How Rory Vaden Saved Me MILLIONS of Dollars.

Andre, (2.79 min read)

I’ve been waiting 1360 days for this moment.

And I had something that I thought was amazing!

But then Rory Vaden saved me millions. How? I’ll get to that at the end.

Chapter 1: Someday Is a Lie

“The dangerous lie we tell ourselves is that we can always do that later.
Narrator: he did not do it later.
He just stayed doing the same stuff he was doing, until the dream faded away.
My message to you is simple. The ‘safe path’ is not actually safe. In fact, it’s dangerous.
It’s dangerous to your dreams.”
— Shaan Puri

They worked six days a week. Fixed tires. Tuned spokes. Cleaned grease from their hands before greeting customers. No one questioned their focus. No one asked them to do more.

But in the back of their shop—after hours, between orders, when the street was quiet—they were building something no one had asked for.

It started with sketches. Curves. Angles. The math of the wind.
Then they started collecting newspaper clippings. Studying birds. Watching feathers bend mid-glide.

They didn’t have an office.
Or investors.
Or degrees.
They had blueprints, string, and a dangerous amount of curiosity.

Some nights, they worked so late they forgot to eat.
Not because they were trying to prove anything.
But because the question wouldn’t leave them alone:
What if we could fly?

They didn’t quit their day job.
Didn’t go all-in.
Didn’t ask the world to stop for them.

They just kept building. Quietly. On the side. While everyone else was satisfied with wheels and roads.

They mailed letters to the Smithsonian. Studied failed attempts. Read engineering books they didn’t fully understand.
They took notes. Built kites. Broke things. Rebuilt them.

And they never once waited for permission.

People said, “It’s too dangerous.”
People said, “It’s already been tried.”
People said, “That’s not your lane.”

They said, Okay.
Then kept building.

Twenty feet at a time.
One gust of wind.
One new idea.
One small flight after another.

Until December 17, 1903.
When the impossible lifted off the ground.

And two brothers from a bike shop in Ohio—who had every excuse not to try—became the first people in human history to fly.

Their names?
Wilbur and Orville Wright.

The lie we tell ourselves: Someday.

I had the dream for years.

I used to imagine meeting José—the boy I’d been sponsoring through Compassion since I was 16. I’d picture myself in Ecuador, fluent in Spanish, showing up not just as his sponsor, but as someone who followed through.

But every year I told myself the same thing:
Later.
When I had more money. More clarity. More margin.
But later kept slipping away.

Then one day in 2018, I was standing in my parents' kitchen.
I had $600 to my name.
I got an email: a chance to visit José. The cost? $3,692.
I couldn’t afford it. Not even close. But I made a quiet decision:
I never want money to be the reason I say no to something meaningful again.

Two years later, the trip opened up again.
This time, I had close to $10,000 in the bank.
Same trip. Almost the same cost.

And even then… I hesitated.
Not because of the money.
But because the moment was real now.
And real dreams require courage.

So I said yes.
Went for two and a half weeks in early 2021 to test it.
Flew back that summer and stayed for two full months.

I never got to meet José.
But I met myself in a way I hadn’t before.

I made deep friendships through Mosaic Ecuador.
Took two Galápagos cruises.
Laughed, journaled, slowed down—something I hadn’t done since I was sixteen.
And during that trip, my brother said something I’ll never forget:
“I wouldn’t have had the courage to do that.”

That was the moment it landed.
This wasn’t just a trip.
It was a decision I made years ago—standing in my parents’ kitchen—that I finally followed through on.

I didn’t feel brave when I booked it.
But looking back, that choice marked a shift:
I stopped saying “someday.”
And I started living the kind of life I used to only dream about.

What’s something you’ve been saying “someday” or “later” to… but have been thinking about for years?

Name it. Write it down.
Then take one small step toward it.
Not because you’re ready.
But because it matters.

Okay. That’s the working version of the first chapter of my first book: It is currently unnamed. It was called the Age of choice. However, Rory Vaden shot a million holes in that name. (when I went through the naming part of Brand Builders Group.)

A title should be: I want _____

I want (the 4 hour work week)

I want (to win friends and influence people)

I want (to think and grow rich)

I want (the age of choice)

you see the problem now?

What will it be called? I don’t know yet. But what I do know is it will help young entrepreneurs align ambition with values.

Okay, that’s all for now. Don’t wait. Someday is a lie.