Introduction: Becoming Zenman

From my first memories, I struggled with religion. I grew up in a tiny town in rural Indiana. When I was five years old, my father's cousin convinced my parents to have me accompany them to their church, followed by Sunday school. The church service didn't stick in my mind, but Sunday school did. The adult was telling the story of Adam and Eve's experience in the Garden of Eden to my class. As a curious child who was consumed with dinosaurs, I persisted in asking a series of questions that annoyed the parent leading the group. What had happened to the Mesozoic era in this story?

Eventually, she had me sit in the corner for the remainder of Sunday school. That was my last time being invited to join my relatives for church. I hadn't intended to be disruptive or disrespectful in any way. It was genuine curiosity. Even at the early age of five, I had seen dinosaur bones at the La Brea Tar Pits when we made the Griswold Family road trip to Disneyland that was a rite of passage for Gen X. The proof existed right there in the middle of LA. Dinosaurs are real, and I guess even at an early age, I was a fan of debating different ideas and beliefs.

Fast forward a decade to advanced biology class during my freshman year in high school, which reinforced my questioning of the beliefs most of my peers embraced. I distinctly remember sitting next to my friend Mike?with whom I had played soccer for most of my life?just closing his book when we got to the chapter on evolution. Shutting the book meant he shut his mind to any ideas that differed or challenged the belief he was born into. I always struggled with the thought "What if I was born in the wrong place?"

Everywhere else in the world, billions of different people have the same devotion to their religion. Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, and followers of every other belief firmly believe that the "others" are wrong and will suffer eternal damnation or whatever retribution their dogma dictates. As a little boy, this tormented me. I did not want to make the wrong choice when it came to something as crucial as my eternal being. Coupled with the learnings of evolution, this shaped me into a devout atheist. At that time, learning about evolution meant that I no longer had to find the right religion, and I embraced science. For the next four years, my belief was that of a devoted atheist with no need or desire for organized religion.

That was just the beginning of my journey.

Finding Entrepreneurship

The first time I remember hearing the word "entrepreneur" was two years before my evolution breakthrough in seventh-grade economics class. I clearly remember the teacher's definition of an entrepreneur as "someone who would face multiple failures in life before possibly reaching any success." He went on to expand on how it was a life of hardship that could lead to financial ruin and despair. In my day, the "safe" path was the corporate job; to be even more specific, I was meant to be an engineer. That was my introduction to the world of entrepreneurship, and rather than convincing me to take the safe path in life, it had the opposite effect. I knew right there that I was going to be an entrepreneur.

Ever since I was a boy, the best way to motivate me was to tell me I couldn't do something. That is one of the most common characteristics of founders. We see a challenge not as an obstacle but as an opportunity.

I remember a poster of Robert Frost's poem "The Road Less Traveled" hanging in my grandmother's bedroom. The final stanza has been burned into my subconscious.

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

That stanza struck a chord in me that has resonated since, especially "I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." The idea of taking the road less traveled was only reinforced by my middle school economics teacher telling the class, "You can't build your own business-you will fail," which was all the motivation I needed. That 12-year-old kid decided then and there that I would own my first business before my 30th birthday.

That might sound like an audacious goal for many people, while for others it might appear conservative. For the contingent that feels the goal was too lofty, I would offer this perspective from Michelangelo: "The greatest danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss it, but that it is too low and we reach it." Aim for your dreams, and even if you don't reach every goal, life will still be extraordinary.

The other half who see starting their first business by the age of 30 as a conservative goal could have a skewed perspective by looking at Steve Jobs, who was 21 when he co-founded Apple with Steve Wozniak in his garage, or Larry Page and Sergey Brin, who started Google at the ripe old age of 24. Most successful startup founders are between 35 and 45 years old. Our society today focuses so intensely on the unicorns that most fail to see the significant number of failures.

Singles and doubles win ballgames. You have a much lower probability of success and are likelier to strike out if you swing for the fences every time you come up to bat.

The same is true in business. Consistent results create profitable businesses and companies that are better positioned for acquisition if that is the end goal. Don't misinterpret this as avoiding all risk or playing too safe in business and life. By all means, set lofty goals; just ensure they're plausible. It's better to make some progress than to strike out because you are trying to hit a grand slam or even worse because you need to. A couple of times in my business, I had to sell a job to make payroll, which was a horrible place to be and which I hope you never experience personally.

Not only is this a terrible mindset when entering a business negotiation, but it also decreases the probability of closing the sale. We have a saying in poker: Scared money never wins. Desperation is an unattractive quality both for a potential mate and in business dealings. Even at the energetic level, it's much better to come from an abundance mindset than a scarcity belief.

Finding My Path

My introduction to Buddhism came much later. Fast-forward to my first semester in college, and I met a man who would change my life forever. College for me was a small art school that specialized in photography and motion pictures called Brooks Institute in Santa Barbara, California. To be completely honest, it was heavenly. To this day, after being fortunate enough to travel all over the world, Santa Barbara is still hands down my favorite place on planet Earth.

The program at Brooks was intense but considered the best in the world. To pay for living in one of the most beautiful and hence expensive cities in the country, I worked six days a week as a bartender at night. This meant too many late nights with excessive alcohol consumption. Additionally, I smoked a pack or more of Camels a day-a stark contrast from the man who would change the course of my life for the better.

One of my classmates was a monk named Lopsang. He worked directly with the Dalai Lama, who sent him to the United States with the goal of attending a series of higher-education institutions. Lopsang was the first example that I was awake to of "when the student is ready, the teacher will appear."

Although Brooks was a melting pot of artists from all over the globe, Lopsang stood out among the class. Most of the students dressed like a grunge band from Seattle, and we had a solid contingent of expedition-ready photo-vest-wearing classmates, but Lopsang was the only one in saffron monk robes. During break I would grab whatever soda had the most caffeine in the vending machine and chain smoke two cigarettes. I used to light the second smoke from the cherry of the first while polluting my body with hapless disregard. After observing me for a few weeks, Lopsang started asking questions, like "Why do you prefer breathing cigarette smoke over the beautiful ocean air?" To which there really isn't an intelligent response. Instead of feeling like he was passing judgment, his questions made me contemplate the choices that had become unhealthy habits.

Our conversations deepened throughout the fall as Lopsang introduced me to concepts that intrigued rather than polarized me. The first was moderation. Buddha learned that excess isn't the path to Nirvana, just as self-deprivation isn't the path to enlightenment. As a chain-smoking bartender, my life was far from moderate. Although I didn't shift to Buddhism before Lopsang left for the next college, he was instrumental in helping me find my path. Before departing at the end of his time at Brooks, Lopsang shared ideas that lit a fire in me to shift from a life of excess to one of clarity and moderation.

Over the course of the next few years I dove deeper into Buddhism, eventually shifting from atheism to taking refuge in what are known as the three jewels: Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. In the early '90s, it was a lot less common for a Westerner to completely embrace Buddhism than it is today. I can't tell you how many family holidays devolved into a heated debate because I didn't...