Relationships over Rules E-Book

David Hoffman

• Herausgeber: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 296

Beschreibung

Your path to purpose begins with people. Relationships. We know that we need them, but busy schedules, financial pursuits, and self-serving agendas often distract us from the people God has placed in our lives. Overcoming a childhood that lacked true relationships, CEO David Hoffman successfully broke the rules of a transaction-based world by founding a real estate company focused on meeting people where they are. In Relationships over Rules, David shares his journey and seven principles you can adopt to build authentic relationships that will help you - welcome opportunities for growth and service, - reach your potential regardless of your past, - live with perspective and gratitude, and - fulfill the great plans God has for you.Guided by true stories and application exercises, watch your life transform as you pour yourself into those around you. You can achieve lasting success when you put relationships first.

Leseprobe

In Relationships over Rules, David reminds us that where you come from does not dictate who you are or where you can go. Knowing David personally, he walks the walk, helping people of all paths of life. This book will not only encourage you to reach your true potential, but it will also show you how to push past what the world says is possible.

Mark Robinson, lieutenant governor, North Carolina

Our world is so focused on the next sale, the next transaction, and even the next relationship, but David’s story of resilience and achievement reveals that God has already equipped us with everything we need: the people already in our lives. His real-life examples, wise principles, and practical tools will empower you to overcome adversity, invest in those around you, and fulfill God’s plan for your life—your true potential.

David and Jason Benham, best-selling authors, TV and podcast hosts, and entrepreneurs

David’s book, Relationships over Rules, is a great reminder that putting value in relationships will carry you much further than our society tends to indicate. His personal story is a shining example of this, and as a friend of David’s for many years, I can confidently say that his success is directly tied to his relational equity.

Landon Cassill, NASCAR driver

Why do so many people feel more alone than ever before? Fear, social media, and the instant-gratification culture have made it easy to devalue personal connections, patience, and focus. Relationships over Rules shows how these very concepts are the antidote for the modern condition, offering a framework that’s easy to understand, implement, and maintain in your everyday life. David’s journey to find his place in family, business, and community is a wonderful story of adversity, self-discovery, passion, and perspective. Relationships over Rules is a joy to read!

Rick Oppedisano, founder and CEO, Delta Bravo

Not all of you reading this book have had the privilege of knowing David personally, but by the time you turn the last page, you will want to, and to some extent, due to his great storytelling ability, you might think you do know him. As I read Relationships over Rules, I felt like we were grabbing a cup of coffee, catching up on life and business like we try to do every few months. David beautifully weaves his personal journey of life with timeless life principles and a few original tricks of the trade that have made him into the successful kingdom-minded man, husband, and father he is today.

Josh Blackson, COO and pastor, Elevation Church

I’ve seen David Hoffman’s words in practice. He was my friend for eight years before I became his real estate client. As a well-served client and a well-nurtured friend, I have witnessed David living out the principles for relational success he explains in Relationships over Rules. You don’t want to miss the compelling story of his difficult youth or the intensity of purpose and insight that grew out of it and into the light of Jesus Christ.

Dan Bishop, congressman, North Carolina

Relationships over Rules offers an inspiring perspective on David’s journey of creating a successful real estate company. The timeless wisdom shared in this book is invaluable!

Chris Manhertz, tight end, #84, Jacksonville Jaguars

If the idea of purposeful friendship, the power of being present, and maximized relationships that create winwin outcomes intrigues you, then this book will blow you away. David’s masterful creativity in weaving his and Jessica’s inspirational story as a backdrop for developing a Christ-centered framework for decision-making makes this book a must-read. This book is so timely and will keep you turning through the wonderful pages to uncover nuggets of truths to guide you in your quest of pursuing success God’s way.

Dr. Manny Ohonme, founder, president, and CEO, Samaritan’s Feet International

I have known David Hoffman for years. I have always found his life story compelling and encouraging. As David shares his story in this book, he lists the principles by which he has chosen to live. I’ve always believed and taught that when confronted with a decision, if you can’t apply one of your chosen life principles, don’t make the decision. David knows well his chosen life principles. He consistently lives by them, and the subsequent success in his life is obvious. I hope the readers of this book make many of these principles their own. If so, they will be stronger and better in life as they do.

