The 5 am club

—Helen Keller
The entrepreneur had learned to sail as a child. She’d loved the sensation of
salt water on her young face and the feelings of freedom that being out on the
vast sea brought her spirit. She wondered why she had stopped sailing. In that
instant, she also considered why she’d given up so many of the pursuits that
had brought her such harmony. And she cherished the fact that in this basic
moment, in a small boat gliding through the endless Indian Ocean, she was
truly open. And wildly alive.
“Our culture measures success by how much money we have, the amount
of achievement we complete, and how much influence we reach. Yet,”
thought the entrepreneur, “while both The Spellbinder and Mr. Riley agree
that those victories are important, they’ve encouraged me to consider how
well I’m running my life by another series of metrics as well. By my
connection with my natural power and by my intimacy with my authenticity
and by the vitality around my physicality and by the size of my joy. This
seems like a much better way to look at success. Being both accomplished in
the world yet peaceful within myself.”
Her time at The Spellbinder’s conference and her wonderful days here on
this pristine island with people who still took the time to say “good morning,”
smile at strangers and show genuine warmth continued to inspire and provoke
both tiny and large shifts in her understanding of the true nature of a
productive, prosperous and fulfilling life.
The entrepreneur was noticing she was becoming less machine-like and
more human. She no longer checked her technology compulsively. She
couldn’t remember feeling so creative, so available to the miraculous wonders
of life. She’d never been so awake to the blessings every day on Earth brings.
And she’d never, or at least she couldn’t recall a time when she had, felt so
thankful. Yes, utterly appreciative—for 
everything
she’d experienced. She
realized the hard points of her life had strengthened her and made her more

---

insightful, interesting and wise. A fascinating and richly colorful life is
stamped with many scars, she began to understand.
She promised herself that she’d exploit the challenge she was facing with
her investors to raise her grade of courage. The partners’ takeover attempt
would simply escalate her commitment to defending the natural heroism
she’d learned we all have within us, at our center beneath the layers of fear,
insecurity and limitation that we all collect as we advance through life. The
behaviors of her untrustworthy partners would only serve to make her a
braver, better and more decent person. Often, a bad example teaches us more
about who we wish to become than a good one could ever provide. And, in
this world of so many hardened human beings who have lost access to who
they truly are, she vowed to conduct the remainder of her days modeling
excellence, resilience and the utmost of kindness.
As the entrepreneur and the artist navigated their little wooden vessel
through the waters that were as clear as crystal, around coral that could be
brutal if struck and farther away from the beach where the billionaire had
delivered his morning instruction, the entrepreneur spotted the distant land
mass where Mr. Riley suggested she and her new love have a picnic.
She also detected an ever-growing affection for the large man who sat
next to her. Though they came from entirely different universes, their
chemistry was undeniable. It was as if galaxies had collided. And though they
had different ways of operating, their compatibility was as nothing she’d
experienced before. Her mother had once told her that if you are fortunate
enough to fall in love even two or three times within a lifetime, make each of
these stories count fully.
Her companion’s artistic powers intrigued her. His desire to be great on
his own terms attracted her. His occasional hard edges challenged her. His
sense of humor amused her. His palpable compassion moved her. And his
dark eyes melted her.
“This was a good idea,” the artist said as the entrepreneur adjusted the set
of the sail and skillfully directed the boat around some buoys placed there by
early morning fishermen. “To come out here—away from everything. I
needed a break from the learning. I’m loving all the information. I’m getting
so much from Mr. Riley. Man, he’s a treasure. But my head is full. I don’t
want to think for a while. I just want to have some fun and enjoy life. Being
out here, with you, is special.”
“Thanks,” replied the entrepreneur simply as her hair waved playfully in
the wind and her sparkling eyes stayed fixed on the water in front of her.
“This is the happiest I’ve seen her look since I met her at the conference,”

---

thought the artist. He put an arm around the entrepreneur. She didn’t retreat in
any way, remaining relaxed as their brightly painted vessel ventured deeper
into the ocean.
After a while, the small island they had been heading toward came into
clearer focus.
“The billionaire’s team stocked us up for a pretty good picnic,” noted the
entrepreneur. “How about we drop anchor in the shallow area over there and
have lunch on the white sand part of the beach?”
The island looked deserted aside from the well-fed seagulls, some with
live fish dangling from their skinny yellow beaks, that soared overhead. And
the gigantic turtle ambling along the damp shoreline as though he ruled it.
“Cool,” the artist replied. “I’m good with that,” he added as he took off
his shirt unselfconsciously and dove into the water with a wide splash.
The delightful meal the two enjoyed consisted of grilled spicy prawn and
a fresh mango salad, along with a humongous chunk of pecorino cheese flown
in that morning from Italy. Watermelon mixed with pineapple and kiwi had
been provided for dessert.
The entrepreneur shared her longing to build one of the world’s greatest
companies as they savored the food and relaxed in that sanctuary of peaceful
isolation. She spoke of her desire to build a genuine empire and then, perhaps,
to retire in style to the rustic side of Ibiza. She also confided even more of her
pained childhood, from the terrible divorce of her parents to the depth of her
trauma around the violent passage of her beloved father. She spoke in further
detail of the series of failed relationships that had caused her to concentrate
most of her time on her work and the loneliness she felt when she wasn’t in
the process of advancing her business.
“Those weren’t ‘failed relationships,’” mused the artist as he munched
joyfully on a chunk of watermelon. “They made you who you are, right? And
I really like who you are. Actually,” said the artist candidly, “I 
love
who you
are.”
He leaned over and kissed the entrepreneur.
“What took you so long to say that?” she asked.
“I don’t know. My confidence has been low for a long time,” confessed
the artist. “But hearing The Spellbinder at the seminar and meeting you and
feeling our amazing vibe and then being on this totally insane yet incredible
adventure . . . I don’t know. It’s making me believe more in myself again.
This is all helping me to trust life again, I guess. To open up to someone again

