Chapter 3

The Cub

Josh followed Amy's car as she drove to the outskirts of town. On the way, he made a quick call to the office to check in.

“Josh?” Kelli the receptionist ventured as he was about to say goodbye. “What's going on? This place has gone…bipolar or something. Half the people are walking like zombies, and the other half are racing around like the place is on fire. Which, by the way, it isn't.”

“Talk to Carl.”

“I'm talking to you.”

Josh had no idea where to even begin. Before Kelli could grill him further, he said a hurried goodbye and turned his attention back to the road ahead.

Here I am, chasing Amy Deerham again, he thought, as he followed her dust as she turned onto a secondary road. No sooner had the thought entered his mind, when he saw her arm extend through her sunroof and give him a cheerful wave.

I'm not chasing this time, he thought. I'm following.

That, he decided, was both different and okay.

As they emerged from a tree lined stretch of road and topped a rise, Josh realized where he was: wine country. Once some of the richest farmland in the county, it was now home to some of the richest people. It was a patchwork of wealthy hobby farm estates and small wineries. Even as he cleared the hill, Josh could see in one glance the orderly rows of several vineyards, the white fencing of riding stables and pasture, and at least one private airstrip.

For someone in Josh's line of work, just driving through this neighborhood was a dream. The thought of actually working in it?—of having clients here? That was the stuff of business legend. The sales and deals that took place out here created stars in real estate, and in many businesses, for that matter.

If Amy was taking him to meet someone in this neighborhood, then Josh's prospects were picking up indeed. Of course, there are exceptions to every neighborhood. And apparently I've found one, Josh thought as Amy passed the last large estate on the road, and turned down a gravel laneway that ended at a simple steel building. The daydream Josh had been having about the commission on a ten million dollar sale vanished into smoke.

The place was a dump. Everywhere Josh looked he could see rusting steel remains, the skeletons of cars, and machinery. Amy parked her car and Josh followed suit. They walked toward the huge open door of what Josh could now see was a large garage. As they drew closer, an older man in coveralls looked up. He stood up from one of the bays of the garage, where Josh could see he was working on a motorcycle of some kind. Josh could also now see that the interior of the shop was absolutely immaculate. It looked more like a surgical ward than a garage. How strange, Josh thought. You'd think he'd clean up the outside.

The old man—Josh pegged him in his late seventies— smiled at Amy, and nodded in Josh's direction.

“Cor. You're filthy!” She ran to him and gave him a hug, which he returned with enthusiasm.

“Now so are you,” he said with a smile. Then he turned to Josh.

“You must be Josh,” he said, extending a greasy hand. “Pardon the grime, but I'm delivering a baby over here, and sometimes that's work that you can't stay clean doing. Unlike real babies, though, I think I can put this one on hold so we can have some lunch. Sound good?”

Josh stared after the old man, then followed Amy and Cor deeper into the shop. Cor led them to a small folding table in one corner, and motioned for them to sit. Like everything else in the place, the tiny corner with the table was immaculate.

Josh sat facing the open bay door, looking onto the rusted piles of junk and tall weeds. He felt awkward and, more than anything, uncertain. He'd already wasted so much time and money on seminars. Was this just another one? What am I doing here? he thought.

They ate a simple but delicious lunch of wax paper–wrapped sandwiches from a small cooler. Josh was anxious to understand what Cor could have told Amy that was so powerful, but the older man seemed in no rush. He ate his sandwich in small, steady bites, occasionally looking up to smile at one or both of them, but never saying much.

Josh tried to hide his impatience by looking around the shop. He realized there were a number of motorcycles in various states of assembly or reassembly—Josh couldn't tell which—but they all shared a common trait: they were old.

This place is like a motorcycle museum, Josh thought. And so damn…clean. He looked again through the open bay door at the rusting junk piles and long grass outside. Then he looked at Cor's greasy appearance and at the almost antiseptic interior of the shop. It made no sense.

When his gaze returned to the table, he found Cor gazing steadily at him with what seemed like a twinkle of amusement. “You like motorcycles, Josh?” he asked.

“Sure. I mean, I don't have much experience with them. But it looks like you have some real classics in here.”

The old man nodded thoughtfully.

“And your shop is…Well, this is the cleanest garage I've ever seen.”

“And the messiest yard?” Cor asked, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Josh felt himself blush. “They are very different. The inside and the outside.”

