I’ve noticed an interesting paradox in the past few years. On one hand, media commentators, researchers, and historians tell us the American Dream is dead. Some even go so far as to say it has become a nightmare, a mirage of materialism promising the false hope of personal fulfillment to everyone when in reality it only delivers to a few privileged powerbrokers. Most of these naysayers claim our country has already peaked as a world leader and is now in decline.

When our country was founded, however, the United States served as a land of opportunity, an untamed wilderness offering a better life than the lingering social caste system of feudal European countries, such as England and France, could provide. If people were willing to brave the voyage to America, risk facing its dangers and uncertainties, and work hard, then a better life potentially awaited them. The Declaration of Independence promised that “all men are created equal” with the right to “Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” Consequently, our great nation became the proverbial melting pot of various ethnicities and cultures, races and tribes. Even today in the 21st century, thousands of people enter the U.S. each year, and immigration—who and how many to allow into our country—remains a controversial issue.

Yet many people insist the American Dream has died somewhere over the course of the past two-hundred-plus years, that cultural cynicism has replaced the optimism upon which our country was built. But here’s the paradox: if the American Dream is dead, then why do so many people still yearn to enter our borders any way possible as they seek a better, fuller, more exciting, and satisfying life? Why do so many people seem determined to chase success and keep their dreams alive?

Everyone wants to be a winner, a success, a person who makes the most of their God-given talents, abilities, and opportunities to improve their own life and the lives of others. Maybe this is human nature and not something unique to our country. But I believe growing up in a land where someone without a college education can become a self-made billionaire through their talent and hard work creates a special atmosphere, a sense of possibility that underdogs can slay the giant odds against them by sheer will and tenacity.

Simply put, people love winning. From the ball field to the battlefield, from a board game to the boardroom, winning seems to be an integral part of being human. In fact, our brains are genetically hardwired to pursue winning. Whether we’re hunting wild animals to survive like our ancestors or chasing our next promotion on the corporate ladder or purchasing a raffle ticket, scientists tell us winning unlocks a flood of feel-good neurochemicals including dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin. Winning clearly has the power to make us feel good.

In the United States, along with many other countries, we are conditioned to compete from birth, in everything from academics to athletics and every extracurricular activity imaginable. In fact, researchers tell us children today feel more pressure to win at an earlier age (www.nytimes.com/2013/02/10/magazine/why-can-some-kids-handle-pressure-while-others-fall-apart.html). This pressure to win continues as young adults jockey for awards, scholarships, and admission to the best universities. After earning degrees, they then begin the lifelong process of competing for jobs. In the tumultuous economy of the past few years, such competition has often determined the difference between financial success or bankruptcy.

Even our primary leisure activities focus on winning. Spectator sports such as football, baseball, basketball, soccer, and auto racing have become billion dollar industries, each with its own particular championship title of “world’s best.” With video games, players can challenge other players as well as imaginary adversaries in their quest to advance to the next level where the pursuit of the winning cycle begins again. On TV there is a flood of reality shows focused on competition in every category: singing, cooking, decorating, modeling, and even dating. Whether by achievement or popular vote, or a combination of both, participants strive to win at any cost.

Yes, everyone wants to win, to succeed—but what does that mean in each of our lives? And just as important as succeeding, doesn’t it matter how you win? I’m convinced these two big questions are at the heart of what it means to be truly successful. Because chasing your American Dream is about more than having a better job, making more money, and buying more stuff. It’s about creating a balanced life of fulfillment, getting up each morning with a passion to face your day and live out your divine purpose. It’s about enjoying your family and the relationships around you, actively engaging in each other’s lives, taking time to talk with people and better yet, to truly listen to them. It’s about loving what you do and contributing to make the world a better place.

I’ve definitely not reached a level that’s anywhere close to perfect, but I have learned how to live in synchronicity with the way I’m made and the life I’ve been given. While there’s no magic formula or three easy steps, I believe seven areas of life require your attention, cultivation, and investment. I think of them as seven rings, sometimes overlapping and intersecting one another. More three-dimensional and dynamic than flat and static, these seven rings are not concentric like a bullseye or free-floating like bubbles. They are more like parts of an atom swirling around its nucleus or satellites orbiting a planet.

