[#012] My First Billion: 13 Years In

Today marks 13 years since I officially filed the paperwork for my first company.

January 16, 2013.

I remember it clearly.

I was driving a 1994 Chevy Lumina.
We didn’t want to pay for parking, so my wife pulled up to the curb.

I ran inside, filed the paperwork, and ran back out.

I had just enough money to open a bank account, 25 bucks.

I remember thinking, “Now we’ve got to fill this with millions.”

That was it. No announcement. No strategic plan. No clarity.

Just a decision to start.
Thirteen years later, this week looked very different.

This week wasn’t loud.

It was operational.

My operations director was mostly out of office.

My head of content strategy was out.

We’re on the middle of a three-day virtual event.

Next week we host a 70-person in-person summit in Atlanta that’s nearly sold out.

And yet… nothing broke.

Sales kept moving.
Clients kept being served.
Forecasting got finalized.
The machine kept running.

That contrast hasn’t been lost on me.

The work this week looked like this:

→ Finalized 2025 projections with my CFO
→ Tightened targets and released them
→ Continued serving on our three-day Predictable Client Machine event
→ Watched a new enrollment advisor close his first deal
→ Prepped final details for next week’s Strategic Scale Summit
→ Coaching calls with clients navigating real pressure and real growth

And in between all of that:

→Took my boys to Cub Scouts and boxing
→ Celebrated my son turning 11 (his restaurant of choice: Chili’s)
→ Got the truck back from the shop after a long repair
→ Worked on my upcoming church teaching series
→ Helped my ops manager think through better AI workflows

Nothing headline-worthy.
Nothing dramatic.

And that’s the point.

Thirteen years ago, everything depended on me.

If I didn’t move, nothing moved.
If I didn’t sell, nothing sold.
If I stepped away, everything stopped.

This week, very little depended on me.

That didn’t happen by accident.
It happened by building boring systems, boring rhythms, and boring consistency over and over again.

Early on, movement feels like progress.
Later, restraint does.

Here’s something I’ve learned the long way:

Quiet weeks aren’t stalls.
They’re signals.

Signals that alignment exists.
Signals that trust has been built.
Signals that the business doesn’t
panic when you’re not hovering.

Back then, success meant survival.
Now, success means durability.

Thirteen years ago, the goal was to start.

Now, the goal is to keep building things that don’t collapse when I step away.

Marquel