George Armstrong Gass pushed his chair back from his desk. One more awkward Zoom conversation with a client ended. His shoulders slumped. His morale deflated. He needed to get back to his game, to energize his enthusiasm, to exert his power.
In a word, George needed guidance. No, no, inspiration. A
touchstone, a lodestone, a gem of inspiration. A nugget.
Wait—no, a tattoo!
And so two days later, there on his left forearm for his
constant review, inked for the world to see, his first. In Mongolian Baiti.
To thine own self be true
Oh, yes. What did
Tony Robbins preach, that “Action is the key to any success”. George was an
action kind of guy.
A mid-morning sip
of Choffy brewed chocolate, a glance at his tattoo, and on to his first client.
“Hank! It’s a
great day, Hank. It’s all about wheat these days. Wheat! What have you got
available, 5k? Or would 10k be better for you?”
“Tony, Tony, Tony
G! Man, I’m glad I reached you. Got a great lead on what’s going on in copper.
Yes, copper! I’m telling you. Let me have 2k.”
“William! How are
you and the kids? I decided to call you first. No, really—calling you first.
Why? A bunch of coal mines are shutting down and demand is going up. It’s
brilliant. Take 2k or 3k out of the money market fund?”
“Elizabeth Turner!
It’s George. George Gass! I know, I know, long time, no talk. Well I waited for
something really special. Really special. I got a 48-hour lead on the monthly
corn update. Going to be a huge move. Huge! Let’s go all in. At least 10k—no,
20k.”
When George put
down his headset at the end of the day, he sighed. He needed something,
something more.
And so, the very
next day, there on his right forearm, another tattoo. What Deepak said. In
Franklin Gothic.
You must find the place inside
yourself where nothing is impossible
And now the
mid-afternoon cup of honey lavender tea. All would be right with the world. A
quick look at the markets, scratch Rockster behind the ears—good boy!—and pull
up the call list.
“Walsh, hey, it’s
George. You thinking what I’m thinking about the 30-year? Yep. Yep, yep. Me, too.
Yep. You in for, oh say 5k?”
“Hey, honey. Oh,
yes, really busy. No, no, I’m still on. At 6. No, I’ll be there. Yes, Carmine’s
is fine. No, really. Okay. Love you, sweetheart.”
“Ted, it’s George.
Can I move you on copper or not? It’s time, I know it, you know it, and the
whole world is figuring it out. You’ve got that 10k sitting there waiting for a
moment like this.”
“Gordie, George
Gass here. Hey, listen, I think we need to get out of wheat and into corn. Yep,
I’ve seen the ag numbers. Looks like a good time to strike. Up to you. Of
course, the run has been good, but I think corn will bust out. Yep, yep, the
whole 32k.”
George gently
massaged his temples. Tired, tired of schmoozing, tired of cajoling, tired of
being tired. Something. Something to get him over the hump.
Something short,
small, out of the way, just below the left ribs. Something from Eckhart.
Georgia would look good.
The past has no power
over the present moment
Yes, there was a
truth as true as any truth. And why not match it with something more on his right side? The ultimate ideal.
It’s all good!
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