BOOK DETAILS

The Millionaire Within Us

The Millionaire Within Us

by Chris Carley

ISBN: 9780966624595

Publisher Enlightened Financial Press

Published in Business & Investing/Small Business & Entrepreneurship, Business & Investing/Marketing & Sales, Health, Fitness & Dieting, Business & Investing

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Book Description

A down and out, fired factory worker, Chris imagined a better life for herself. With a small $79 loan from her father, she took her people skills and her hard-earned marketing skills to levels no one could imagine. Starting with handmade flyers, in just 3 years she became a millionaire in network marketing. Since then she has gone on to make over millions in an industry that few fully understand.

Sample Chapter

When deciding to have the foreword done I reached out to various business associates to write it for me. Then it hit me. There is no better foreword than to show you what my life looked like years ago, so I ripped out this page from my diary and decided to share with you a glimpse of who I was and to let my past self write the foreword for this book.

From Chris Carley’s Diary

October, 1987.

I am dying.

I cannot bear to go to work. I have been here for three years and I have lost my life. Each night,when the alarm goes off at ten, startling me out of dreams of sunshine, white knights and laughter from childhood books and stories of what I thought my life would be, tears run out the corners of my raw red eyes as reality envelopes me. Cold, depressed, I drag myself from our mattress that sits on the floor and stumble into the small, cold bathroom. Pulling on cheap, ugly, gray sweats and the warmest coat I have, I rush out of the 600 sq. ft. broken-down apartment, maneuvering fast down the icy, wooden steps, body shivering teeth chattering, hitting sensitive back molars in some foreign, static tune that’s uncontrollable. My rusted, debilitated ‘beater’ parked on the street, is frozen, fresh snow hiding it and my knuckles are still raw from scraping ice yesterday morning and the evening before after my gloves were stolen. I pour cold water over the pitted car’s windshield to melt the ice quickly, because I cannot be late again. For three years I have worked the Grave Yard shift--midnight to 7 a.m.--a prisoner in a factory. All night, while the rest of the city sleeps, I walk back and forth across freezing airplane hangars, moving heavy tools from machine to machine, my back hunched and aching. My feet throb and blisters form on top of each other, because my old tennis shoes, ensconced in bright yellow bulky toe protectors, pinch and rub causing me to limp. I cannot afford the $110 for steel-toed boots. At 28, my back is hunched and permanently aches from pushing a heavy, loaded cart of tools from machine to machine. The ‘safety’ glasses the company provides are flimsy and flying, toxic shavings of aluminum dust rub a red sore on the bridge of my nose and collect in my hair. The earplugs they give for protection are worthless against the roar of tons of steel being bent and piled by Goliath, monster machines lined up in each row. The shop is grimy, chemicals are used everywhere and I wear a mask but I can smell and taste the poisonous grit. Each hour passes painfully slow, until the lunch bell shrieks above the grinding of the steel, and I race to find a place to sleep on a hard, wooden bench in the bathroom. If I get there before some other sleep deprived zombie, I wolf down whatever food I brought from home and stretch out, exhausted on the ridged wood, trying to sleep, jerking and twisting, for the rest of my half hour lunch. Later, during the two, ten-minute breaks per shift that Union strikes have given us, I’ll collapse on any chair near me and try to sleep. Finally, In the morning, when the bell blares signaling my agony is over, I stand in a line behind fifty or more workers, punch out by running my picture ID card thru the time clock and go straight to a 2 hour blue-printing class so that I may someday make more than my $10.50 an hour. After taxes, for those grueling, health-stealing hours, I take home only $5.35 for these life-sucking nights . I am forced to work every weekend for the next half year to year of my life--just as my sisters do, my father and his father before him. Saturday’s work will pay Sunday’s taxes.

After a class I do not understand, I will drive back to my small, dark studio apartment that sits next to the highway, drop my clothes on the floor, freezing again because the furnace is off to save money, huddle deep into the covers, so tired I just lay there and weep. My clothes for the month are unwashed, thrown in the corner; I have not had time to grocery shop, pay my bills, or run errands but I am too depressed to care. My body is sick from the unbalanced sleep zones and it will take me a couple of anxious hours to fall asleep where I dream that I am successful, playing golf with celebrities, living in a mansion where the sun is always shinning and then woken by the alarm and it’s cruelty. All the books that council visualizing the life you want are lies, torturous and cruel. Dreaming does not make it real. I do not know how to get out of this. I do not understand how I ended up here. I do not want to live. My mother is afraid that I might hurt myself. She quoted me: “As a man thinketh; so is he.” What does that mean? She gave me an old book: ‘Think and Grow Rich’, but I do NOT understand. My thoughts create My reality? I brought it to work with me and studied it during every break and lunch, closing my eyes and picturing a beautiful life until I came back to my area and found that the women who work beside me had destroyed the pages, writing horrible, untrue and demeaning words and: ‘We Thinketh YOU are a slut! You will never be rich and you will DIE here an old woman’. All my life I have believed in a ‘White Knight’ and being ‘swept off my feet’ so how did I end up in a dungeon with ugly step sisters around me?

This is my life? What happened to my goals and dreams of adventure and beautiful Castles? I might as well be in jail. I am in jail. No, I am in hell. I reset my alarm clock and fall into a fitful light sleep so I can get up and do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that. There is no end. I cannot live like this.

Continues...

Excerpted from "The Millionaire Within Us" by Chris Carley. Copyright © 2014 by Chris Carley. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

Chris Carley

Chris Carley

S.S. Hutchins first discovered how important djinns (genies) were to desert life when he was 14. he learned that a special set of laws and rules were codified on how djinn behaved, how djinn interacted with humans, and where djinn were allowed to live. This curiosity became a desire, which turned into a story, which you are now reading.

View full Profile of Chris Carley

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