Cor took a small bite of sandwich and chewed slowly. When he finally spoke, Josh was sure a full minute had passed.

“I suppose,” Cor said, “what really matters is which you think is the most important.”

Then, before Josh could digest what Cor had said, the man stood up, wrapped the rest of the sandwich up in the wax paper and placed it carefully back in the cooler, and walked back into the interior of the shop.

Josh gave Amy a questioning look. She simply smiled, then shrugged and began to tidy up the few crumbs on the table.

Josh looked at his watch, and felt suddenly anxious. The week is slipping away already, he thought. I can't afford to waste any more time. Surprising even himself, he followed Cor across the shop and said bluntly, “I'm sorry to be so forward, but Amy seems to think you might be able to help me with my work. I'm in a bit of a tight spot.”

Cor stopped and looked at Josh.

“Josh, I'll tell you what I told Amy when we first met. What's between you and success—however you choose to define it—is one thing: what you believe. Much like this garage, it's the inside that matters, not the outside.”

Josh thought for a moment. “I don't mean to be disrespectful, but…I think I know what you mean and, frankly, I'm not sure that it's helped me. I've heard—and I believe—that things like paradigms or belief systems filter the way we see the world.”

“I know the old Henry Ford saying. It's in every success workshop I've ever been to, and trust me,” Josh sighed, remembering his missed mortgage payment, “I've been to a lot of them.” Josh swept his arm in a grand gesture, “Whether you believe you can, or you believe you can't—” he said, adopting an aristocratic tone.

“—you're probably right,” Cor and Amy responded in unison.

Josh blushed. “Well, anyway, I think Henry was probably right, but knowing that doesn't seem to have helped me.”

“Henry was a smart man. No question.” Cor pursed his lips in thought. “But I don't think that little gem was a make or break insight for Ford, either.”

“So how does belief play into it?,” asked Josh.

“For starters, Ford was talking about believing in yourself. I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that you already do. Otherwise you'd be working for someone else, not yourself. In fact,” he turned to Amy, “I bet you wouldn't be here if Amy didn't believe in you, either.”

Amy smiled and nodded.

“What I'm talking about isn't about believing something new. If you believe in yourself, Josh, that's enough.”

Josh nodded, but wondered if he really did believe in himself.

“What I'm talking about,” Cor said, leaning toward Josh, “is what you believe that you shouldn't.”

“That I shouldn't?” Josh repeated. “What do you mean?”

Cor selected a wrench from an orderly spread of tools on a nearby bench, then walked to what looked to Josh like the oldest, rustiest motorcycle he'd ever seen. “Beliefs are like tools, Josh,” he said. “Using the right one is critical.” He fitted the head of the wrench neatly on a rusty bolt on the machine. “The problem,” Cor said, “is that sometimes we think we have the right beliefs.” He pushed on the wrench, but nothing happened. “We think they fit.” Cor tugged on the wrench again, but nothing happened. “But then we discover that even though they seem to fit, they're not getting the job done.” He pushed again. Nothing. Then the wrench slipped off, exposing shiny metal on the head of the bolt.

“Or worse still,” Cor said. “They actually make things worse.”

“So…you think I believe some things that I shouldn't?” asked Josh.

Cor shrugged. He walked to the bench again and selected a different tool and a large hammer. He walked back to the bike, and fitted the new wrench on the bolt. Josh watched as he swung the hammer against the wrench, and the bolt loosened instantly.

Josh opened his mouth to ask what it was that he shouldn't believe, but Cor smiled and held up a hand.

“One step at a time, Josh. Come with me. I want to show you something. I'll clean up lunch,” said Amy. “I think I know where this is headed.”

Cor led Josh to the machine the old man had been kneeling before when they first arrived. Like the others in the shop, it was an antique motorcycle, immaculately restored.

“This is a 1958 Honda Super Cub, Josh.” Cor smiled and ran his hand over the weathered leather seat and down the gleaming back fender. “I suppose it doesn't look like much, but I think it's bigger than its looks suggest. Much like many people.”

“It's beautiful, actually,” Josh said.

“It's also a lesson in success.” Cor grabbed a container of wax and a soft cloth, and began applying wax to the already gleaming tank and painted surfaces of the motorcycle.

“Soichiro Honda, who created this bike, was the founder of Honda Motor Company. He's been called the ‘Japanese Henry Ford.’ He was one of the most innovative and intriguing businessmen of the century. And,” Cor added, “he was also a failure.”