David Chadwick, founder and senior pastor, Moments of Hope Church

There is no better time than now to highlight the significance of putting relationships above all else. In Relationships over Rules, David demonstrates how intentionally serving others both personally and professionally will set you on a path filled with purpose. The principles that have guided David throughout his life can be modeled and put into action by every person who is fortunate enough to read this book. David’s words will inspire us to focus on adding value to those around us on a consistent basis. I hope the wisdom in this book encourages all of us to make relationships the leading rule.

Michael Brennan, president, Movement Mortgage

BroadStreet Publishing® Group, LLC

Savage, Minnesota, USA

BroadStreetPublishing.com

Relationships over Rules: 7 Principles to Lead Gracefully and Love Generously

Copyright © 2023 David Hoffman

9781424566648 (hardcover)

9781424566655 (ebook)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, a Division of Tyndale House Ministries, Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved. Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version® NIV®, copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. Scripture quotations marked MSG are taken from THE MESSAGE, copyright © 1993, 2002, 2018 by Eugene H. Peterson. Used by permission of NavPress. All rights reserved. Represented by Tyndale House Publishers, a Division of Tyndale House Ministries.

Stock or custom editions of BroadStreet Publishing titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, ministry, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email [email protected].

Published in association with the literary agency of WTA Media, LLC, Franklin, Tennessee.

Cover and interior by Garborg Design Works | garborgdesign.com

Printed in China

23 24 25 26 27 5 4 3 2 1

To Mom—

For your selfless sacrifice to bring me into the world, for being my lifelong role model of gratitude and faithfulness, for giving me the motivation that drives my purpose, each and every day.

To Jessica, Kane, and Knox—

I would not have the courage to share these stories and principles with the world if it were not for my best friend and bride, Jessica, who loves and fears the Lord immensely and whom I met the day after becoming a Christian. Jessica has been by my side through deep valleys and tall peaks. I hope and trust that our boys, Kane and Knox, will follow Jesus for all of their days on this earth and embrace Jessica’s passion for the Word, which honors Proverbs 22:6, ensuring for them this truth that they will spend eternity in heaven.

Our Savior Jesus poured out new life so generously. God’s gift has restored our relationship with him and given us back our lives. And there’s more life to come—an eternity of life! You can count on this.

TITUS 3:3–8 MSG

CONTENTS

Part One: My Story

1God Must Be a Mets Fan

2Nothing Is Certain but Death and Taxes

3Old Wounds and New Starts

4Jessica’s Story

5Bold Choices, Broken Chains

6No Have-Tos, Just Get-Tos

Part Two: My Principles

7Principle #1

Focus on the People God Places in Your Life

8Principle #2

Spend Time with Others without Having an Agenda

9Principle #3

Find a Way to Say Yes

10Principle #4

Your Past Doesn’t Have to Dictate Your Potential

11Principle #5

Adversity Can Create Gratitude

12Principle #6

Be a Friend before Being the Expert

13Principle #7

It’s Not about the Deal but about Doing the Right Thing

Part Three: Your Life

14The Three-Year Plan

Conclusion

Acknowledgments

Endnotes

About the Author

MY STORY

My mom was beautiful. Beautiful inside and out. She appeared to be the picture of health. But at just seventeen years old, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS). Today, with the many medical developments and treatments available, people have an opportunity to effectively manage MS. For some, you may never know that they have such a horrible disease. But this was many years ago. My mom’s life was forever changed.

Three years after she married my dad, while in her late twenties, she became pregnant. Bottom line—in those days, doctors advised women with MS not to have babies. Yet despite their stern warnings of what could happen to her because of the pregnancy, particularly in the trauma of birth, my mom chose to take the risk and carry me.

Her plight would become a reflection of my own life because I seemed to be in a constant battle for survival until I became a young man. Living versus dying. Risk versus reward. Rules versus relationships. I experienced the good in this world from my mother and the evil that works to rob, kill, and destroy by the hand of others. But that is what made and molded me into who I am today. I learned fast that adversity can create gratitude if you just allow it to.

From my story came my life’s principles, the foundation I have laid upon which to build my businesses and a life blessed beyond measure. I hope and pray that you find yourself in these pages and that, when you do, the power of your own relationships will connect like never before.

GOD MUST BE A METS FAN

In November of 1979, my time had come to enter the world. Just as the doctors had warned, after I was born, my mom fell into a brief coma. But after returning to consciousness, she appeared to be fine. With me being perfectly healthy, we were soon released to go home.

