Preparing

03/02/2016
When I was in college, I looked for all sorts of ways to pay my tuition bill. In November of 2005, when the new Playstation 3 was about to be released, word spread that Sony had greatly underestimated the demand. There would be a shortage of PS3’s and whomever could snag one could potentially resell it at double or triple the cost to anxious gift-buyers. Two friends and I decided to skip class and camp out on the streets of Chicago for three nights. We calculated that we could make nearly $600/each if we each obtained and sold one of the coveted black boxes.
 
Brian & Mike, my accomplices, grew up around the mountains so they were in charge of prepping for our excursion. It seemed as if they packed enough gear and food to summit Everest.
 
We targeted a small boutique tech shop in Lincoln Park. It was a safe neighborhood with plenty of sidewalk space for our tent and gear. We arrived so early that we thought we could step away for warm sit-down dinner before our first night on the sidewalk. When we returned, we found one well-dressed, college-aged man with nothing more than a peacoat and a lawn chair. We were frustrated we’d lost the first spot in line, but we knew he wouldn’t last. And even if by some miracle he could make it for three nights, we’d still be able to purchase our PS3s.
 
During the first night, we heard him shivering and we couldn’t bear it. We invited him into our tent and let him curl up in the corner. When we woke, we caught wind that the shortages were even greater than everyone had calculated. The shop owner told us he might receive five units rather than the ten he’d ordered. Still, we were safe.
 
By the last night, our newfound “frenemy” couldn’t take it. He didn’t bring enough food, he wasn’t sleeping well, and no amount of our gear could keep him warm enough. He begged us to hold his spot in line while he slept at home and even offered us $100 to do so. I thought the idea was ludicrous; but Brian and Mike are better men than me and wanted to show kindness. They agreed to hold his spot, while I grumbled and went back to the tent.
 
In the morning, he came bounding down the streets bright and early. We greeted him with morning grunts and assumed our positions in line. Then, the shop door opened and the owner shared an awful piece of news: He had only received one unit.
 
I actually don’t remember what happened at that moment. I may have gotten so angry that I blacked out.
 
The young man paid for his device, thanked us profusely, and rushed home to list it on Ebay. Meanwhile, the three of us took our $100 and blew it on the most lavish breakfast we’d ever eaten…and tried to chuckle through the crazy idea we’d just attempted.
 
Taking risks is like anything else, it requires practice. At the beginning you’ll try things that don’t work. They’ll end too soon or won’t go as planned. That’s part of growth. Before you leap, step back and prepare for what might come – pack your bags, bundle up, grab extra food and materials and take a few good friends with you. Eventually, you’ll have to go for it.
 
Whatever happens, enjoy the process of what you’re doing and reflect on the decisions you made along the way. You’ll be better for the time you spent outside of the spaces you currently know.
 
And, ending with a good meal is probably a good idea too.