that.”
Perfect. That’s exactly how all my best stories start.
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