Eight months later, in some sort of delayed trauma from the pregnancy and delivery, Mom’s condition accelerated, and she became paralyzed from the waist down. When I was barely two years old, my dad made the horrible decision to leave her and take me with him. His selfish choice triggered a tragic trajectory in my life. Separating any child from a loving and nurturing mother is devastating to both. But that’s exactly what happened to me.

Four to five times a year, not nearly enough, my dad arranged for me to go visit my mom. Our family had lived in Brooklyn, but Mom moved to a small apartment in Staten Island where the cost of living was cheaper. Dad and I lived in Queens. I couldn’t appreciate it at the time, but looking back, Mom had this incredible panoramic view of the Statue of Liberty. Her windows acted as a frame around a beautiful landscape canvas of Lady Liberty. Whether in the daytime against the backdrop of a blue sky or at night with the lights showcasing her in the harbor, the view was stunning. Always present, eternally optimistic, and a beacon of hope—just like my mother.

Because my dad left her with no income, Mom applied for Medicaid and got professional services that came in several times a week. (Years later, Dad would offer me this as his reason for leaving: without his income, Mom could qualify for government assistance to receive the level of care she required.)

Because she could no longer walk, Mom was confined to a wheelchair. But everything else about her was full of life. Her mind was sharp, and her heart was full. Any time I spent with her was amazing and always over far too soon. I never wanted to leave. At least when she was with me, Mom kept the biggest smile on her face. I can’t say it enough—beautiful inside and out.

Every time I would go visit her, I remember thinking, Why am I not here? With her? She clearly loves me. My heart is here with my mom. I was older before I began to have thoughts and questions like, What kind of a man leaves his wife in this condition? If anyone in our family had a right to be bitter, it was my mom, but she never was.

When I was five years old, Dad remarried. After what felt like overnight to me, I had a stepmother. As can happen with children in second marriages, I came to see that this woman wanted a husband but not a stepson. Before I knew it, my life began to change from bad to worse.

Moses versus Mary

My mom was raised Catholic, but because my father was Jewish, she had made the difficult decision to convert to Judaism. Now alone and abandoned, Mom returned to her roots, clinging tightly to her faith in God to help her survive a broken home and a broken heart from the confines of her wheelchair. But now free to express her faith, she had a Bible and small statues of Jesus displayed proudly in her living room.

When I went to go visit Mom, she was always beaming. When I heard her on the phone, she was always laughing as she talked. I made the connection between my mom’s unexplainable joy amid such terrible circumstances to the very little I knew of the Jesus she talked about—who loved others even though he was ultimately betrayed.

Over all those years, I never heard my mom say a bad word about my father. Or about my stepmother. Or about anyone for that matter. As I got older, I began to think, I don’t love the people I live with, and they obviously don’t love me, but if my mom can stay positive on this road she’s been forced to go down, then I can do it too. Mom’s faith was having a very slow and subtle effect on me, like grains of sand sifting one at a time inside an hourglass.

The woman my dad married was Jewish like him. This further reinforced the strictness of how I was raised in their religion. From my earliest memories, their belief system was all Jehovah, no Jesus. No Holy Spirit. And completely unlike the Trinity, no love.

Like any boy born into a devout and dedicated Jewish family, I had to memorize the Torah—the first five books of the Bible. (This discipline at such an early age certainly helps develop a young brain.) Attending my weekly class at the temple, I remember sitting there contemplating, I’m going to be a man. This is a big deal. I accepted this as something I had to do. But I have always been really good at rule following.

I liken my memorization of the Torah to giving me an eighty-thousand-word Russian novel and telling me that, in a year, I had to have it memorized. So I learned the text by rote but had no idea what it was actually talking about and certainly, as a child, no idea how it applied to my life. Because I had no real foundation in faith, the Book to me was just historical literature that I had to be ready to regurgitate. There were no “whys” behind the “whats.” Yet, through constant repetition, I took in the text so I could do well when I was tested. I did whatever my stepmother and father told me to do—literally—to the letter of the law. I always desperately wanted to be obedient, so I adhered to the code even with no context. I didn’t buck the system. Memorized without meaning. Went through the motions with no emotion. That was my life as a kid. That’s how I survived.

