It wasn’t more than a few months ago when I decided to move from my luxurious apartment in New York to live the life of an entrepreneur in Silicon Valley, California. I sold everything that I had owned, donated nine bags of clothes, packed my car, and drove over five-thousand miles across the country (I took the scenic route).
I saw so much along the way. Towns with less than 800 people, vast nothingness, Wall Drug, the tallest building in the western hemisphere, morning glory, and so much more. And now, I live in a toy room.
That’s right, a toy room. It’s quite quaint, actually, with its green walls, bed spread decorated with flowers, and a door to the patio. Oh, and about 47 million little toy bits that I ocassionally find in my bed, on my desk, or being cemented into my foot as I step on them accidentally. Polly pockets (these hurt the most – avoid at all costs), my little ponies, stuffed dogs, bears, monkeys, russian dolls, books, board games, and a map of the United States that I often look at and reminisce on my journey.
I’ve traveled from the Atlantic to the Pacific. I am an entrepreneur who’s seen most of the country. And now I live in the toy room in the back of my cousin’s house while working on projects that I am passionate about. I haven’t hit it big, nor does big mean building the next facebook or google (to me). It means being happy and successful by doing something that I am passionate about.
You may have heard about rags-to-riches stories. This story is currently in the “rags” phase.
This blog will showcase the ups, downs, and oddities of being an entrepreneur living in a toy room.
P.S. Occasionally, in the mornings, I pick up dog poop.
Just for the record… the dog poop is not in the playroom