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The Mansour Travel Company
Distance: 0.6 Mi345 N Maple Dr Ste 210
90210-5184 Beverly Hills -
Dial 800, Inc.
Distance: 0.7 Mi9301 Wilshire Blvd Ste 206
90210 Beverly Hills -
The Red Butler Corporation
Distance: 0.8 Mi8306 Wilshire Blvd
90211-2304 Beverly Hills -
Demoreel.Com
Distance: 1.0 Mi8170 Beverly Blvd Ste 109
90048-4533 Los Angeles -
Architectural Digest
Distance: 1.1 Mi6300 Wilshire Blvd
90048 Los Angeles
Alchemist & Co.
- 311 N Robertson Blvd
- Beverly Hills, California
- 90211-1705
- Phone: 270.897.3403
- Website
Description
I am sitting here in the early morning of Thursday at 2:23AM because my friend Irene in Indonesia said that she enjoyed my writing so much she had asked me to write more. It didn’t take long for the words to flow and the clicks of my keyboard become somewhat a melody in this wee hour of the night, inside my second bedroom of my West LA apartment. And I begin with a story of failure. If you take a look at my life, my entire life story seems to be adorned with failures, more than my fingers can accommodate. I didn’t finish school because my parents were poor. I was fired from a job because my boss became too envious of my creative thinking and felt threatened. I got into an accident that totaled my Civic, had to take the bus because I couldn’t afford to buy a car. I hired a lawyer who caused a very good case to be thrown out of court because he didn’t file the paperwork on time. I was scammed out of my life savings by a man that I trusted. I have known, tasted, devoured and bedded Failure! I have cried, ate a pint of Haagen Daaz in one sitting, cried some more, had a conversation with God over cappuccino and even silently asked Oprah for guidance as I inhaled her good karmic essence exuded from her 200+ pages of her Hearst publication, all over Failure! I didn’t understand why failure must happen to good people like me! Ten years later I learned my Why! Had I finished my Bachelor of Finance from San Francisco State University, I would’ve gone on and became one of Merrill Lynch’s knights in shiny Armani armors. I would’ve earned my six-figure income for my lifestyle, but a minimum wage for my soul. I wouldn’t have been poor and living off of a box of instant noodles for a month. And had it not because I was sick and tired of eating instant noodles, I wouldn’t have had applied for a job in that TV network, working for that mean lady, who fired me out of envy. Had I still worked there, I wouldn’t have known what it felt like to wake up early in the morning exhilarated of your own dream.