Preface II - The Breakthrough (The Meta-Bug)

Coachella 2018. That's when everything broke.

(Yeah, I know what you're thinking. "Fuck this guy." But I'm gonna continue.)

Not broke like "oh I had an insight." Broke like — I legitimately thought I was dying in the middle of the desert while Beyoncé was playing somewhere in the distance.

I'd taken party drugs before. Never had issues. But that night I just... kept taking more. Wasn't tracking it. Didn't know my limit. And then it hit me like — fuck.

I was watching the main stage, everything's fine. Then out of nowhere — full body dread. Like someone flipped a switch and suddenly everything was wrong. Heart pounding. Chest tight. This voice in my head going "something's really wrong here."

I just left. Didn't tell anyone. Just walked off into the crowd.

Found this fountain and sat down. Started typing what I thought were my last words into Apple Notes. Legitimate goodbye messages. Because I was convinced — absolutely convinced — this was it. My heart was gonna explode. I was gonna die at Coachella. And they'd find me by this stupid fountain with half-finished texts about how I wasted my life.

(I can feel you judging. Keep going.)

Some guy helped me find the medical tent. They checked my vitals. Heart rate: 110. Which now? I know that's nothing. That's like, mild exercise. But in that moment? Might as well have told me it was 300.

They gave me water. Told me to rest. Said I was fine.

But I wasn't fine. Something had cracked. And sitting in that medical tent, I knew nothing was ever gonna be the same.

The Failed Fix

Got home and did what I thought you're supposed to do. Read this guy Aubrey Marcus — "Own the Day, Own Your Life." Decided I'd fix myself with routine and discipline.

Hot water with salt and lemon every morning. Three-minute cold showers in the middle of winter. Meditation apps. Gratitude journaling. Lavender diffuser. Already eating healthy, going to the gym, listening to Tim Ferriss podcasts, lying in the sun.

Did it all. Every fucking morning.

Changed nothing.

It was a band-aid on a fucking gash. I was still fundamentally broken inside. Still misaligned. Just now I was misaligned with better morning habits.

The Real Crash

Here's the thing — I was working in accounting. Which is insane because I'd dropped out of school at 16. Changed jobs 25 times. Never felt anxious once.

Why? Because I thrive on change. Always have.

But when I hit 26, society got loud. "Get a stable job. Stop fucking around. Be responsible." So I did. Got the accounting job. Worked full-time, studied full-time. Did everything "right."

And that's what broke me.

It was literally from doing the right thing — what everyone said I should do — that my brain started screaming "this is fucking dumb." The anxiety wasn't random. It was my system rejecting a life that wasn't mine.

The $55,000 Conversation

I was making $55,000 a year in Sydney. If you know Sydney, you know that's nothing. Can barely afford to breathe on that salary.

So I asked my boss for a meeting. Sat in the boardroom for an hour while he explained why the math didn't work. I'm 26, doing work way above my level, used to run a cafe before this. And he's telling me:

"To make $75,000, you need four more years. Finish your degree. Get chartered status."

Four years. To make an extra $20k.

I walked out thinking — I've already blown through most of my savings. Can't quit. Can't stay. What the fuck is happening?

That's when I knew I was fucked.

The Desk Collapse

Few weeks later. Regular Tuesday. Sitting at my desk. And suddenly — that same chest pain from Coachella. That same "you're about to die" feeling. But this time, stone cold sober. Just me and Excel and existential dread.

Left the office. Called my mum while walking around the block. Sunny day in Sydney and I'm trying not to collapse on the sidewalk. Trying not to call an ambulance. Trying to breathe through what felt like my chest caving in.

That started six months of hell. Moved back home. Changed everything. And every single day:

That was my type of anxiety — constantly thinking I was about to die.

The Therapy Disaster

First therapist was fucking useless. Actually made it worse. Started digging into my childhood, brought up heaven and hell. I left that session with a new anxiety — not just dying, but going to hell when I did.