I’ve come to call them the “7 Rings of Life” and they’re mostly based on various experiences and events in my own life, which have often been painful and challenging. The older and wiser I’ve become (at least, I hope I’ve become), the more clarity I have received regarding the positioning of these rings. My roles as a son, a student, an employee, an employer, a husband, a father, and a follower of Jesus have all shaped my understanding of the 7 Rings. And the role that encompasses them best is probably that of entrepreneur, a word derived from the Old French word entreprendre, which means simply to undertake, typically something new and unknown, such as an ocean voyage or wilderness expedition.

So I would like to invite you to journey with me as I share the 7 Rings of Life and how they help me make the most of my life. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is offer another self-help, motivational book. We have plenty of those already, from the business-oriented get-rich-quick types by CEOs and celebrities to the more faith-based ones by pastors, counselors, and theologians. In my humble opinion, most of these books are too long, too wordy, and don’t often connect faith with business, politics with community, or financial success with humble service. And rarely are they authored by someone who has worked in all these areas. Many of us could benefit from a field guide, an overview of life’s terrain and how to navigate it smoothly. I wish I could have had such a guide when I was younger so now I’m simply sharing some of the ideas and lessons I have learned through the years.

That’s the purpose of this book.

I’m not writing it to be famous or make money or attract the attention of the media. I’m writing it to help people in ways that others helped me. And all the net sales proceeds from this book will be donated to a variety of worthy causes through the Brian Watson Foundation. As you’ll see, and as I hope I demonstrate in the pages to come, this book is about giving—to yourself, to your Creator, to your spouse, to your children, to your community, to our nation, and to our planet.

My goal is to simply share the real and sometimes painful experiences of someone who was raised in humble means, experienced the pain of two parents getting divorced, witnessed the unexpected death of his stepfather in front of him, built a successful commercial real estate investment company, and is a father of three and husband of almost two decades. I hope to convey the experience of a common man who has worked hard to pursue and reap the benefits of the real American Dream, and who works every day to help improve others’ lives and to create opportunities for everyone around me.

I sincerely hope you can be encouraged by my experiences, and that you may be able to create a model for your own life through some of the ideas I will share. Though your structure and prioritization, or even the rings themselves, may be different than mine, I challenge you to consider what they should be, thoughtfully and even prayerfully, as you implement them to create a life full of rich experiences, blessings, and the opportunity to love and serve others in love.

The last time I checked, none of us humans are getting off this planet alive in a physical form, as we each have a finite life to live in our current state. The question you must answer confronts you on a daily basis: what will you do with your life in the coming minutes, days, months and years? What do you want your legacy to be, and how does that include leaving this world a little better than you found it?

As I said, I don’t have all the answers, or even most of them, but I can come alongside you and share how I have come to answer those big questions and the actions I have taken as a result. If nothing else, I hope this book provides you with some thought-provoking, perspective-shifting ideas from another person who is traveling on this journey of life with you.

As you proceed through this book, you will notice seven quotes to consider under the heading “Ring of Truth” at the end of each chapter. They are designed to inspire you and to ignite your own sense of each ring and its importance in your life. From ancient scholars to modern leaders, these are quotes I especially appreciate and have curated for that chapter’s focus. By no means are these the only ones that could apply, but they are ones I believe you’ll find especially relevant and helpful.

At the end of each chapter, you will also find a few key questions and application exercises labeled “Ring of Honor.” Obviously, you will reap the most benefit if you actually take the time to complete them. I know we are all busy, but these questions are designed to have you think about the material and your own life situation in a deeper way. I’m convinced it’s better to be “proactive” rather than “reactive” in the world, and such planning will help you truly design your own life in a more proactive way. You are the architect of the life you want to live, and these questions and exercises will provide you with tools for your blueprint.

