The Millionaire Fastlane Read Online Free PDF Page A

were snowed in.
    I pulled to the shoulder of a faintly lit road and felt the cold chill of melted snow crawl up my legs from my toes. I put the limo in park and faced myself in dead silence with nothing but the fall of snowflakes to remind me how much I hated winter. I dazed at the cigarette-burned ceiling of the limousine and thought, “What the hell am I doing? Is this what my life has become?”
    Sitting on an empty road in a blizzard in the dark of the night out in the middle of nowhere, I'd had it. Sometimes clarity washes over you like a peaceful breeze and other times it hits you over the head like a falling Steinway piano. For me, it was the latter. A sharp declaration overpowered my brain: “You cannot live another day like this!” If I was going to survive, I needed to change.
    The Decision to Change
    The harsh winter shot me into swift action. I decided to change. I decided to take control over something I thought was uncontrollable: my environment. I decided to relocate-to where, I didn't know, and at that moment, I didn't care.
    In an instant, I felt powerful. The velocity of that choice infused my miserable existence with hope and a small drip of happiness. My failures evaporated and I felt reborn. Suddenly a dead-end road converged with a dream. It just wasn't about the decision to move; it was about taking control and knowing that I had a choice.
    With this new power, I considered options that never had dawned on me. I asked a simple question: “If I could live anywhere in the country without restraint, where would I live?” I thought about the things important to me, and circled five cities on a map. The next month I moved, or I should say, escaped.
    The Merge from Slowlane to Fastlane
    I arrived in Phoenix with 900 bucks, no job, no friends, and no family-just 330 days of sun and a burning desire to hit the Fastlane. My possessions included an old mattress, a 10-year-old rusty Buick Skylark with no third gear, a few side businesses that made little cash, and several hundred books. Ground zero for my new life was a small studio apartment in central Phoenix that rented for $475 per month. I transformed my studio apartment into an office. No bedroom set, no furniture, just a mattress that invaded the kitchen. I slept with Pop Tart crumbs, a side effect of laying a mattress next to the kitchen counter.
    I lived poor and without security, but I felt rich. I was in control of my life. One of the many businesses I created was a Web site. While driving that limo in Chicago, sometimes I'd sit idle for hours and had plenty of downtime to read books. I didn't waste that time. While I waited for clients at the airport or while they got obliterated at the local watering hole, I sat in the limo and read. And read. I studied everything from finance to Internet programming to more autobiographies of the rich.
    The limo job did something special: it put me at the forefront of an unsolved need that needed a solution. One of my limo clients asked if I knew of any good limo companies in New York. I dropped the passenger off at the airport, but he left me with a seed of invention. If I lived in Chicago and needed a limo in New York, where would I go to find it? I didn't have a New York Yellow Pages handy, and surely no one else outside of New York did either. Faced with this question, I concluded that other travelers would have the same challenge. So I built a Website that would solve this problem.
    Naturally, the Internet has no geographical limits, so this venture traveled to Phoenix well. But, like my prior businesses, it didn't make a lot of money. However, now it was different. I was naked in a strange town with no money, job, or safety net. I had to focus.
    I aggressively marketed my Web site. I sent out emails. Cold-called. Mailed letters. I learned search engine optimization (SEO). Because I couldn't afford books, I visited the Phoenix library daily and studied Internet programming languages. I improved my Web site