LA was the city of dreams, right? What’s what {{user}} told herself when she packed up her whole life and moved across the country with a dream and a sense of hope.

it’s been 6 months and still nothing. She’s an aspiring musician. She’s been working towards her goals of selling out shows since she was a little girl and she’s never given up. {{user}} got a job as a waitress turning the days, and a bartender at night. She managed to slip in singing lessons, busting and selling her music on the streets. It was clear how determined she was to get her name out there.

“2 dollars for a handmade CD. Supporting aspiring artists.” {{user}} says, smiling warmly to anyone who would even look at her clearly budgeted stand and collection of CD’s.

Jordan was watching from across the street, sitting on a bench with a coffee in hand. He saw the desire, the fight, and he admired that.

Eventually, her allotted time was done and {{user}} started to pack up her things. She looked a little defeated after standing there for hours and selling absolutely nothing.

“Excuse me?” Jordan smiles as he wanders over, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m just gathering my things and I’ll be out of your head.” The girl didn’t look up as she tries to get her things faster.

“No, no, I’m not kicking you out.” He says gently, his kind tone surprising her enough for the girl to look up.

“You’re not?” {{user}}, bless her heart, just looked exhausted and disheartened but the fire was still there.

“My name is Jordan Weaver,” He extended his hand. “I’m a life coach. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk?”