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To me, this was living large—but of course, it wasn’t.

At 20 years old, I’d pull up to my apartment in my 2000 Cadillac STS, sitting on 24” Giovanni rims with a 15” drop-down TV in the ceiling. Just sit there. Engine humming. Smoke curling from a blunt.

I’d find myself thinking about life, staring at the faded paint on the building or watching the light catch the rims just right. It’s funny—the car and the nice things never really mattered to me. I didn’t care about being flashy, but I still did it—trying to “be cool,” showing off. Hood shit. A way to feel like I was “making it.”

But in the back of my mind? That thought of escaping Kentucky never stopped gnawing at me. Los Angeles was calling. The dream was right there—close enough to taste but far enough away that I couldn’t quite wrap my hands around it.

I’d daydream about leaving, about the courage to just hit the road and find my way out west. I had no clue what that looked like—just that it meant something bigger.

When I finally peeled myself out of that Cadillac, it felt like I was walking on clouds—that feeling when you’ve got money in your pocket and your ego’s at an all-time high.

My place was fresh to me—my little kingdom. A big screen TV sitting on the floor with an all-white velvet couch directly across from it. In the middle of the living room was a super contemporary rug, one of those tacky designs that looked high-class back then.

To the left, in the corner near the kitchen, I had one of those tall bar-style circle tables with two red leather cushioned stools. I liked to eat there sometimes, watching TV and soaking in the vibe of my own space.

And then there was the glow from the grow room. You couldn’t miss it—the faint hum and blue-white light seeping out from under the door. Two 1,000-watt metal halide lights blazing away, keeping my plants happy. There was something about that low hum and warm glow that made me feel safe—like I was building something that mattered.

Next to that room was my bedroom—basic but mine. A space to crash, decompress, and lay back knowing I was doing something real.

I thought about it sometimes—how the hustle had become my education. More than any school could have ever taught me. It wasn’t just about money or status—it was about survival, about learning to navigate people and situations without losing your soul in the process.

I never felt like I was doing anything wrong. I wasn’t hurting anyone. I wasn’t out there strong-arming people or fucking over my own. And if someone fucked me over? I wouldn’t go after them. It wasn’t worth it. I figured they’d lose in the long run. That mindset kept me sane—kept me focused on the bigger picture.

Don't get me wrong there were people I fronted that would fuck me over, and I did feel like hurting them, but that just isn't me. There was this one guy—Matt. Worked with me for a while, seemed solid. Then he burned me for $3,000.

When I saw him not long after, he was justifying it—like somehow it made sense that he screwed me over. It’s crazy how people can justify their fuck-ups, convincing themselves that they’re the victim, not the villain.

I didn’t lose my cool, didn’t try to get back at him. I just moved forward, knowing that karma would catch up eventually.

And sure enough, he fell apart. Lost love, lost money, lost himself. I don’t know if he ever found his footing again, but I hope he did. At the end of the day, I don’t wish failure or pain on anyone.

But me?

I’m still winning. Still blessed. Still evolving.

There was a shift happening in me that I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just about the money or the hustle anymore. It was about figuring out who I was and what kind of life I wanted to build.

The dream of LA still hung out there, always in the background, reminding me that there was more to life than just grinding and flashing cash.

The money was nice, but it wasn’t enough. I needed something more—something real, something that lasted.

And that’s when I started to realize—maybe the hustle wasn’t the endgame. Maybe it was just a chapter in a bigger story, but the hustle seems to never leave, and it has always been a part of my life. Addiction comes in all types of ways. 

Cheers to next week.