Making Money With My Work Is Only Secondary

For me, making money is secondary.

...possibly even tertiary.

I received a private message from a Norwegian woman who liked one of my videos about not having money to support my writing and whatnot.

My response to *all* of you is this:

That's okay. 🤷‍♂️ Really.

...no, really. It's alright. 🫶

I make six figures as the CEO of an award-winning marketing firm, and I am building a physics and engineering company for homeland defense: My primary ability to provide for my family does not depend on my social media presence, my writing, or my videos.

I have been journaling on social media (starting with the MySpace era) for decades, and more particularly on Facebook for over ten years...

...and I *just* got this account monetized a couple months ago. (And even with that monetization, I am only making $50 to $100 per month with this account. It's laughable.)

...which means that *all* of the random posts and videos of mine that have gone viral here and there over the years? They were from my heart.

All of them.

I got paid for none of it. Not a dime.

Not a single brown cent. 🤷‍♂️ (I bet you didn't know that.)

If it was money I valued more than the sincerity and passion of my craft and thoughts, you'd see a totally different persona: You'd see me go *with* the flow of people's biases instead of *against* that flow in my behavior.

For instance, I'd pander to black women—as some experiments I've run in the past showed that black women would statistically love me the most at first glance.

...and as Europeans are my target audience, that makes my profit margins for my books virtually non-existent.

Black women love me the most, as a rough, oversimplified estimate is like this: It costs me approximately $0.03 for every black follower, but up to $10 for every European follower...

And it is only until black women hear me open my mouth that most become disgusted.

Not just disgusted...but filled with rage. Resentment for me as well as themselves.

They like the way I look, but become horribly offended by my soul...but liking the way someone looks is enough to make millions, which is my point: If I wanted to make millions with black people, I would merely have to present myself while keeping my mouth shut.

Statistically, white women are not so attracted to how I look, or are at least suspicious of it at first, but then fall *deeply* in love with my soul...particularly after a while of testing it for sincerity (which leads to the higher "cost", as I said my numbers were oversimplified)...

...and they become *very* possessive (in a loving way), as though to say: "Wait...he really is one of ours, isn't he? That's *our* son. Of course, he is."

You won't see them comment out in the open like that, but the back-end is different. That's what they're thinking, the ones that do support me.

But if I focused on simply making cash, if I was a true grifter, I would at least parrot opinions that white liberals and pro-black people love to hear—manipulating them like Chess pieces by the racist biases they don't see as racist...into giving me money and votes of confidence the way my father did.

...The way Obama did. 🤷‍♂️

Instead, I would dare say that I am actually one of the realest people on social media. You may seldom see me on video in real-time, but rest-assurred: I stand by what I say. I am the same person in private that I am in public, just perhaps with deeper layers.

I wouldn't be able to maintain my wife's respect the way that I do if I wasn't.

The hardest thing for people to believe about me is neither my intelligence, my polymathic range of knowledge, nor my backstory...

...but how much I really care. About key things. Like how I care more about Europe than many Europeans do.

So, I view my writing and speaking as though I was a busker playing the fiddle in the middle of a Dublin city street: Do you enjoy the music? The case is open; you can throw some coins in if you'd like, but it's not required.

I would have come to Ireland simply to play, because the *real* payment is the sincere smile of a passerby, or someone who returned simply because they loved the music and could tell that it came from my heart.

And then, at the end of the day, I pack up my gear and go to my real job.

That said, women are used to vague compliments and attention from men they view as their equal or lesser.

They *love*, however, sincere, well-thought-out, poignant honorings from men they look up to, whom they view as above them in some way, shape, or form.

So, when a Norwegian woman sends me a private message about how much she likes my content but simply cannot pay, please know that it's not even really about that with me.

You were moved. You took me seriously. You have internalized that, despite whatever you're going through, *somebody* you respect truly adores you.

And that's enough for me.