“A failure?” Josh replied. “It's hard to see Honda as a failure.”

“It's remarkable how many obstacles Soichiro faced,” Cor responded. “He failed as a race car driver. He tried for years to perfect a piston ring concept for Toyota, even pawning his wife's jewelry to keep going. Eventually, his design was accepted, but that was just as the Second World War began, and Soichiro struggled to build a factory for his piston rings, even inventing his own concrete formula to compensate for supply shortages. When he finally succeeded, the factory was bombed not once, but twice. He rebuilt, but steel was in short supply and, in order to find raw materials, he had to salvage gasoline cans. He failed, then tried again, over and over.”

Josh looked at the gleaming bike. “Well, it looks like he finally succeeded.”

“You could say that. Henry Ford might get more credit, but this little bike”—Cor ran his hands over the gleaming metal—“Is the best selling motor vehicle in history.”

“You're kidding.” Josh looked skeptically at the bike.

“Belief is a powerful thing, Josh,” Cor said. “Soichiro had an unshakeable belief in what he was doing. He refused to follow the herd, and he never gave up.”

Josh thought for a moment. Is that all this is, the voice in his head said, a rah rah cheerleading session? He said, “So I just have to understand that success isn't found in the herd, and it doesn't happen overnight? That seems—well, a little simplistic, to be honest.”

“Those are just a few aspects of the nature of success itself that you need to understand, Josh. The real substance, though, is how you get there. That's where the real problems lie. That's where most people have been sold a bill of goods.”

“It sounds like there's a conspiracy out there to keep me from being successful.”

Cor laughed. “I don't think it's that nefarious. But as a culture, we've come to believe things about finding success that simply aren't true. I call them Success Myths. Not only are they not helpful, but believing them actually moves us further away from success. They create a gap between our thoughts and our actions, between our dreams of success and the realit we find ourselves in.”

“So, why do we believe them?”

“I've often wondered the same thing. Have you ever noticed that success is concentrated? That in many industries, about 90 percent of the value is created by 10 percent of the people? Most people are fooled by the Success Myths. As a result, most people do what most people do, and it gets them nowhere.”

“But why is that?” Josh asked.

Cor smiled. “Much of it isn't mal intentioned. The Success Myths come from well meaning parents, teachers, and friends who just want us to be happy. At one time no one realized that the earth was round. It took time for people to understand the new truth, but in the meantime the belief limited our actions for fear of falling off the earth. Now people are realizing that there are healthier, more powerful ways to do business, but it can take time for the world to catch up with that understanding.”

“So…these myths. What are they?”

“Ah!” Cor smiled. “Not so fast. Like success itself, the Success Myths take time to understand, internalize, and, most importantly, to act on. If you want to learn them, you'll have to commit to the process.”

Josh thought about his looming deadline at work.

“What kind of commitment?”

“A week.”

“A whole week?”

“Every day for a week. Seven days, seven myths, seven new truths. And,” Cor added, “that's just to understand the myths. You'll need to learn to put them to work after that. You can't change your life overnight, Josh, but you can change your mind.”

“And that's enough?”

“No,” Cor said, patiently. “It's not. You'll have to act. But success is an inside job, Josh. Unlearning the Success Myths, and replacing them with new ones is about changing your mental state. Without that, the actions you take will lead you either nowhere, or somewhere you really don't want to be.”

“And that's…that's what you taught Amy?”

“I don't think I taught Amy anything,” Cor said, with a smile. “But over the course of my life I've met a lot of remarkable people who have taught me a lot. They indulge me every so often by agreeing to teach someone like you. Assuming, of course, that you are who I think you are. And that you can commit to putting what you learn to work.”

Josh took a deep breath. Realistically, he had a week to keep his job. Sure there was time after that, but if he didn't show some results soon, he was in trouble. Yet here he was considering blowing off a huge chunk of that week on a stranger and his friends. He opened his mouth to politely decline, but a voice inside him spoke up.

You know you can't make the sales targets anyway. What have you got to lose? If you're going to screw up, you may as well do it in good company. Josh looked at Amy. She was poker faced. It just feels right, Josh thought. He looked at Cor, then back to Amy. Maybe I need to follow my heart, not my head.

“I'm in,” he said aloud, exhaling. “When do we start?”

Cor smiled. He lifted a leg, and swung it down on the motorcycle's kick start. The engine sputtered to life and settled into a smooth purr. Cor pointed at the seat. “Right now.”