One Way Grit

The Starting Line

This morning, I saw an 80-year-old woman collecting cardboard.

Not unusual in South Korea. It’s part of the landscape—often invisible, until it isn’t. Some days I pass without a second thought. Other days, like today, it hits me.

She’s trading time for survival.
And so am I.

The Path

I’m not hauling boxes or doing the “three D” jobs—dirty, dangerous, difficult—but I’m still trading hours for money.

One session.

One conversation.

One problem solved at a time.

I listen. I try to understand how people tick.

I help them move forward.
I love it.

But it’s binary. One-to-one. Unscalable.
And when I think about a house, a family, or needing surgery someday—I feel the weight of that reality.

I’m skating by. I’m grateful. I’m healthy.

I’m doing work that feels true.
But I can’t support anyone else like this.

I can’t “level up.”

The word that keeps coming back is: scalable.

I need to find a path where my effort compounds.
Where time and money go into something that builds while I sleep.
But I don’t know what that is yet.

So I keep trading hours.
Because it’s the only thing that feels real.

The Finish Line

Fifteen years in the game—marketing, blogging, writing—and the results haven’t come the way I hoped.

Now ChatGPT’s here, sharpening my voice, supercharging my process.

But it’s doing that for everyone.

So I wonder…

Am I really laying bricks, building a foundation—
or am I just collecting cardboard in a cleaner outfit?

What’s the difference between labor and legacy?
Between just getting by and breaking through?

I don’t have the answer. Not yet.

But I know I’m here.
I’m still writing.
Still listening.
Still laying something down—
brick by brick.

Peace be the journey,

— Ace