The $3 eBook You've Not Read! (Excerpt): WHO AM I? 21 WAYS TO UNVEIL THE HIDDEN YOU

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13 

BLOW YOUR OWN TRUMPET

   

Raise your flame, and show your flair. If you don’t, who will? Infest the world.

“The world isn’t fair” has been a constant complaint, and it may never be. The universe has no shelter for weaklings. Only those who roar will be heard. You must unveil yourself. But remember, gravity will not allow you to fly just like that. You’ve got to do all that’s necessary, even if it means swimming against the tides and going against the flow.

Old ideas stale; they just make the world a dull place. Old stories don’t make the news; the world itches for new ideas. New concepts are magnetic; they’re centrifugal. Those who bring in new ideas become the new centers of the world—the new focus. New ideas usher in new ideals, and those who bring them about don’t shout long before they’re heard. The world will swim through storms, run through deserts, and meander past the jungles to your doorstep to celebrate the man who innovates a new idea. Unconsciously, the world has developed an allergy to old ideas. Those who swam to the top didn’t get there by mere imagination; something dramatic had to happen.


The planes, airships, and even the hot air balloons didn’t zoom off into space by mere aspiration. Something pragmatic was done to haul them against gravity. And no one says the trip begins easily. The laws of inertia rule the universe, and good things don’t begin to happen until we do something to force them into motion; likewise, bad things don’t stop happening until we stop them.

The world will only find those who surface, so don’t wait to be discovered because the world will never stand still to let you pass. The world will only wait a minute to hear how you succeeded, and then celebrate your ascent. We celebrate those who have arrived, not those who merely dreamed of it. The ears of men are more apt to hear stories of success, triumph, and bravery—not complaints of disabled minds or the gossips of leaking lips. We don’t count eggs; we count chicks.

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We celebrate those who carry something of value, those who bring solutions. Yes, those who understand that what they carry is valuable don’t wait for the universe to form a footpath at their doorsteps, but rather announce the good news miles away. Herald your arrival, tell everyone—anyone—for that’s the shortest path to stardom. The world is deaf to mute men. We hear those who shout at the top of their voices—and longer, those who shout with a strong reason. Those who stand tall, we see.

You may blow the trumpet if what you carry is what the world seeks. Don’t hide what you have and expect us to find you. The race is out there, not under your roof. We only count those aboard, the few we see and feel. And I tell you, if you can do anything at all to meet another man’s need, then accept my congratulations ahead of your celebration because people are waiting to pay you at the other end. But first, you must cross over to them and say, “This is what I can do for you.” Every man is most interested in what concerns him. You may say that America’s business is business. The sweetest melody to a man’s ear is to show him how to live better and cheaper—or for free; undeniably, everyone comes first in his own heart and schedule.

Those who raise their flames above their heads light the world.

The man in the dark isn’t expecting company. If you want to be seen, you must shine the light—and we all know how amazingly light travels. News is light. It’s viral. So, shine the light on everyone you meet on the way, even when they pretend not to see you; then take a step further and ask them questions. “Have you seen me?” “Have you heard about it?” “Can I tell you now?”  Go ahead, tell the world. Don’t bother about their immediate reaction. Anyone who goes to market either buys or sells; even though you don’t get paid at once, you’ll be seen marketing. The truth is, you’ve propagated, and they’ve been infected. As said, news is viral; they will bear your ‘pathogen’ and infect everyone they meet with your message. You’ve turned a topic, and your name is heard; next, you will be heading to the news headlines.

The world will fall asleep if the media has no news, but only recycled stories. Those who stay afloat paint their world a new color.  However, the world dances to pleasant melodies, not noise. The man whose dream is to awaken men from their sleep should have a pleasant song, lest he provoke their spirits to wrath. Men who believe in a cause go all the way to tell the world.

Way back in 1996, a little action amazed me. Four albinos in all black from head to toe came to a very busy roundabout at the center of a known Nigerian city. The point was strategic; it was where four important roads meet. Each of them faced one of the four roads. The time was fixed: from noon to six p.m., every day for five days, Monday through Friday. The city had never witnessed such a thing. Why and what for? No one could say at the time. These men were unarmed and said not a word to anyone. They muttered sounds only the dying could understand.  They wore thick sunglasses with lips painted deep red. For the first three days, the masses gathered to talk about them; some even came a few hours before their usual time of appearance. Funny enough, each one emerged from each side of the road, but almost at the same time—like men controlled by some remote device.  In a matter of moments, they’d find their way to the base of the huge statue in the center of the roundabout.