As many know, in Judaism you can’t write out the word God. In the Jewish heritage, out of a holy awe or fear, you have to leave out a letter, usually the o. We celebrated Hanukkah in December. Passover in April. No Christmas. When people ask me how I was able to ignore Christmas as a kid when the entire world was celebrating, the best way I can explain the mindset is that it’s like driving down the highway in a lot of traffic. You just focus on what’s in front of you. Where you’re going. You don’t really even notice the other cars passing by. I just didn’t think twice about what Christmas was or why others celebrated the holiday and we didn’t. Believe it or not, I was in my thirties before I even realized the name of Christ is the root word in Christmas.

Starting at around the age of eight, I would fast on Yom Kippur. For twenty-four hours, I had no food and nothing to drink. I wouldn’t even brush my teeth because I avoided water. I’d wake up on that day each year and walk down to the convenience store to get my stepmom and sister their bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwiches. I can distinctly recall being asked one time to also pick up barbecue potato chips and Hershey chocolate bars. I would go pick up their food, deliver it all to the table, and retreat to my room. A vivid memory, like it was yesterday.

Proven by that example, my family’s adherence to being a strict Jewish household was certainly far more by word than deed because I was the only one who held to the traditions on holy days. What I was being taught at the temple, I obeyed. But if I dared ask my stepmom why they didn’t take part, I would be told, “Shut your mouth,” or “Just be happy someone wants you,” or “Be glad you have somewhere to live.”

Like the Christmas question, when asked why I worked so hard to adhere to the traditions when my family didn’t and wouldn’t, my only answer is that I have always had this deep, innate sense of the law, right and wrong, black and white. When I was told that I needed to repent on this one day of the year and “suffer,” I was well aware that I wasn’t perfect like God, so I felt I needed to obey. That compliance was just another step in always working hard for approval through my behavior. I wanted to avoid the commission of the wrong things and the omission of the right things. While my life exemplified no faith, a constant burden of works was growing heavier in my heart.

Over the years growing up in a Jewish community, we attended other families’ bar mitzvahs in our area of New York City. When my own took place, our rabbi tested me. As a kid, and fitting with my personality to this day, I was 100 percent all in. Rules. Standards. A rigid structure. I was good at it. I worked hard to comply. And I passed with flying colors.

If a box was supposed to be checked, I had to check it.

Dehydration, Starvation, and Isolation

But because of how detached my family was from any sort of lifestyle reflecting faith and because my stepmother was fully in control of the family, more and more rules were placed on me until their house became a prison with a sentence of solitary confinement.

In 1987, my dad and stepmom had my half sister. Her nursery was right next to my bedroom. When I was not at school, I had to stay in my room. Going out my door without permission meant severe punishment. As my sister became a toddler, knowing she had a playmate in the bedroom next door, she wanted to crawl over into my room, but she wasn’t allowed. She would come up to the threshold and stop as she was trained to do. Yet somehow, even with the limitations, we managed to forge a strong sibling connection. Probably because of loneliness.

There’s one major problem when you are confined to your bedroom as a child: no water and no food. The only time I could get a drink or eat was if they chose to bring something to me or allowed me out for a few minutes. The times they brought me anything became less and less frequent. At school, I had to make sure I drank as much water as I could to hold off the thirst for as long as possible when I got home. That, of course, made the weekends really long and very hard to endure.

When I would request something to eat or drink or work up the courage to ask my stepmom why I couldn’t come out of my room, she would just scream at me and make threats. As a child in that kind of dictatorial environment, you eventually stop asking and just accept that you are a servant to a master. Oddly, my stepmom never hit me. At least not physically. But there were times when I believe I would have traded a beating for a taste of normal childhood freedom. Their address became the house where I survived, but it was never my home.

Poverty for my family was not the issue. I knew my parents went to the store regularly and had plenty of food in the kitchen. And, like I said, they often sent me to the store to get their food, then carefully scrutinized the receipt and the change to be sure that I hadn’t bought anything else. I only got what they chose to give me. They never allowed me to eat “their food.” If they had cookies, my stepmom would keep count of them. If one was “missing,” even if someone else had eaten it, she blamed and punished me.

For lunch at school, my stepmom always made me a bologna sandwich—one slice of whatever substance that was on two pieces of white bread. On a generous day I might find a dot of mustard. I was given the old bread, so it was crusted around the edges and would often have the little green circles of mold. On the way to school, I would check the bread and peel them off so no one would see what I was having to eat. My friends would often notice the difference between their lunches and mine and share some of their food. Anytime a teacher would try to raise a question to my stepmother about my lunch at school (or lack thereof), my stepmother was always adamant, offering plausible reasons why I was only allowed to eat what she provided. Somehow, she always managed to keep anyone from intervening to help me.