---

is great. I should paint later today. Something special is going to show up. I
just know it.”
“Yes, you should,” encouraged the entrepreneur. “I sense it, too. You’re
going to be a hugely successful and truly legendary painter.”
And then, after a lengthy pause, she added, “I love you, too, by the way.”
The romance of that moment being shared by the two new members of
The 5 
AM
Club was suddenly broken by the sound of loud hip-hop music. A
figure could be seen in the water moving dazzlingly fast—zigzagging and
then racing along straightaways. It soon became evident who this noisy and
uninvited intruder was: Stone Riley, riding on a souped-up Jet Ski and
wearing a top hat that had been strapped to his chin. Yes, a top hat. And if you
looked closely, you would see a skull-and-crossbones symbol on it—the sort
that sits on pirate flags.
Soon he, too, was up on the unspoiled beach with the two lovers. Soon he,
too, was eating the prawns and mango salad and wolfing down large pieces of
the fresh fruit dessert. And soon he was holding hands with the entrepreneur
and the artist.
This man was a pure oddball. And a most human hero. The entrepreneur
and the artist looked at each other as the billionaire did his thing. They shook
their heads, clapped their hands and laughed easy laughs.
“Dudes,” shouted the billionaire above the volume of the thumping music
as his Jet Ski bobbed in the shallow water. “Missed you two. Hope you don’t
mind me crashing your picnic,” he communicated with food in his mouth.
Without waiting for an answer, he turned up the decibel level of the song and
sang along to the words.
“Gnarly tune, right?” he asked with all the energy of a power plant.
“Def,” replied the artist instinctively. “I mean definitely,” he corrected.
The three companions spent the rest of that unforgettable afternoon
swimming, singing, dancing and talking. That evening the billionaire hosted a
magnificent dinner out on his beach, which was lit with tiki torches, cream-
colored lanterns and what you would have guessed were thousands of
candles.
A long wooden table, draped with the finest of linens, supported platters
of exquisitely prepared food. The Spellbinder also appeared at the banquet,
swapping stories with the billionaire while a few of Mr. Riley’s other friends
showed up later to play the bongos, share in the fabulous meal and sip some
fine wine. Even the ultra-professional and exceptionally hospitable attendants

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were encouraged to join the festivities. It was all surreal. And special.
For an instant, the entrepreneur reflected on the preciousness of the
evening and recalled a quote her father had placed on the door of the family
fridge. It was from Dale Carnegie, the self-help author, and it read: “One of
the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put
off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon
instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.”
The entrepreneur smiled to herself. She realized she would postpone
living fully no more. She’d not only fallen in love with a good man. She was
beginning to experience a lavish lust for life itself.
* * *
At 5 
AM
the next morning, the sound of a helicopter pierced the sereneness
that only presents itself at that hour of the day. The entrepreneur and the artist
waited on the beach as they’d promised the billionaire they would. They held
hands, tightly, and awaited the next lesson he told them he’d share. But the
billionaire was nowhere to be found.
An assistant wearing a crisp shirt the color of the sky and pressed
Bermuda shorts the hue of a tomato, with red leather sandals, ran down from
the home of the titan of industry.
“Bonjour,” she said in a highly polished way. “Mr. Riley has requested
that I escort you to his helipad. He has a huge gift for you both. But you’ll
need to hurry. Please. We’re on a strict timeline.”
The three of them scampered along the beach, up a groomed trail through
lush trees, past an herb garden with wooden signs containing quotes from
famous leaders as well as one that said “Trespassers Will Be Composted” and,
finally, to an expansive manicured meadow. At the center of it sat a gleaming
helicopter with its rotors whirring against the radiance of the early morning
lightfall.
Inside the aircraft a single pilot could be seen. He wore aviator glasses, a
black flat-brimmed baseball cap and an all-black uniform. As his passengers
were led inside, the pilot remained silent, manipulating the controls and
writing on what appeared to be a detailed checklist attached to a scuffed-up
clipboard with the phrase “Rise and shine so you’ll escape the misery of
mediocrity” written at the top in red. A smiley face emoji was evident below
this line.
“Good morning,” said the entrepreneur enthusiastically to the pilot.
“Where’s Mr. Riley?”

---

The pilot didn’t answer. He tuned a dial. Tweaked a knob. And made
another tick mark on the white page.
“Good luck, and have a safe flight, you two,” announced the assistant as
she adjusted the seat belts and placed headphones with a microphone snuggly
onto the heads of her VIP guests.
“Where the heck are we going?” demanded the artist, reverting to angry-
man status.
No reply. The door shut with a thud. Then locked, with a click.
The engine noise grew louder, and the propeller accelerated its rotations.