State

"I was right there in that room, you know? I was applauding you," Larisa said in a voice message.

This happened on the exact day I started writing this chapter.

Larisa is on my team. Every morning except Sunday, at seven-thirty, we get together with partners on Zoom for a quick team call. That Monday, only Larisa showed up.

The conversation drifted to the book. Larisa said she'd read a few chapters. And I started telling her how it gets written. How I talk my stories into my phone, and an AI turns them into text. How I read the lines back and recognize my own living voice in them. How it lights me up.

And while I was talking, goosebumps ran over me. I said, "Oh, I'm getting goosebumps." I kept going, and they came again. Then another wave. Which means I was telling the truth.

That call turned out amazing. So much energy! Larisa had real breakthroughs right there, live.

After the call, she read Chapter 14. The one where I see the room, the stage, and myself on it. The second she finished, she sent me a voice message:

I listened and felt the goosebumps running over me again.

Someone read a chapter about my goosebumps, and she got goosebumps too. Which means it wasn't just the words that came through. The state came through.

A second voice message came right after.

I answered her with a voice message of my own. It was hard to talk — goosebumps were running the entire time I listened to her.

I told her what I know about myself.

Goosebumps are the first signal. I call them the wind of God — like He's walking across my body.

Tears are the next signal, and a stronger one. That's the heart opening up. That's almost a direct connection to God.

Why stronger? When the goosebumps come, I sometimes find it hard to talk. The head comes up with the words, and the feeling blocks that channel. Which means something is happening right then that doesn't need words. And when it's tears, talking is impossible altogether. You're completely inside the feeling.

I discovered this in myself in Bali. I was finishing Dan Millman's Way of the Peaceful Warrior — there's a film based on it too, Peaceful Warrior. The final chapters. And I suddenly noticed I was sobbing. Tears pouring down, and they were tears of joy. Of happiness.

And sometimes it happens like this: I'm crying and laughing at the same time. That's the strongest thing I know of so far.

Maybe that's not even the limit. Goosebumps are number one, tears are number two. Maybe there's a number three and a number four, an even deeper connection. That's all still ahead of me.

And I passed this on to Larisa's son: there's nothing to be ashamed of. Let him listen to my voice message.

The moment I realized this chapter would be about my conversation with Larisa, goosebumps ran down my legs, up my arms, and then across my scalp.

Someone read a chapter and responded instantly. And I got feedback while the book was still being written. The transformation was happening right in front of my eyes.

So let's break down how this actually works. And I'll start with where these goosebumps of mine even come from.

I was about twelve. My mom and I were in Leningrad, and she took me to the Kirov Theatre — now the Mariinsky — to see The Nutcracker.

The orchestra thundered to life. The first chord. And goosebumps swept over me. In waves.

I didn't know what it was. But it felt wonderful. I loved it.

For a long time after that, I don't remember them coming back. But I remembered that first time.

Later I was studying at naval college in Leningrad. I don't remember anymore why my mom and I went to see some young guy. He called himself a yogi. I don't remember anything else about him. Except for one conversation.

I asked him what kind of "condition" this was, these goosebumps.

He started talking about the crown chakra. I think that was the first time I'd ever heard the word. He said it connected me to the information field. Today I'd call it the Higher Power, the Universe, God. But back then, nobody said words like that out loud.

Then he explained the main thing. When you see, hear, or feel something, and it's truth, your body answers with goosebumps. Not just "that's correct" and not just "yes." Truth runs deeper than that.

And if the goosebumps come, that's an ironclad answer. You don't argue with it. It comes from somewhere above your own mind.

It's your instrument, he said. Use it throughout your life. And be grateful you have it.

I remembered that. And I still use it to this day.

You've seen my goosebumps all through this book. At Marik's in Moscow. On Bali, when I told you about the arrows. Over someone else's passport. Over a speech I hadn't even given yet. Now you know where they come from.

Goosebumps are a sign. And behind the sign is the whole reason for this chapter. State.

Without state, nothing happens. Whether it's on Zoom or in person. There's no network marketing business, no business of any kind at all. And anything done without the right state just carries that absence with it.

Let me show you with two team calls.

One day I showed up to the morning call uncharged. My head was buzzing — I'd understood something, realized something, wanted to share it. But there was no energy in my voice.

I talked like I'd memorized a poem and was reciting it. Information from the head, never lived through. It came out as a lecture. A sermon.

I felt it even while I was still talking. And afterward I could see it in people: it hadn't worked. There was no energy there at all.

Now take that call with Larisa. Same Zoom, same seven-thirty in the morning. I hadn't prepared any lecture. We were just talking about the book. But I was talking about something lighting me up right then. And the goosebumps came wave after wave, and Larisa's breakthroughs came right along with them.

The words that day were simpler. The state was completely different.

Remember Chapter 4? "What happened to your face?" They asked me that before I'd said a single word. People see you before they hear you. And they read your state instantly.

State doesn't just decide a team call. It decides where your business goes.

2004. I join Morinda. The company's already been in Russia a year, the top leaders are already in place. And my first thought: I'm too late. That ship has sailed.

And I'd wanted to be first my whole life. That sits very deep in me. More on that in the next chapter.

So there I was, upset, deflated. There was no being first anymore. The first ones had already gotten there.

With a state like that, nothing would have worked out for me. I know that for a fact.

Then, by some kind of miracle, it was like I connected with a different version of myself. I don't remember exactly how. Maybe I remembered my trainings. And I told myself, in the present tense: "I am number one in Russia."

Out loud, in my head, or written in a planner — I don't remember that either. But I remember the force of that moment. Even now, remembering it, I get goosebumps. Whether I had them back then, I don't recall. But today's goosebumps are telling me: probably, yes. I just didn't register them at the time.

A year later, I was number one in the company in earnings. Even though I'd joined later than the other leaders.

Same company. Same comp plan. I'd joined just as late. The only thing that changed was my state.

This whole book, I've been talking about the cut. Trainings, teachers, working on yourself. A rough diamond slowly turning into a cut diamond.

But a cut diamond has one property. In a dark room, it doesn't sparkle. It needs light.

The cut is who you've become. State is the light passing through you right now.

At that call where I was running on autopilot, the cut I had was the exact same one I had at the call with Larisa. There just wasn't any light.

Here's what I understood: people hear your state far more than they hear your words. You can memorize information like a poem. You can't memorize state. You can only carry it.

You might ask: fine, so how do you switch it on?

Honestly? There's no snapping your fingers and making it happen. My goosebumps and tears come on their own. They don't ask my permission.

But some of it does depend on me. Noticing what state I'm in before I go out to people. Not walking past it when it does show up. And when I'm deflated, the way I was back at Morinda, not pretending everything's fine, but looking for the way to a different version of myself.

Back at Morinda, nobody showed up and told me: change your state. The slump was mine. And I'm the one who found the way out of it, too.

And one more thing. Everyone has their own instrument. Mine is goosebumps. Larisa's is tears. Her son's is wet eyes when he talks about something deep. Yours might be warmth in the chest, or lightness, or a stillness inside.

If your body answers with tears, don't be ashamed of it. That's not weakness. That's your body showing that you're speaking from somewhere deep.

Where does this state come from? I have an answer. But we'll get there at the end of the formula.

And there was one more thing in that story with Morinda. The need to be first.

Where did that come from, in a kid who used to hide behind his classmates' backs at school? It started on the school track, on a thousand-meter run.