Went twice. Never again.

Second therapist was better, but it still took months. I was wrapped so tight in anxiety I couldn't see straight. Then one day he says:

"Next time the anxiety comes, try to make it worse."

I'm sitting there, chest tight, doom spiraling, and he goes: "Whatever you're feeling, amplify it. Make it as bad as you can."

So I tried it. Felt that deep pain in my chest and went: "Get worse. Get worse. Come on, get worse."

And the strangest thing happened — it started to dissolve. Not magically. Not instantly. But over weeks of doing this, the pattern broke.

The anxiety only had power because I was fighting it. The fear of the fear was the actual problem.

The Rewrite

That's when I said fuck it. I'm done. I'm trusting my instincts again.

Me changing jobs all those times? That wasn't failure. That was me being who I am — someone who needs variety, challenge, movement. Society told me that was wrong. Society was full of shit.

Left accounting. Got into sales. Became #1 in the world out of 250 reps at Zoom in six months. Got promoted three times in three years. Next job paid $280,000 — three years after making $55k.

Then COVID hit. I was at Zoom at exactly the right time. Won't lie — made a fuck load of money. Got lucky with timing.

Left to start my own business with a co-founder. Built it to a million through pure cold calling. No brand. No audience. Just trust in my ability to connect.

Then went solo. Burned through $180,000 of my own savings. There was one night I cried at the end of my bed, but other than that? I was okay. Because I wasn't fighting myself anymore.

Now? $3.5M business. Coached over 1,500 small business owners. Helped them add tens of millions to their revenue.

When I tell people who I used to be, they don't believe it. High school dropout. Two best friends went to jail. Addicted to drugs, video games, drinking. Used to skip school to game for 18 hours straight.

But that collapse at my desk? That was the moment I decided: I'm fucking changing my life.

And I did. I became the person I wanted to be.

The Meta-Bug

Here's the whole point of this book: You will never be able to sell authentically unless you fix what I call the Meta-Bug.

The Meta-Bug isn't anxiety. It's not depression. It's not even fear.

It's the thought that you can't change. The belief that your current state is your permanent state. That how you feel right now is who you are forever.

It's the loop that says:

And that voice? If you don't debug it, it turns everything into evidence for itself. You'll use morning routines to cope with a misaligned life. You'll use meditation to manage anxiety instead of addressing what's causing it. You'll read this book and think "must be nice" instead of "what's my version of this?"

Self-Authorship

Look, I know some people have it way harder than me. I get it. Living in a first-world country, making good money now — I see the irony of me talking about struggle.

But here's what I know: Every successful person I've met started in some kind of shit position. The difference? They decided to own it.

Self-authorship is the only way forward. If you blame other people for your life, you're fucked. If you're waiting for permission, you're fucked. If you think the problem is external, you're fucked.

The problem is always inside. You can't change other people. You can't change circumstances. But you can change yourself. And when you change yourself, everything else shifts.

This only works with radical honesty. If everyone was radically honest, the whole system would work. But people aren't. They perform. They manipulate. They hide behind scripts and tactics.

Once you understand how trust really works — starting with trusting yourself — you'll see the game everyone's playing. And you'll realize you don't have to play it.

This Is Where Real Selling Starts

You can't sell authentically when you're performing a character. You can't build trust when you don't trust yourself. You can't help others transform when you're stuck in your own loops.

The Meta-Bug keeps you small. Keeps you performing. Keeps you using tactics instead of building real connection.

Debug it, and everything changes. Your energy changes. Your presence changes. People feel it immediately — this person isn't performing, they're just being real.

And real? Real sells. Not through manipulation. Through resonance. Through trust. Through showing up as who you actually are instead of who you think you need to be.

But first, you have to delete the bug that says you can't change.

What's your Meta-Bug?

What story have you been running?

And what happens when you finally say: "Get worse"?