Don't Quit Read online

  We continued chipping away at renovation projects in the fixer house and made it into a fine home. Concurrently, the real estate market was quickly appreciating. Lenders were playing fast and loose with the bank’s money, and there were some predatory lending practices taking place. A bank approached my mom with a refinance on our home and offered us a new mortgage. My mom had a single income and was raising four kids. The family’s debt-to-income was way out of whack, and the bank had no business offering her a mortgage, let alone a mortgage of this magnitude. When the housing bubble in the early 2000s popped, we were underwater, owing about 25% more on the mortgage than the house was worth. We felt helpless, afraid, and confused. As it was put in The Big Short, “Our investment strategy was simple: people hate to think about the bad things happening, so they always underestimate their likelihood.” We took the bank’s word that we were sitting on a gold mine of a property and that it would continue to appreciate exponentially. We definitely underestimated the likelihood that our home’s value was going to be impacted by an upcoming financial crisis.

  Suffice it to say, my curiosity was piqued by the debacle our family was in and our work to dig ourselves out. I now had even more interest in learning about how money, financial systems, and mortgages worked. How did we get here? How do we get out of here? How do we not wind up here again? The school of hard knocks was determined to educate us. We got our teeth kicked in.

  We determined to stay living in the fixer house as there were sentimental ties to Dad in it. We drew social security, cut expenses, created and lived by a cash flow statement, and brainstormed ways to increase income. We were determined to not walk away from a project on which we’d worked so hard. We played Rich Dad’s Cashflow board game and began to piece the puzzle together.

  I began surrounding myself with mentors, taking financial education courses, and reading books to expand my own financial literacy. I started questioning the status quo on my journey to achieve financial success. I went on my own path to financial freedom through real estate and creating businesses. Since I couldn’t simultaneously fund my real estate empire for growth and continue funneling cash to my family’s financial advisor, I pressed pause on her for a bit. Otherwise, I’d never get to where I wanted to be.

  I needed to understand how money worked. I got licensed as a mortgage loan officer. Throughout the quest to understand finances, I became educated on how to prudently use leveraged real estate to amass wealth. If it weren’t for mortgages, I would not have been able to grow to the level I’m at today in my personal portfolio. It’s sometimes crazy to think that the very culprit that got us into our mess all those years ago was the very tool that helped me catapult out of it (albeit used much differently nowadays than we did back then). Through this vehicle, I could help to:

  1) continue to strategize for mortgages for our own real estate business and

  2) help borrowers plan a financial design for one of their largest purchases in life.

  Win-win! One especially rewarding client for me was when the team helped a single-income mother responsibly qualify for a mortgage―one in which she more than had the capacity to repay. For those homebuyers who are also looking to talk wealth-generation, I love to do financial goal-setting with them as well! This supports them on their own path to grow their monthly cash flow and net worth.

  A couple of years ago, my husband Ryan and I sat down with our business associate Nola where we all discussed the option of expanding our real estate business, allowing us to take on more clients and have them join alongside us to experience the investment realm. We would partner with those that already knew, liked, and trusted us in our expanded real estate syndication business.

  While gearing up to expand, Ryan and I took a securities licensing course. We have continued to educate ourselves throughout our investing career. This course was aimed towards helping new financial advisors pass their licensing exams. It was an interesting class, but we were mainly wanting to see what level of instruction these professionals were getting in order to qualify them for giving advice to consumers.

  On the last day of the class, our instructor informed us about the legal need to disclose everything when meeting with prospective investors. He said it was perfectly acceptable for the financial advisors to receive award vacations and to sign their clients up with stocks, bonds, and mutual funds that may not be in their best investing interest as long as that aspect is disclosed. As this resonated, we scanned the room to see if the other students were as shocked as we were by this statement. To our chagrin, our peers were nodding in agreement. We were disgusted. At this moment,

  I couldn’t help but wonder if the financial advisor our family had entrusted all these years had received a vacation or other perk for one of the financial products she placed our family in.

  Shortly after completing our securities licensing course, I began to do a deeper dive into my family’s financial plan, which had been laid out by our advisor. We had several phone calls with her, and when I asked about the plan, trying to develop a better understanding for why certain financial instruments were advised instead of others, it seemed as though there may have been an educational gap, or that I was providing some insight she had never before heard of or considered.

  She nonchalantly dismissed the fact that approximately a third of the assets initially sent to her to manage a couple of decades ago were now gone and were placed in a non tax-advantaged growth fund. Her response was the stock market is volatile and goes up and down and looks like I happened to catch the account in a down cycle. When I countered this was ironic due to the president boasting we were in the greatest stock market boom in history, she expressed the solution would be to pony up more money into the already bleeding account for investing into the mix. I’m sorry, what?! She informed me it was quite normal for clients to plan to live in retirement with less money than what they had grown accustomed to in their working years. After all, in many cases, their expenses go down after retirement, and they can afford to take the lifestyle hit. This was depressing.

