Own Your Success

The Power to Choose Greatness and Make Every Day Victorious

Ben Newman

• Publisher: Wiley
• Year: 2012
• Print ISBN:
  9781119089810
  9781118370162
• eBook ISBN:
  9781118417195
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Desarrollo personal
• Subtopic: Éxito personal

A proven system for transforming challenges into triumphs

What if you could make each and every day victorious by focusing on daily activities rather than obsessing over results that you can't control? Based on author Ben Newman's popular program, Own YOUR Success gives you the power to make each day a triumph. The most successful people find great success when they focus on having a passion for the process. The key: make today victorious regardless of the obstacles that come your way. Figure out what fires YOU up without exception and ignite that passion so that you can routinely create your prizefighter day.

• Told through the eyes of an executive at the top of his game, yet the bottom of his existence
• Offers original, practical, and proven exercises to transform challenges into maximum performance
• Includes real-world advice and proven strategies to help individuals in the business world achieve even greater success

Own YOUR Success will lead you to uncover your true potential and create a life that belongs to YOU.

Chapter 1

Meet Pierce Edwards

Most people live life on a path that was set for them, too afraid to live on any other. But once in a while people will break down barriers and obstacles to fight to be the person they were destined to be.

—Anonymous

Meet Pierce Edwards, founder and CEO of Blackbird Technologies, a large supplier of flight technology to the United States aerospace and defense industries. Born in Charlotte, North Carolina, where he continues to make his home with his wife, Sarah, and their two children, Lila and Max, Pierce successfully turned a boyhood obsession for planes and flying into a multimillion-dollar, privately held company that employs more than 600 people—all before he reached the ripe old age of 40.

Pierce’s meteoric rise to success came as no surprise to those who knew him well. Always mature beyond his years, Pierce demonstrated a relentless, unwavering drive from an extremely young age. There was never a doubt in anybody’s mind that this young man would end up at the top.

A successful company in a booming industry, capped off with a beautiful family, and a stately home with all of the bells, whistles, and toys that typically accompany wealth—it seemed that Pierce really did have it all.

Or so people thought.

Recently, however, deep cracks had begun to appear in the façade of Pierce’s ostensibly perfect life. He could no longer access the cool, calm demeanor he had always possessed—that he had, in fact, taken for granted—as easily. Quite simply, Pierce was losing control. Lashing out at Sarah without provocation, drinking excessively, and working later and later each evening, he was disconnecting and disengaging from human contact. He was well aware of the changes occurring within, but for the first time in his life, Pierce had no idea what to do about it.

Was this a typical case of not stopping to smell the roses, or had Pierce literally derailed somewhere along his rapid journey to the top? He couldn’t be sure.

While he was navigating his black Escalade through uptown Charlotte, heading home one evening, a light mist settled over the city. Flicking the wipers to the ON position, Pierce noticed that the green clock staring out from his mahogany dashboard read 8:40 pm. Bold LED numbers crudely taunted him as he wondered when he had last made it home in time for the 6:00 news. Had he ever? He honestly could not recall.

Switching lanes, he caught his image in the rearview mirror, and was surprised to notice tufts of gray hair sprouting at the temples. When did this happen? On closer inspection, he noted that his pasty skin could use a week in the Caribbean, or at the very least, a Sunday stroll in the park. “When did you stop caring about yourself?” Pierce asked his reflection.

Were these early physical signs of aging a fair and just ransom for his rapid rise in business and, well, life? Had he really matured too fast? When he was growing up, neighbors and friends had criticized his father’s efforts in raising him solo. It was a father-and-son team, with one leader and one hard and fast set of rules. Naysayers abounded when Pierce was a young schoolboy, barely whispering behind cupped hands, lamenting how terrible it was what had happened to this poor young boy. A boy needed his mother and deserved the chance to be a child; and that shameful, domineering father (providing the juiciest fodder for gossips) hadn’t allowed his young son the opportunity to grieve. Onwards and Upwards was always his father’s motto; there was no time to stop and think too much about anything.

Retreating from his reverie, Pierce watched as the city faded behind him. Only the Bank of America building remained in view, proudly and powerfully thrusting itself toward the heavens—the Bank of America Corporation, currently number nine on the Fortune 500 list.

Shrugging off pesky, nagging concerns that had been haunting him for months, Pierce refocused his attention on future plans for Blackbird Tech. After all, he made sacrifices all the time. So what if he had been a little stressed out? It came with the terrain, and was the only way to reach the top. Singular focus was certainly a trait Pierce had inherited from his father. One goal and one path, no matter who or what stood in the way. Sacrifice. How else would he grow the company from the largest of its kind in the United States to the largest in the world? How else would he get himself on that Fortune 500 list?