Our next-door neighbor ran a bakery and had picked up on how I was treated. He started sneaking me sacks of bread when I got home from school. I would hide behind the garage and eat the fresh baguettes he gave me before going in the house. One time, my stepmom’s sister and her husband confronted my parents about their treatment of me and threatened to call the police. My stepmom shut her down, and they stopped talking. But that was all I knew and all I could remember, so I didn’t realize how bad my circumstances actually were as a kid. Especially in grade school, I just thought it was how my life was.

Once when my dad was at work and my stepmom went out for the evening, she got a sitter. Of course, the girl was told I had to stay in my room. But I saw a window of opportunity. I ran the water in the bathtub so I could drink it, figuring she would just think I was getting ready for bed. When my stepmom returned, she asked the sitter if I had done anything. The girl responded, “No, he just took a bath.” She had no idea that her answer of me running water without permission meant punishment.

But I finally realized I had access to water twenty- four seven, anytime I wanted—in the toilet. There was always water down in the bowl, and the sound of a flush brought no suspicion. Relieving myself was about the only thing I didn’t have to ask permission to do, and the water in the commode wasn’t measured. So, unbeknownst to my dad and stepmom, the toilet solved my thirst problem.

Constant hunger causes someone to get desperate as well as creative. My parents had a dog, and they stored his food down in the basement. My stepmom never kept track of it, so I started sneaking down there at night to eat from the bag. I could never say, “They treated me like a dog,” because they actually took better care of their pet than they did of me.

From the Frying Pan into the Fire

When I was eleven years old, one day, out of nowhere, my dad left. Like, for good. This time, he left me too. Now, it was just me and my half sister with my stepmom. With my dad gone and as I got older, I fought harder to call and visit my mother. I would work to find ways to go see her. A constant question rolling around in my heart and mind was Why can’t I live with my mother, the one person who I know loves me? A dear friend, mentor, and pastor often says that the most heard word in heaven will be oh as we learn why things happened to us here on earth.

Nothing about my life made sense to me at the time.

When I would muster the strength to ask to go live with my mother, my stepmom would answer with cuts like, “I was the only one who protected you. You can go live with your father, but neither of your parents wants you. That’s why you don’t live with your mom and why he left you with me. In fact, David, no one wants you.” And her worst verbal jab was “Your mom didn’t know she was going to get sick when she had you. If she did, she would have aborted you.”

The few times a year I was able to be with my mom, she would tell me that her God in heaven was also a Father. Because I respected her so much, I believed her. But then that meant that he allowed me to be taken away from her and sent to live with a dad and stepmom who made my life a living hell. While she told me that God loved me, my circumstances made that very hard to swallow, so my response was Well,if that’s love, then I hate him. And of course, as I explained earlier, all this was festering in my heart while I was continuing to strictly follow the laws of Judaism.

I can remember talking to God, saying, I can’t really wrap my mind around why you made my mom so sick and took me away from her. You broke up their marriage and you put me here. Probably because there’s seven billion other people you’re focused on. Then, as a boy who loved sports, particularly baseball, I came up with the best diss I could imagine at the time: God, you know I’m a Yankees fan. You are obviously a Mets fan. So we’ll just agree to disagree. While I was speaking with brutal honesty to the Almighty, like King David always did, I wasn’t exactly writing psalms.

Because I started school early as a child, I was going to be sixteen in my senior year of high school, graduating in 1997. But just as I was about to start back in the fall of 1996, my stepmom met a man who lived in northern Virginia. She made the decision that we would move there, closer to him. The only good thing was that this guy had a positive effect on her, and she began to soften some. She even came to me once and offered a quasi-apology. I remember her saying, “David, I know I didn’t give you the childhood that you deserved. And I know I was hard on you.” Regardless of how it came, I was just grateful that there was any sort of change for the better.

As an adult, when I began to deal with my past and try to reconcile my upbringing, I actually came to lay more of the responsibility for the abuse at my father’s feet. I liken what happened in their house to Adam and Eve in the garden. Did Eve listen to the serpent and give in to sin? Yes. But Adam was the one whom God placed there first and made the leader. He could have intervened and changed the outcome. But when the crisis came, he just chose not to. So it was with my situation. My dad could have ended the way I was treated anytime. But just like Adam, he chose not to do anything. Until he left, for good.