  I asked myself, “So, people go to work their entire adult lives and work hard so that they can shrink their lifestyle away in retirement?” No thanks, hard pass. The path for us was clear. We needed to undo as much of this rhetoric as we possibly could.

  These conversations would serve as the impetus for Ryan and I to start Prosperity Aid, LLC. While sitting down and plotting out our mission, vision, and values for this business, we made the decision that we didn’t want to open up our investment offerings to solely high net worth individuals. We wanted to be able to help folks like me and my family, people who are average and hard-working, those who may need education, some financial literacy, and support with bridging the gaps in their own financial journey. We have a vision of helping and partnering with one thousand investors who would not have previously been exposed to alternative investing assets.

  There’s a Zig Ziglar quote to which we hold ourselves accountable: “You will get all you want in life, if you help enough other people get what they want.” Our aim is to help people realize cash flow now and in retirement without depleting their principal basis, thus not having to hope their life runs out before their retirement savings does. All too often, we’ve spoken with prospective clients on our initial intake meetings who have echoed our old financial advisor’s sentiments. They say their best hope is to die before their retirement money runs out. This doesn’t have to be the case, and we’re on a mission to shift the paradigm.

  In my office, I have a picture of the exchange between Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat and Alice. The cat calls attention to the fact that if Alice doesn’t know where she wants to go, it doesn’t matter what road she takes to get there. Our team’s job is to help clients gain clarity on where they want to go.

  In the housing crisis in the early 2000s, numerous families lost everything. That did not have to be the case. If consumers trusted but verified the information their financial professionals were telling the
m, if borrowers were prudent and taking on responsible mortgage debt, and if financial advisors were helping their clients instead of focusing on expanding their wallets, things could have played out much differently.

  I was recently on vacation with some friends. One day while we were sitting out by the pool, one of the friends asked when was it going to be enough for us? Acknowledging we’d been fortunate enough to have had some business success over the past 12 years, he wanted to know when we would stick a fork in it. I mulled it over for quite a while. He had a point. We had technically, probably, made enough money to put the business on autopilot. But it isn’t really about the money anymore. It’s about a movement. After consideration, I don’t think it’ll ever be enough.

  As long as there are clients to help with wealth planning, I feel like I’m on the right trajectory, and it is my calling to help. I don’t have any plans to wane any time soon. As it stands today, the odds aren’t in the average family’s favor. I want to ensure our business continues to help others in similar circumstances so that they do not have to go down the same financial path. My goal is to share my story to help them attenuate the odds and to help others in similar circumstances so that they do not have to go down the same financial path.

  ---------------

  TWEETABLE

  Don’t be afraid to upset the status quo. Trust your financial professionals, but verify they’re operating in your best interest. After all, you’re the one in control of your destiny.

  ---------------

  Kurtis Drake is a seasoned real estate entrepreneur, mortgage and wealth strategist, and co-founder of Prosperity Aid, LLC serving as a real estate fund manager. Kurtis and his team work with clients to educate them on attaining wealth through strategic real estate investing.

  Learn more about Kurtis and Prosperity Aid at https://www.prosperityaid.com

  Schedule a free wealth/mortgage strategy call by calling/texting him at: 503-278-5962

  Email: [email protected]

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kurtis.drake1

  CHAPTER 9

  The Gift of Life Is to Be Cherished

  by Heather S. Coombes

  I am sitting in my motorized wheelchair in a doctor’s surgery, waiting patiently as he scans his dermatoscope across my skin. This is my yearly mole check. Suddenly, his instrument hovers over a small section of my right leg. He quietly says, “This lesion looks suspicious.” My brain starts to go into overdrive. My heart thumps. What does this mean? What treatment is necessary?

  “Would you like me to refer you to a dermatologist?”

  In a feeble attempt to sound decisive, I say, “Yes, please.” I want the least complicated road, given that I have a complex neurological condition, cerebral palsy. I do not want further difficulty. On both legs I also have leg swelling, otherwise known as lymphoedema, which compromises healing of the skin.

  My dermatologist is a character. He talks ninety to the dozen and does not let me get a word in edgewise. He is brisk in movement and brusque in manner. He examines my legs, not only finding the original trouble spot but two others. His first words are loud and abrasive “YIKES!” Hardly the reassuring bedside manner I crave. He explains forcefully that I have to wear compression stockings to reduce the swelling. I protest. Previous experiences with this form of treatment remind me that compression is very painful on my nerve-damaged legs. He dismisses me by saying, “These possible melanomas will kill you if we are not careful. We cannot operate for their removal until you get the swelling down and test for circulation quality in your legs.”

  I ask him, “Can I take my long-planned-for holiday before the operation?”

  He looks at me firmly with a shake of the head saying, “I think you know the answer to that!” In an instant, my life has changed. I go home alone in a wheelchair accessible taxi feeling despondent. The driver knows nothing of my ordeal and chatters on about his Bulgarian mother who is a fortune teller. Normally, I would be fascinated, but not today!