As Pierced turned the car into his suburban home’s long, winding driveway, the gravel protested beneath his wet tires with a loud crunch. Tall poplars lined the property, cloaking the massive 30,000-square-foot home in privacy. Turning off the engine, he sat for a moment, taking it all in. He had built this home for Sarah less than five years earlier. Sacrifice, he thought smugly to himself; it’s all about sacrifice.

Retrieving his sports coat and a bag of files from the back seat, Pierce made his way, as he did most nights, toward the back of the house, where he would dutifully remove his shoes before entering via the kitchen. It had become part of Pierce’s routine to pass through the large, open kitchen, drop a few rocks in a glass and top it off with liquid gold, his favorite smoky, single malt, Oban, before retreating to his office—usually reemerging around 11 pm to pick at leftovers from the fridge before retiring to bed.

Tonight, however, was different.

Rounding the corner near the hothouse where Sarah tended her beloved orchids, the gentle humming of the swimming pool filter across the yard failed to conceal voices coming from inside the house. One was Sarah’s and the other, which he didn’t recognize immediately, was definitely male. Pierce did not recall any cars parked out front when he drove onto the property. Who was in there with Sarah? Through the window he spotted her, leaning on the granite island, her honey-blonde hair loosely cascading down her shoulders, standing in such a way that made it impossible to tell whether or not she was crying. A tall, dark-haired figure moved across the room, placing his hand on her back. He appeared to be consoling her. Pierce’s mouth suddenly went dry. Josh Andrews. He tried to swallow as he picked up his pace. What the heck was Josh doing here? Had something happened to one of the kids? Why had Sarah called Josh and not Pierce? A fire burned in the pit of his gut as he burst through the kitchen door ready to confront his wife and his best friend.

Immediately hit with the thick, heavy atmosphere lingering in the kitchen, a wave of nausea washed over him. Once again, he tried to swallow, but his swollen tongue and dry mouth would not allow such freedom. He turned to Sarah, “Everything okay? Where are the kids?”

“Daddy!” Max charged across the living room, literally flying into his father’s arms. Pierce scooped him up. Little Max. Thank God he was okay. Glancing across the cream-carpeted living room, he spotted Lila neatly stacking the books she’d been reading with Max on a table next to the sofa. Lila. Sweet, shy Lila. Pierce reminded himself he had less than eight years to go before his heart would be broken when she commenced dating some pimply-faced, junior-high schmuck. Max clung harder to his father—or was it Pierce doing the clinging? It was impossible to tell. Pierce desperately wanted to freeze this moment in time; his daughter young and innocent, his son loving and sweet . . . and his wife and best friend not about to tell him whatever it was they were planning. Perhaps it wasn’t eight years before his heart was to break after all. Perhaps it was merely eight minutes, or seconds, away.

“Daddy, I missed you!” Max mumbled into Pierce’s neck, digging his little hands further into Pierce’s shoulders, an action filled as much with love as it was with longing.

“I missed you too, buddy.” Holding Max close, the sweet scent of Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo wafted up from his freshly washed hair. Was it really Johnson’s? His heart sank when he realized he did not know the answer to this. Pierce had not been a part of the kids’ bath time ritual for several years now. Sarah could be using engine oil on their hair and he’d be none the wiser.

“Daddy, you’re home! We waited up to say goodnight!” Lila exclaimed as she joined her brother, curling her limbs around Pierce’s legs and torso. An old, wise tree at the mercy of a rampant, youthful vine, Pierce waited patiently while the kids, wiggling in his arms, excitedly relayed the events of their day.

Kissing the tops of the children’s heads, he bid them good night, waited as they kissed Sarah and “Uncle Josh” good night, and watched them run upstairs, hand in hand, their matching Paul Frank pajamas swaying in unison. Lila was a good kid, responsible, a really good big sister to Max. Six years old, wow, he had to remember that. Time was slipping by. And how old was Max now? Four? Jeez.

Dreading the challenging conversation that was sure to follow, Pierce stalled, “Shouldn’t one of us be reading them a bedtime story?”

Sarah sighed. “Honey, Lila read to Max already. They’re good for tonight. I promise.” Maintaining eye contact, she smiled, one of her warm, disarming smiles.

For a moment Pierce thought he misread the entire scenario and the knot in his gut released a little as his tongue peeled itself away from the roof of his mouth. That was before Sarah added, “We need to talk.”