The scariest thing about them wasn’t their odd uniforms, but their positioning. They leaned against the statue with hands linked and heads facing the heavens, like one crucified; there was a message in their posture. It was on the fourth day that they shocked the city: it rained cats and dogs, yet these men stood still almost lifelessly in the same posture. By nine o’clock that night, the “aliens” made the news headlines. Fear ran through the spines of those who watched from the comfort of their homes. The worst part was that they weren’t saying a word to anyone, which only heightened fears.

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The next day, the story was quite different; it had taken on another dimension. It took the law enforcement agents to allow the free flow of traffic, as the crowd was unimaginable. Almost every activity came to a halt as people scrambled to get a glimpse. Like wildfire, what started small was engulfing the whole city and breaching security. Soon, the four “aliens” were whisked away by security operatives for further questioning. At this juncture, though, their story had different versions, viewed from different angles.

The funniest part had yet to be unveiled. These men were only itching to be heard, but was it worth taking the risk? They just wanted the government’s attention; their fellow albinos were dying of skin cancer. Perhaps the government never showed much concern. Well, the bottom line is that they had their demands met.

Should they have gone that far to be seen and heard? Why use the foolhardy and unconventional approach? Why terrify the city first? The answer to the three questions is simple and one: Call it the Albinos’ approach. It was unconventional, it was extraordinary, and it was the Albinos’ method! What works for one may not work for the other.

What did we see? Focus, resilience, and uniformity. And did you see what I saw? The press never broke into their homes to find them, and the world didn’t beg them to show us where it pinches; rather, they all came out on the street and did something new—something unexpected and foolhardy. Persistence kept them alive until the city came to a halt to talk about them. They never came at the world with arms, but they were armed from the inside. They killed no one but fear.  They broke the convention of the masses; they walked out from the crowd.

To be heard and seen, you needn’t stand at the highest mountain or stop traffic in the center of the biggest city in the world; rather, you begin where you are, the way you are—but paddle a new course.

When I was younger, I had a black hen that laid five eggs, but only hatched four. I was troubled about the one not hatched. What really went wrong? I wondered. Was the egg spoilt? Was there really a chick in there? I went as far as lifting the egg above my head and viewing the oblong end through my cuffed hand, but it only looked darker each time I tried. The less I saw, the more it fed my curiosity—and I had no better way of knowing what was there in the dark. A few days later, the mother hen relocated with the four lucky chicks. 

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Now the leftover egg was completely abandoned in the cold, with no warmth, left behind only to rot away; it seemed condemned without a fair trial. With the eyes of a child, I saw the injustice done to that egg. About the sixth day, I was tempted to throw it over the fence, but I still can’t say what held me back. And guess what happened on the next day? It was indeed awesome.  The mother hen and the lucky four chicks had gone scratching the soil when I heard the faint crying of a chick from the dark corner of the hut. Was one of the four left behind, or what had happened? I ran in with several questions flipping through my mind.

When I got in, I forced open the little window that lit the red earthen hut with natural light—and behold, a beak had emerged through a little crack on the shell and was gasping for air. Joy lit my soul. I carefully helped it out, tearing apart the rest of the shell with utmost care, trying not to hurt the wonder chick. I can’t really say what I felt, but it was deep. Soon, the delivery was complete, and I brought the creature out into the sun for warmth. It was a beautiful white chick.

When the mother hen returned and attacked the little thing, I was really hurt. It took my prompt intervention to rescue it.  It had been rejected again. On that day, I turned into the first human mother hen, caring and feeding the innocent chick until it grew into a beautiful white cock. By this time, the mother hen had lost all the four ‘lucky’ ones to the wild.

The world is never fair, especially to the timid. Even to the innocent.  Imagine that chick under the hard shell, forgotten and left out in the cold. If it hadn’t cried out, it might have died gasping for air. I wouldn’t have known it was emerging. When it said, “Here I come,” I came and found it—help came. Who would have believed there was a beautiful white cock in that discarded egg? Not even the owner, me. I had no way of knowing. I only came around when it announced its arrival—when it cried out. Then help came; I came.

This is a naked truth about life: no one will see you until you announce your presence. Help won’t come your way until you start something and ask for it. The burden of proof is on you.

The world doesn’t have a way of knowing what you can dream up or do, so you must step on the stage and start acting your part. The best way to begin isn’t to sit back and wait for a stray idea to knock you down. No—create one! Then when you have one, don’t wait to be found. Shout and tell the world, “This is who I am, and here I come. Make way for me!” To unveil yourself, you must crack your own shell. The world only creates special spaces for those on the stage. Step up.

 

#13

Even if you cannot kill a fry, attack the Shark.

If your work is worthy of light, don’t wait to be ignited; explode.

 

The Gauge:

 

1. Is it worthy of light—that which you envision?

2. Can it bring happiness to one other person and you?

3. Are you hoarding it? 

 

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