  I share the challenging news with my family and start to cry. I think the worst. My mortality looms large in my heart. I still have work to do in my vocation of retirement. I still want to pastorally care for people as a representative of my church. I still want to take church services. I want to write. I want to swim. How could these be taken away from me? What is death like? At 64, I don’t want to say goodbye to my loved ones yet.

  I go through the motions of the necessary tests. However, the pulling on and off of compression stockings by my personal care workers, who assist me daily, is excruciating. Despite their attempted gentleness, the pain is unbearable. My therapist eventually tries compression bandaging which is a much more comfortable alternative. I begin to breathe again.

  I eventually return for surgery with reduced leg swelling. The smiling, kind- hearted surgeon’s approachable manner reassures me. He removes three lesions while I am still conscious, but with the local anesthetic, I feel nothing. While stitching me up, he talks matter-of-factly about his involvement in the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race.

  I am sore when the pain relief wears off but relieved this part is over. The surgeon warns me that there is a distinct possibility that I need a second lot of surgery to expand the skin margins, ensuring all parts of the lesions are removed.

  Later I receive the test results with the welcome verdict of one benign growth and two Grade 1 melanomas (the best kind you can get). Exultation! I feel like jumping over the moon. Life is precious.

  However, I now go to a plastic surgeon for wider excisions. The second surgery concludes, complete with the incision shaped in the letter “Z” engraved with a scalpel on my right leg. This reminds me of my childhood masked superhero, Zorro, who slashes his “Z” trademark on a wall each time he successfully completes his daring mission. I don’t feel heroic though. My energy has been spent like a deflated balloon. I lose my “umph” after this second bout in the surgical boxing ring.

  The specialist recommends that I do not exercise for a week on my lower limbs for fear of breaking the sutures and damaging the skin. People with cerebral palsy, like me, need to exercise rigorously daily to maintain mobility and to reduce muscle tension. So, this prohibition comes at a cost. I cannot swim, which normally loosens my tight muscles. I cannot do my leg raising or my hip flexions.

  Post-operative weakness means that when I return home, I cannot get into bed independently as I used to. Even at the peak of my physical condition, pre-surgery, it would take me two hours to prepare for sleep―from turning off the TV to my head hitting the pillow, exhausted.

  My mother realizes the enormity of my struggle to retrain my recalcitrant legs to swing onto the bed. Towards the end of Mum’s six week evening ministrations and targeted exercises, things are not going according to plan. With my brother’s help, we turn the bed around another way, in the hope that my body will be able to navigate the new position. Alas, it is not to be!

  I start to weep uncontrollably as I sit wearily on the edge of my bed. Facing increasing dependence is not an easy hurdle to surmount. More desperately, I think that I have to enter an aged care residential facility to receive extra care. I am too young to lead what I perceive to be a more restricted life.

  A ray of light begins to shine through an opening door though, when my Australian National Disability Insurance Scheme planner visits to review my eligible government funding for the next year. She listens empathically to my dilemma. “Why don’t you employ evening carers to assist you into bed? We could supply funding for that. That way you can stay in your own home for much longer.” I could kiss this compassionate government representative, but methinks that may not be appropriate! A weight is lifted from my shoulders and hope clambers up like an excited child in my spirit. God bless angels in disguise!

  God-sent angels, usually in human form, have popped up with regularity throughout my adventurous life. Their mission is to lighten my load, sometimes nudging me in new directions. The new gentle evening carers, now enlisted, c
ontinue in that wonderful tradition.

  I now sleep for longer and have more energy again to spend on activities which are important to me. I imagine a return to sitting alongside hurting people, trying to listen carefully to the feelings behind their words. I like to minister with aging folk particularly. My passion for writing combines with my dream of contributing to disability awareness education. I like to also encourage others by speaking of faith in Christian communities.

  What lessons do I learn through this latest big challenge? There are enough to last me a lifetime. I often mine more nuggets of gold through difficulty than when my life is easier.

  Firstly, the gift of life is to be cherished. It is not until it is threatened that I value its treasure again as well as its potential to renew.

  Secondly, I need to challenge my sometimes pessimistic self not to think the worst when circumstances become difficult. What initially seems to be a full stop in life is only a comma. Sometimes, an apparent dead end turns out simply to be a fork in the road. New possibilities unfold every day.

  Thirdly, struggle does not mean I have to bear it alone. I believe God provides companions to undergird me on the way, as well as challenge my false assumptions and biases. Occasionally, my fierce desire for independence blinds me to what my body is trying to tell me. In this experience, I, once again, learn the value of accepting assistance from others. That way, my finite energy can be channeled from mere survival into more productive avenues.

  I still do not have the macho panache of my childhood superhero, Zorro, but my right leg is permanently branded now with a “Z” to remind me to bring a thoughtful zest for life to the people I love and also to those who I am privileged to have in my circle of influence.

  Finally, I am thankful for many things―not least of which is that now, as an unexpected by-product of my treatment, I have legs as skinny as a sea gull’s! What more could I want?

  ---------------

  TWEETABLE