The Hidden Lotus Blooms Twice

You stop growing—when you stop Growing.

I’m not trying to dump on anybody that works a normal 9 to 5. Especially in this economy, a 9 to 5 is absolutely vital.

The problem I had — and so many others had — was that the job started to define us. The job started to tell us exactly who to be. The pigeonhole cutout we all need to fit in. The costume we have to put on in the early hours of the morning before we head out. Commuting an hour. Some people, even more.

The issue that started to build on me was simple: I wasn’t achieving what I thought I could achieve. What I knew I could achieve.

The traditional path is seductive. You grow up in a household, you go to school, you earn your grades, you graft. Some people go into further education. Some go to college. Some quit school at fifteen, sixteen, and jump straight into work. Other people — their paths are a little bit intertwined and twisted.

But eventually you get to the point where you figure out, through experience or through talk, what you want to try and do. What you want to try and be. You slowly start crafting a path toward that dream occupation.

And the truth of the matter is — you can all do it. But it is a half truth. Because the hard work that follows eventually means it will pay off. In these days, that hard work is not so inevitable. Not so secure. Not as guaranteed as it was in our parents’ day, or even our grandparents’ day.

I came up in construction. And coming up in construction, you start to understand one thing: there isn’t as much security as you like to think there will be.

Yes, the bills are paid. It does pay a pretty penny depending on what you do. I came up specifically labouring — no qualifications, no trade. I got my green CSCS card, and from there I worked up the ladder. Made the right connections. Spoke to the right people. Worked hard.

I’m six foot three, two hundred and twenty pounds and physically fit. A lean black stallion, one could say.

But that still wasn’t enough.

After years of the same repetitive task, it started to slowly destroy my body. And after an injury at work — if you know construction, you know this — either you work, or you don’t work. Either you get paid through work, or you don’t get paid because you didn’t work. There’s no annual leave. No sick pay. No holiday pay. No security. It’s a cutthroat industry.

I always wanted to be a creative. I didn’t exactly know what I wanted to do in the creative field, but I knew I wanted to do something creative.

Initially, my passion started out as a painter. Watching documentaries on the greats — Basquiat, Andy Warhol, Banksy, Van Gogh, Kandinsky. Reading Orwell and other literary authors. My favourite film was Kill Bill. And watching these films would always inspire a sense of motivation. Not trying to be an assassin — but a motivation to create something that was truly part of the culture. A magnum opus. A piece of pulp fiction.

Unfortunately, I didn’t attain that dream.

After my injury, I decided to go back to university. And when I went back, I realised — I can do it.

To bring about a piece of creative work in your late twenties, early thirties, when you’ve got responsibilities, rent to pay. Rent is due. Rent is overdue. But even that didn’t stop me.

And this is where hard work follows the dream you always wished for yourself. Because without the hard work, a dream simply remains a dream. And the problem with that dream is it becomes torture — every single night, knowing you have to go to sleep and consistently dream about the environment, the lifestyle, the people you want to be around, the help you want to give, the work you’re about to produce.

That torture wasn’t enough. I couldn’t settle for that.

So I found my voice. I found my voice through university. Speaking to some of the most creative, most intelligent minds. Interesting characters, enigmatic, eccentric for sure. I was around people that were not gossiping about colleagues for no reason. Not trying to get you struck off because they simply didn’t like you. People that were cultured enough to understand my struggles, my walls, my ups and downs.

For once in a lifetime, I had the opportunity to put my work into a format that people could appreciate, understand, and endure.

They say the hidden lotus blooms twice. That was my second coming.

After I got my degree in Applied Humanities, I applied for jobs. I applied, I applied, I applied.

It wasn’t enough.

So I set my eyes on a book. A piece of literature I was able to write. At the time, I was no good at writing — I’ve got a lot better. But one thing I definitely was good at was editing. Anything underneath three hundred words? Concise, short, neat, absolutely stunning, beautiful. Anything above? It’s like the car starts to kaput. Making weird engine noises. Don’t know whether it’s the alternator or the belt, but either way, the car’s struggling to go along.

And when I decided to branch out and make Nikorow Labz, it was because of that articulation I had developed. The talent I started to compound on, started to capitalise on.

I wrote my first book and sold it with little to no marketing. Within the first two months, I made myself around a thousand pounds.

To many people, that’s not a lot. But to me, it gave me the thing I needed. Motivation. Wood for the fire. Burning.

So if there’s anything I can say about Nikorow Labz and what I’ve had to do to create this — it’s this:

Your best work lives inside of you. You just need to cultivate it.

And when it’s ripe and in bloom — you reap it.