Eyeing Josh and Sarah suspiciously, Pierce reached for a rocks glass sitting on a shelf in the cabinet above the sink. “Wait,” Sarah stopped him, “I opened a nice bottle of cabernet, it’s decanting in the dining room. I thought we might enjoy it together, the three of us.”

“Well la-de-dah, Lady Sarah,” Pierce wanted to say, “Look at you, going out in style! Probably spent a king’s ransom on a posh cabernet—decanting as we speak, no less—to ceremoniously enjoy with your boyfriend while your plans to divorce are announced.” Instead, Pierce coolly placed the glass back on the middle shelf and quietly made his way to the dining room while he raged internally. How did he let this happen? For weeks, months even, he had felt his life slowly unraveling; but this, he did not foresee.

Taking a seat at the head of the dining table, Sarah watched as Josh poured the heavy, red wine into the three glasses she had laid out earlier. Pierce, intent on holding on to some dignity, thanked Josh for his wine as he took residence in the seat perpendicular to Sarah’s, immediately regretting his choice when Josh sat directly opposite him. “Don’t crack,” he told himself. “Save face, buddy.”

Swirling the deep burgundy liquid in the glass, Pierce joked, “I’d raise a toast. But, I’ve no idea what we should be drinking to.”

Sarah reached across the table, gently placing her hand over his. He resisted the urge to pull away from her.

“Honey, relax. We didn’t mean to ambush you, it’s just . . . it’s just kind of difficult to get you to commit to anything other than work lately. Short of making an appointment with your secretary, I saw no other way for us to all get together.”

“Okay. Well, here I am.” Pierce loathed the fact he could not control the emotion in his voice.

“Buddy, Sarah and I ran to each other last week at the grocery store. We’re concerned about you. That’s all.”

Pierce could not stop the laughter bubbling up in him. “Concerned? What’s to be concerned about?”

“Pierce, did you see my car out front when you came in?” Josh held up his hand, stopping Pierce from answering, “No, you didn’t, because I walked here. I live four blocks away. Four. And I haven’t seen you in over five months.”

Sighing, Pierce slouched back in his seat, relieved and slightly amused by his gross misinterpretation of the scene. “What are you talking about? We had breakfast a few weeks ago.”

“Actually, I had breakfast with a stranger who barely ate, barely talked, and typed on his BlackBerry the entire time . . . in May. We’re in October, bud.”

Pierce flushed as a bubble of resentment rose within him; he did not enjoy being put on the spot.

“When I ran into Sarah,” Josh continued, “she burst into tears when I asked about you.” Stung, Pierce looked to Sarah, who quietly stared at her wine glass.

“Honey?”

Sarah continued staring as if the words she needed would magically appear in the glass at any given moment.

The three friends sat in silence. Only the faint ticking of a clock could be heard off in the distance. Pierce struggled to recall even owning an analog clock. He certainly had no idea in which room it was housed. Each tick felt like an eternity and he longed to find the source of the noise and smash it into a million pieces. But he was glued to his seat, unable to move, as he waited for his wife to speak.

Sarah nervously curled her lower lip inward and gently bit down on it. “Please, please don’t cry,” Pierce willed her. She looked down at her hands, nervously fidgeting with her wedding band. Spinning the diamond pavé ring around her long and slender ring finger with the thumb and index finger of her right hand, she looked up at Pierce and found the courage to speak. “Honey, something has to change. You’re no longer the man I married.” She paused, struggling to control her emotions. “Believe me—I am beyond appreciative for the lifestyle you have provided for our family. Building your company required incredible commitment and a lot of hard work and I certainly understand the priority it takes in your life . . . our lives. But, I need you present. So do the kids. Without you, this house, the cars, the lifestyle . . . well, it really doesn’t mean anything at all.”

Pierce remained silent. He recognized the importance of what Sarah was trying to say; yet he had no idea how to respond, or how he could fix it.

“When Josh asked about you, my heart broke. Josh has been your best friend since grade school . . . and he’d not seen or heard from you in months. I could not wrap my head, or my heart, around understanding what changed in you. When did you stop caring about the people who should matter most? It’s not who...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Contents
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Acknowledgments
• Foreword
• Introduction
• A Note from the Author
• Chapter 1: Meet Pierce Edwards
• Chapter 2: The Journey Begins
• Chapter 3: Attaining Belief in Yourself
• Chapter 4: Acting with Courage and Integrity
• Chapter 5: Doing Truly Great Things
• Chapter 6: Creating a Living Legacy
• Chapter 7: Pierce Returns
• Appendix: Exercises for YOUR Path to Greatness
• YOUR Prizefighter Day Exercise
• About the Author
• Advertisement