How to Find Your Personal Monopoly
Lessons from watching 250 peers and myself on the journey
Loomings
In 1993, I wrote my college thesis on Moby Dick and never thought about it again. But in the summer of 2021, I started to recall the opening chapter. I was like the restless Ishmael, ready to knock hats off of people and walk behind funeral processions.
My head hurt from the divisive voices and rising tribalism in the world. I imagined renting billboards to deliver messages the world needed to hear. Professionally, I wanted a change. I'd spent 20 years helping founders identify their best opportunities. I helped them navigate or jumped in as CEO. But now, I wanted to work on a vision of my own.
If it were 200 years earlier, I would have loaded up the wagon and headed west. But it was 2021, so I headed out to the online frontier. I signed up for a 5-week online writing course that turned into a 2-year journey.
Longings
Many chapters in Moby Dick are tedious. This next section may feel that way for readers who haven't spent time staring at the stars and black holes of Twitter and other social platforms. Those readers should feel free to skim or skip to the last section. But if you know what it's like to stare at the online game and want to play, read on.
In 2014, I started logging into Twitter daily to help build an audience for our early-stage startup. You wouldn't see my faint feelings of envy and frustration as I logged in. I wanted to be like venture capitalist Andrew Chen, who would periodically ask if anyone could introduce him to X person, share Y data, or take 10-15 min to explain Z topic to him. Like magic, he'd obtain in an hour or two what he wanted.
I'll never forget when Andrew tweeted and asked if you'd rather have a million dollars or 30,000 high-quality followers. I instantly answered in my head: 30,000 high-quality followers. The majority of comments shared that view.
This all felt like another dimension of time and space. Every topic seemed to have emerging niche experts. These people all employed the model of giving away more than they received.
The Personal Monopoly
In 2018, Erik Torenberg started discussing Personal Moats for one's career. The idea was to stack skills into a unique combination that made you the most desirable person for a role.
A few months later, David Perell stopped me in my tracks. He called them personal monopolies.
Perell described how you could write online to share your unique wisdom within your domain and be recognized as the go-to expert. Your niche expertise came from combining your unique skills, experiences, and interests. You'd have virtually no competition because no one else can offer what you offer in the way you offer it.
I read David's writing multiple times. The term was irresistible to my brain. "Personal" meant something I owned and controlled. "Monopoly" conveyed freedom, financial security, and influence. A personal monopoly enables you to be you and is the real estate from which you launch a future product niche or brand.
Failure to Launch
I knew I could use my startup background to opportunistically plant a flag, create a personal brand, and seek "riches in the niches." But even if I could keep boredom away, eventually it would arrive, and I would either be trapped performing for my audience, or I would abandon them as my attention moved on.
I also realized that a personal monopoly was more than an economic concept in the accelerating creator economy. It was about finding that place in your heart and mind where you wanted to live for the next 10-20 years.
As much as I loved and understood the concept, two years went by, and I never saw an intellectual castle with a moat I believed I could or wanted to own for the long-term. The situation was maddening, and self-doubt crept in.
Purchasing Rocket Fuel
Shortly after coining the term, Perell launched an online writing course called Write of Passage. Two years later, I finally swiped my credit card for the course which now cost as much as a class at Harvard. I rationalized I wanted to be a rocket, and rocket fuel isn't cheap. I also hated spending money and knew I would do the work.
Liftoff
The course ended, and I had a website, three published essays, and enough knowledge to earn my space commander certificate. All I needed to do was hit the big red launch button and keep writing and publishing to fuel my journey. But I still didn't have the destination coordinates of my personal monopoly, and I don't do random.
In the weeks that followed, I drafted multiple essays on random topics. They all felt self-indulgent. I remember gathering the topics and looking across them, hoping they formed a telescope that showed a glimpse of heavenly personal monopoly light. What a cosmic joke.
Meanwhile, I watched with frustration, envy, and happiness as classmates' personal rockets lifted off one by one. Eventually, I knew nothing I published could feel worse than not publishing.
I finally said fuck it and pressed the big red button.
The Fuel to Reach Low Orbit
I started writing the first of 20 newsletters. Each took a grueling 6-8 hours because I was new. But by the 5th, I enjoyed writing it. By the 10th, I sensed I would make it. And by the 20th, I felt like I was floating freely in low earth orbit.
Old modes of thinking and emotions had lost their gravitational pull. True fan subscribers had helped me understand the value they derived from my writing. But I didn't sense the newsletter would take me where I wanted to go. So I stopped writing.
It felt like quitting, but my attention and energy had shifted. Something curious was happening with growing frequency.
A Telescope for Others
During those six months, I spoke with dozens of classmates and internet strangers. On every call, regardless of the original topic, I played what felt like a game. I looked at their LinkedIn profile, read their writing, heard what they said, and shared whatever bright or dim light that went off in my head.
In the first weeks of the cohort, I spoke with Christine Carrillo and sent a note saying she was the 10-Hour CEO. I later spoke with John Nicholas and blurted out he was the Accidental Actuary. I mirrored what I saw and channeled the 10X or 100X future versions I could see for them.
What felt effortless to me was more fun and emotionally rewarding than anything I had done before. The more I shined light on the path of others, the less I thought about my own personal monopoly path.
Over the next 18 months, I helped 250 students in various forums — as a mentor, accelerator leader, and through countless Zoom calls and DMs.
My Personal Monopoly
Looking back, it makes sense. I was using the same muscles I'd built up over 20 years to identify the best market opportunities for complex software. But what I was doing also felt more meaningful and personal.
I was helping people who had much to give to the world. My legacy would come from my personal monopoly of helping people understand their uniqueness and explore their best opportunities.
From Liftoff to Low Orbit
So you're probably muttering, "Ok, Whaling and Space Metaphors Guy, this is a nice story about how your personal monopoly emerged. What about mine?" Here are the first steps:
- Collect yourself. You've forgotten how much you know, what you've done, who you've helped. Start gathering feedback: performance reviews, thank you notes, requests to help. Notice what catches your attention and imagination.
- Write to clarify and reveal. You need to surface history and memories and connect ideas and emotions. The writing topic in the early days almost doesn't matter as long as every piece contains observational left-brain writing and personal, playful writing.
- Publish to recruit the helpers. You cannot find your personal monopoly on your own. You will need true fans and people who love you to describe what they see. The only way is to publish so the universe will notice and strangers will knock at your door.
- Help others from your most natural, authentic self. Your motivation to write can be 99% for yourself, but reserve 1% for helping the world. As you keep writing and sharing, your writing will help more people.
- Every space program has a support team. You want peers, editors, and partners. You'll need help getting off the ground, monitoring your progress, or grabbing you when you're tempted to jump out as your rocket violently shakes on its way to low orbit.
Once you reach low orbit, you'll know at a deep level that you can make the more extended voyage towards that piece of the internet you can call your own.