Independence Day

Fast-forward to my sister’s sixteenth birthday party. By that time, I was in my early twenties and out on my own. For the past several years, as my stepmom had been able to have a much happier life with her new husband, she was much nicer to me, and we got along better. But the root of the original conflict between her and me was still always there. Now, being older, more mature, and a little wiser, on this particular visit to my stepmom’s house, I finally saw the light.

I had brought a date with me, arriving early for my sister’s party. My date and I had gotten into a friendly debate on some current topic. Finally, I said, “Okay, let’s look it up online.” I asked my stepmom, as I had always been trained to do, “Can we look it up on your computer?”

She responded, “Well, the computer doesn’t work.”

As our little discussion continued, my stepmom began to join in. Suddenly, without thinking, she jumped up, went over to the computer, and got online. When she wanted to use it, everything was working fine. I took note but moved on.

I had brought some food with us and asked if we could use the microwave to warm it up. Once again, her answer was “No, it’s not working.” That’s when I had officially had enough. Finally speaking my mind, I stated, “Wait a minute. I think the issue actually is that I’m just not allowed to touch anything. I’m not allowed to use anything of yours. That’s the real truth here.”

We’ve all heard the stories of people of any age who are held captive for so long that they just give up and give in to their fate. We can hear those people talk about the times they had opportunities to escape and didn’t. That’s when we on the outside usually respond, “What! Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out? Are you crazy? That’s what I would have done.” But here’s the problem: it wasn’t you. None of us knows, when our minds are trained and brainwashed, how we will respond to that level of manipulation and psychological control. I can tell you firsthand, especially as a kid, when you don’t know what to do, it’s just so easy to not do anything but comply.

But this time, in a sudden flash of revelation and raw courage, something connected in me. There was a shift in my heart. I realized I just couldn’t do it anymore. I wasn’t going to take it. I took my date by the hand and walked out. For the last time.

I finally opened the cell door and set myself free from everyone who had hurt me. Time to live life fully on my terms. By now, I wanted nothing to do with the God of anyone’s belief system. After all, the Almighty might be for the Mets, but I was a New York Yankees fan.

NOTHING IS CERTAIN BUT DEATH AND TAXES

My entrepreneurial leanings started early out of necessity. Trying to survive as a kid and wanting my own money for anything I needed, by the age of eight all the way up into high school, I learned the power of supply and demand. Maintaining high profit with a low overhead. I washed cars in the spring. I mowed lawns in the summer. I raked leaves in the fall. I shoveled snow in the winter. Thank God for four distinct seasons in New York, where each created a market opportunity on which I could capitalize. I’m grateful that, early on, I developed a strong work ethic that has always served me well, regardless of the motivating factors.

Now out on my own in my late teens, I desperately wanted to make the most of my life. For me, that meant furthering my education. I wanted to go to college. But, as you might suspect, I had no extra money left over each month after paying my bills. Enrolling in the local community college, I juggled three jobs around my class schedule. Being a waiter, or a server as it’s known today, was my primary go-to. The tips made my punches count during the evening and weekend shifts.

In 2001, at twenty-one years old, I was in my senior year at George Mason University in Fairfax, Virginia, closing in on an economics degree. One day in the hallway between classes, one of my professors, Mark Crain, walked up to me and said, “David, I have an opportunity for you—”

I abruptly interrupted him: “Yes!”

His eyes widened as a look of surprise came across his distinguished face.

Now, let’s hit the pause button. Freeze-frame this scene and allow me to explain.

I had been told no all my life. Most of the time aggressively with an exclamation mark. The answer to 99 percent of the questions I asked as a kid were met with various forms of not simply no but “not on your life.” Often, some sort of “And here’s the reason you don’t deserve what you’re asking for” was connected. I had been screamed at, yelled at, berated, humiliated, and threatened with constant “you can’ts,” “you won’ts,” and “you never wills” from my earliest memories. So, now as an independent adult, I was officially done with nos. I was finished with rejections, refusals, and rebuffs.

My life was all about creating as much yes as possible, for me and from me to others. I didn’t just want to hear it; I also wanted to say it! So when a man I respected said my name connected to the words “opportunity for you,” that was all I needed to hear. No details. No explanations. No “let me think about it.” Just yes. Y-E-S.

Okay, unpause.

Professor Crain gathered his thoughts and continued, ignoring my goofy grin and wild eyes. “There’s an opportunity for you to be an economist at the Tax Foundation. I’d like to set up an interview for you.”