One year ago, I walked away from a career I’d outgrown and a steady paycheck—and bet everything on myself.
They say freedom tastes sweet. What they don’t tell you is that it often comes with a side of uncertainty, anxiety, and more late nights than you ever signed up for.
This past Saturday, I turned 41. Devon and I grabbed our dog, Whitney, hopped in the car, and drove up to California wine country. It was only the second time this year I allowed myself to step back and breathe.
In the last twelve months, I’ve done more than I ever thought possible:
- Launched my personal website and weekly newsletter.
- Created my first online course—5-Star Creator.
- Made my first internet dollars and hosted a weekly live show.
- Learned skills I never touched in 14 years as a software engineer—copywriting, marketing, sales, and audience building.
- And maybe most importantly, made friendships all over the world.
That’s the highlight reel.
But here’s the part no one advertises: the learning curve is steep, the rewards are slow, and the emotional rollercoaster is very real.
When I lost my job last February, I made a decision—I wasn’t going back. No more roles that only exercised a fraction of my potential. No more chasing titles that left me empty.
It was time to build something for myself.
So I did what most engineers do—I built an app.
Curious about AI, I dove into OpenAI and created a lightweight wrapper for ChatGPT to help people troubleshoot tech issues. I spent a couple of months coding, tinkering, living in APIs.
But deep down, I knew the truth—just like every past project, if I couldn’t get attention, it wouldn’t matter how good the product was.
That’s when I stumbled into the indie maker world and saw that programmers were making a living launching their own apps. Soon after, I found a video from Dan Koe talking about the creator economy and why the corporate system was crumbling. His words hit hard.
For years, I’d dismissed influencers as nothing more than FOMO peddlers. But this was different. These creators weren’t just selling lifestyles—they were teaching, inspiring, and actually helping people change their lives.
So I signed up for Dan’s newsletter. A few emails later, I joined his Writer’s Bootcamp. $350.
It was May, and my 40th birthday was approaching. Devon and I took a long weekend in Napa. When I got back, I was ready to work.
Dan’s advice was simple: Start small. Test ideas in short form before committing to big projects.
So I logged back into my X (Twitter) account—which I hadn’t touched in over a decade—and started sharing my thoughts.
Through the bootcamp, I also started a creator mastermind of twelve people from around the world. We met weekly and developed friendships. I felt like I’d found my people—creators chasing something bigger, just like me.
Back on X, what I found was fascinating—and, as I’d later realize, deceiving.
People were claiming to make serious money as content creators. Posting screenshots of their five- and six-figure monthly recurring revenue. The formula looked easy:
Post daily. Improve. Build an audience. Solve their problems.
Simple, right?
I honed my writing. Explored different topics of interest—philosophy, social critique, spirituality. Learned how to hook readers. Studied virality.
My audience grew to over 650 in a few months.
By September, I went all in—heads down for six weeks building 5-Star Creator.
I thought I had it figured out: an audience and a product. Success was inevitable.
But there was just one problem.
Most of my followers on X were other creator coaches—video editors, lead gen guys, sales funnel “experts,” and repost accounts.
Every DM started the same way: “Love your content, man. Would love to connect.”
And every one of them ended the same way: They weren’t interested in buying. They were trying to sell me something.
It finally hit me—Money X wasn’t a marketplace. It was a mirror maze of salesmen, all pitching each other while wondering why no one was buying.
I don’t blame Dan for this entirely, but I couldn’t help noticing—while he sent his students into the trenches of X, he was busy building his future presence on YouTube and Instagram.
Once I saw the writing on the wall, I knew: X wasn’t where I’d build my business.
I dabbled with YouTube but stuck to safe topics—coding tutorials. Not exactly content built for impact or reach.
So I pivoted.
I published a video sharing my theory that platforms were starting to prioritize creators who sold through them directly. Watch it here.
It worked.
That video landed me my first two paying customers—a turning point I’d been working toward for months.
I’d officially made my first real internet money—selling a digital product I created from scratch.
I ran those first cohorts with everything I had. The feedback was overwhelming.
One student requested immediate access to the full course—he couldn’t wait.
Another told me it gave him the clarity and tools he’d been searching everywhere for.
This was the validation I’d been chasing.
From there, I explored LinkedIn—only to find it stuffy and uninspired. Motivational posts circulating like expired office donuts—stale, sticky, and no one’s brave enough to throw them out.
But, I kept showing up—not for myself.
Because professionals are about to get a brutal wake-up call: AI will disrupt their industry, whether they’re ready or not.
I may have come in too hot with that message, but I still believe it. When they’re ready, I’ll be here—showing them the way out.
Meanwhile, X was imploding. So I turned my weekly X Space into a livestream and focused on short-form video across YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram.
And that’s when I realized something else.
X wasn’t the big leagues. Instagram was.
There, the creators aren’t fringe—they’re legitimately famous. And the competition for attention is fierce.
But Instagram and TikTok are also shifting hard toward pay-to-play. Soon, most of the content you see will be paid placements—whether it’s an ad or a creator paying to push their content into your feed.
It’s a broken system. But for now, it’s still a game worth playing. And every new follower I earn there, I’m sending straight to my email list—because that’s where I build real relationships and own my audience.
In one year, I’ve made money online. I’ve learned dozens of new skills.
I’m building something real. A business. A name. And I’m doing it on my terms.
This journey hasn’t been easy. It’s had highs and lows. Breakthroughs and breakdowns.
And the hardest lesson of all?
This takes time.
I thought I’d replace my income by now. I didn’t even come close.
The internet is filled with gurus promising six figures in 90 days or a million followers by next month. Leaning against rented Lambos, selling you recycled infomercial dreams.
You know better.
That’s all noise.
Yes, I’m making money. But I’m playing the long game. I’m building something that doesn’t require me to compromise who I am.
And that’s the mission now—to help others do the same.
Still with me? Good.
You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
Forget the gurus. Forget the timelines.
Start now. Stay with it. And when it gets hard—and it will—remember why you began.
This is the harder path. But it’s the only one that leads somewhere worth going.
And if you’re willing to walk it, you won’t just build a business.
You’ll build a life you’re proud of.
I’m already out here. Come find me when you’re ready.
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