“Success!”, she cried.

She had finally done it – she had achieved success with her hot dog biz.

She folded her umbrella down for the day, packed up her cart, hitched it to the mini van with a satisfying “clank”, checked her safety chains and lights, and climbed behind the wheel.

It felt good to sit down.

The dark green van had been running for 15 minutes with the AC on while she finished her tear down so it was 20 degrees cooler inside. The tinted windows cut the glare and she took off her sunglasses, throwing them in the passenger seat.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her left hand and popped the top on a frosty can of Coke with her right.

She took a long drink, breathed a satisfied sigh, put the van in gear and headed for home.

The $287 in cash in her left back pocket made her sit a little crooked in the seat but she didn’t mind.

It was a good kind of uncomfortable.

It hadn’t been easy getting to this point, but it hadn’t been as hard as she thought it would be either.

Her mind drifted back to that winter day when she decided to pursue her dream of starting her own hot dog business.

She had been dreaming of doing this for more than 15 years.

When she announced her plans all of her friends supported her.

Her mother looked at her a little funny.

Her son told her not to do it. Too risky he said – which was really his way of saying that he didn’t think he would ever  have the courage to embark on such an adventure. He had always been the fearful type.

But she started in anyway and never looked back.

Little by little the pieces of her business came together until one day there was nothing left to do.

So on a beautiful sunny day in late March she hitched her cart up and drove down to the location she had staked out those 15 years ago.

As she set up her rig and fired up the burners, butterflies the size of small birds fluttered about in her stomach.

Then – fourteen minutes later…

It happened.

A smiling teenage boy wearing a Red Sox ball cap walked up, scanned her menu, and ordered two hot dogs, a bag of chips, and a soda.

He fished some crumpled bills out of his jeans pocket and handed them to her.

She blinked back the small tears that welled up in her eyes as she placed the hot dogs in the buns with imperceptibly shaking tongs.

In the 81 seconds that it took to serve the boy, she realized that it wasn’t a dream any more.

It was real.

She was so happy. And grateful. And excited. And hopeful.

As the young man walked away with his lunch, she thought about all the years she had waited to do this.

Why had she waited so long?

She turned turned her back to the cart for fear that tears of happiness would come down for real this time.

But she didn’t have that luxury.

Someone else was approaching the cart.

Smiling.

That first day she made less than $60 but it was one of the most wonderful days she had ever had in her life.

She had made money.

Her own money.

Not from an employer.

Not from a company.

She had offered something of her own creation to the world and the world had been happy to pay her for it.

It was official – she was now a business owner.

Fast forward a few months.

She now has a crowd of regulars who follow her around which really means that she has made a hundred new friends.

She is working less and earning a lot more than at any other job she had ever had.

And every day at 1:59 (she always leaves one minute early to remind herself that she is the boss now) she heads for home in her air conditioned mini van and does what ever she feels like doing for the rest of the day.

And her son is proud of her.

So proud.

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What does success mean to you? Let me know in the comments.

-Steve

P.S. If you want to live the dream I’d love to help you. Let me know what I can do for you here.