A: Not if you want to stay wrapped up in your own little world, cocooned like a baby!That little voice in your head that dares you to ask for the business? That pins-and-needly feeling you get at the nape of your neck when considering one of several alternative paths? The flash of white you think you see out of the corner of your eye when you hear something provocative? Whatever form your intution takes, if you like cozy and comfortable living, then ignore it.That voice will dare you to take a risk and make a stand. It will guide you to foreign places and new people. It will require you to use what you’ve got and then go get some more. That may work for some, but you need to ask yourself: are you willing to pay the price to succeed? Because if the answer is no–if you’re one of those people who’s stingy when it comes to paying “dues”–then that little voice is pure trouble.Here’s a quick story of what can happen if you *don’t* ignore your intution, and the kind of memorable success that it can lead to. This story has nothing to do with business, by the way.It’s spring, 1995. I’m home from college, visiting a good friend of mine, Mike, who is still finsihing up at Northwestern, which has classes for another few weeks before breaking for the summer. We’re enjoying a 5-on-5 pick up game of basketball. The game ends, and six of us stay behind. We divide ourselves up, with Mike and I playing together with a third guy we’ve never met before, and we split our first two games by narrow margins. The teams are fair, and everyone’s having fun.The third game starts. Almost immediately, I get fouled hard while going up for a shot. While walking back to the top of the key, I mention that I could use a minute… that my twenty-one-year-old body isn’t the eighteen-year-old body of my youth.Then something strange happened.The guys on the other team, they must have been sophomores, because when I said that, they shot each other a glance. It was a powerful glance that made my intuition speak up: They’re 18. They’re friends. And now that they know you’re hurt, they’re out for blood. They want to win. Don’t let them! I looked to Mike just as he was looking to me. He saw it, too. He knows. He’s with you. It’s time to win. Beat these arrogant nutbags. I felt sorry for the third guy on our team; after that look, he never touched the ball again.After that moment, we never looked back. We crushed those turds. Normally, Mike and I are solid partners on the court–we had been playing together recreationally since we were twelve–but on this night we were unstoppable. We never missed; no look passes, under-the-basket-reverse-lay-ups-while-getting-shoved-out-of-bounds, fade-away jumpshots from the three point line… everything went exactly where it was supposed to go. Whenever my opponent taunted me and “gave” me a shot, I took it and made it. I stopped watching my shots–I knew they’d all fall.Sounds great, right? A magical night where everything went well? Sure, that’s one version of events. But let’s fast forward, to when Mike and I leave, victorious. From the court, we head straight to his house. We go to the kitchen and pull out a number of Zip-Loc bags, hand towels, and all the ice in his freezer. We fill the baggies and retire to the living room, where we proceed to ice two knees, an ankle, an elbow, and a wrist, a thumb and two fingers, a shoulder, and both backs.Imagine the game we played, to result in two in-shape 21 year-old guys needing that much ice. Such is the price of intution!Then again, by now, all our bodies have broken down… while Mike and I are the only ones with the memories of having won. So it might be worth it, if you’re willing to leave the cocoon and fight it out.
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I'm Jason. I make people shine. My mission is to help 1 million people tell their stories better. 