Part 1: Little Gabe Had a Flight Plan
Let’s start with a kid. We’ll call him Little Gabe.
Little Gabe had it all figured out. He was going to be a fighter pilot. Navy or Air Force, he wasn’t picky. What he WAS picky about was the details, and in his head the details looked like this:
- Strapped into a jet going roughly a bajillion miles an hour
- Shooting missiles at bad guys (only bad guys, Little Gabe had standards)
- Flying 360s around enemy aircraft while they tried to figure out what just happened
- Saving the day. Every day. Possibly before lunch.
And when all the day-saving was done? Just flying. Hours up there, looking down at the world from a perspective almost nobody gets to see.
That was the Flight Plan. Little Gabe had it laminated. (He did not actually have it laminated. Little Gabe did not own a laminator. But emotionally, it was laminated.)
Here’s what happened to the Flight Plan.
At 17, Gabe had no car and no money. Then he found a squeegee. By 18 he was cleaning windows full time.
So instead of a cockpit, he got a ladder. Which, technically, is also a way to get off the ground. (Little Gabe did not find this nearly as funny as I do now.)
Now you. You probably had a Flight Plan too. Doctor. Astronaut. Point guard. Rock star. And if you’re like most people, the life you’re living right now looks NOTHING like the one you drew up when you were ten. Every so often, usually around 2 a.m., a little voice asks:
Did I miss it?
I think that voice is asking the wrong question. Let me show you why.
Part 2: The Arrows, the Explorers, and the Drifters
After 30-plus years of building a business and hiring a whole lot of people, I’ve noticed that everybody ends up as one of three kinds of travelers.
The Arrows. These are the kids who said “I’m going to be a doctor” at age eight and then… became a doctor. They found their north star early, locked in, and never drifted. There are a LOT of Arrows out there. For them, the Flight Plan was the right plan, and I tip my hat to every one of them.
The Drifters. These folks meander around the working world. Job to job. Sometimes career to career. Not because they’re lazy. Usually because nobody ever told them they were allowed to stop and look around.
The Explorers. This is most of us. The Explorer’s path weaves in and out of the forest, spits them out at the ocean to watch the waves crash for a while, then turns uphill and has them scaling a snowcapped mountain, where they catch a sunrise so beautiful it shakes them to the core.
Here’s what that looks like on paper:
Little Gabe was 100% sure he was an Arrow. Turns out he was an Explorer who just hadn’t left the driveway yet.
And here’s the part the 2 a.m. voice never mentions. The Explorer’s path is longer. It’s messier. From the starting line, it makes zero sense. But the Arrow can only hit what it aimed at. The Explorer ends up somewhere it never knew to aim for.
Part 3: Three Explorers Who Never Planned It
Let me introduce you to a few Explorers. None of them drew this on their Flight Plan.
The Waiter. Twenty-five years in a midsize city, taking care of people who just want a good meal and some quality time with family or friends. No ten-year-old has ever said, “When I grow up, I want to refill your iced tea for a quarter century.” But sit in his section on a Friday night and try telling me he didn’t find his thing.
The Painter. One day, life threw a six-inch paint brush at her. She ran with it. That brush turned into a painting company that put 50 laborers to work and turned them into painters. Now, on the side, she buys run-down houses, fixes them up, and rents them to young families who need a safe place to come home to after a long day. One brush. Fifty jobs. A whole lot of front doors.
The Car Guy. He took a job selling cars to pay his way through college. Two semesters in, the side job quietly became the main thing. Turns out he LOVES negotiating. Loves helping people who need transportation get it at a good price.
Notice what these three have in common. Not one of them found their path. The path found them. They just had the good sense to keep walking once it showed up.
Part 4: The Math (Relax, It’s Squeegee Math)
A week has 168 hours. That’s it. Everybody gets the same 168. Billionaire or busboy.
Now let’s say you work 10 hours a day, five days a week. (Some of you are working six. I see you.) You sleep about 8 hours a night. Here’s your week if every little box is one hour:
Work takes 50 boxes. Sleep takes 56. That leaves 62 hours for literally everything else: family, friends, the gym, your kid’s ball game, and standing in front of the fridge hoping something new appeared since the last time you checked.
Take sleep off the table and work eats nearly half of your waking hours. Add the commute. Add the Sunday-night dread. Add the “real quick” email check on vacation. Work isn’t just a big piece of your life. It’s THE biggest piece.
Now zoom out. Fifty hours a week, fifty weeks a year, for a 40-year career:
50 × 50 × 40 = 100,000 hours.
One hundred THOUSAND hours.
So here’s my question. If you’re going to spend 100,000 hours doing something, shouldn’t it be something you actually enjoy?
Part 5: Where My Squeegee Went
Back to Little Gabe and his ladder.
I still call myself a window cleaner. I’m proud of it. But that squeegee turned out to be a road, not a destination.
The squeegee led to owning a business. Owning a business opened up paths I never could have seen from the top of a ladder. One of those paths made me a real estate investor.
And here’s the cool part. That squeegee built a life Fighter Pilot Gabe never could have built. Little Gabe wanted to see the world from up high. Turns out the ladder took him higher than the jet ever would have.
Part 6: So Does the Road Find Us, or Do We Find the Road?
Honestly? I don’t think there’s a right answer. And I don’t think it matters. The people who stand at the trailhead arguing about maps never see the sunrise either way.
Here’s what I do know.
People love to tell you to “follow your passion.” Let me be the guy who says it out loud. Forget passion. Passion doesn’t pay the bills. Passion is a great feeling on a Tuesday that’s gone by Thursday.
What actually works is way less dramatic. Find something you enjoy doing. Then do it.
That’s where purpose shows up. And purpose is what makes you money. It’s what gives you the life you were meant to have, and most likely a whole lot more.
Because when you enjoy what you do for eight to ten hours a day, it stops feeling like work. It feels like you served your way into a happy life.
So get on your path. Arrow, Explorer, recovering Drifter, doesn’t matter. Create success for yourself and for the people around you. Enjoy the ride, and the money will follow.
Little Gabe never got his jet. Big Gabe wouldn’t trade the squeegee for it.
Keep Shining.