In addition, I encourage you to consider discussing the exercise questions with a friend, your significant other, or small group. They may help to spur some conversations that will not only benefit you, but could also deepen your friendship between each other, by allowing you to discuss topics and ideas that are often challenging to face. Whatever method you use, however you interact with the ideas that follow, I hope this book provides a positive impact in your life.

Your life is a precious and temporal gift that should not be squandered. Every minute and day counts, so make these the best that you can, as you only live once. With your own 7 Rings to guide you, you can make the most of your time here on earth.

Ready to get started? Then let’s look at the First Ring.

Looking back, I felt like my life had fallen off a cliff. One minute I was gaining ground toward new heights. In the next, the ground gave way beneath me, and I was left barely clinging to a sheer rock wall by my fingertips.

The economic downturn of 2008 left me and my company, Northstar Commercial Partners, like so many others, in a precarious place. I had worked my entire life to start Northstar, which I finally launched in 2000, and we were quickly becoming a large commercial real estate investment company with millions of square feet of office, retail, and industrial properties that we owned throughout America. But suddenly it all seemed in jeopardy.

The banking, mortgage, and real estate markets took some of the hardest hits, and because those all figure directly into our business, we were squarely in the line of fire. Loans were called in from lenders who felt insecure. Other institutions closed altogether. Some of our tenants cancelled their leases while others simply disappeared, bankrupt and unable to pay us.

But I had worked too hard to get to the level of success Northstar had achieved. I couldn’t simply give up, sit back, watch my dreams go down in flames. So together with our company’s legal counsel, who just happens to be my beautiful wife Patricia, we fought to survive. Each day and into the night, and sometimes the early morning, Patricia and I met with clients as well as our lenders, reviewed our properties, researched others, addressed foreclosure actions by lenders on a few of our investment properties, and spent thousands of hours going over our financials trying to develop solutions.

Our frantic efforts remind me of the scene in It’s a Wonderful Life when Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed, as the newly married George and Mary Bailey, are leaving Bedford Falls on their honeymoon. Only there’s a run on the banks due to the stock market crash, and they end up going back to the Savings and Loan, using their honeymoon cash to pay customers and stave off Mr. Potter. As the clock strikes 6 o’clock, they lock their office doors and realize they were miraculously still solvent—with all of two one-dollar bills.

Patricia and I lost all of our personal wealth during this period trying to keep all our employees paid and paying settled deficiencies on investment loans I had personally guaranteed. In fact, by the end we were literally millions of dollars in the hole, without much hope of digging out. I lost sleep and neglected my health as my wife and I dipped into all our personal savings to pay employees, creditors, and other obligations just to stay afloat. We had committed to keep going as long as we possibly could and refused to consider bankruptcy an option even though attorneys and many other people said we should do so and start over fresh with no debt. Maybe it was my pride and optimistic personality that wouldn’t allow me to quit, but I like to think it was the result of my moral values and spiritual faith.

Maybe one of the reasons I clung to my faith and trusted we would survive the recession stemmed from my upbringing and the obstacles I had already overcome. While I had experienced countless blessings, I had also suffered several heartbreaking losses—including my parents’ divorce, the death of my beloved stepfather, and the economic struggles that came from growing up in a middle class, hard-working family. You see, nothing was ever handed to me on a silver platter. I had worked so hard for so long, and it seemed that Northstar was at last on the brink of incredible success. And then the recession sent us spiraling downward, losing all the momentum we had gained.

Each day grew bleaker and bleaker, and soon it felt like we would have no choice but to close our doors. But I refused to give up. It’s simply not in my DNA. I didn’t know how, but I had to believe somehow, some way, we would survive this financial and personal ordeal. And not only survive it—but learn and grow from it.

Such a hopeful attitude may sound foolish to you, but let me back up and describe how I became, as I like to call it, an optimistic realist. Out of my past experiences, I developed the 7 Rings, and as the stormy waters began rising above my head, they were put to the test.

I was born in Middletown, New York, a picturesque small town about two hours northwest of The Big Apple. The year was 1971, and my parents, Carol and Bob Lambrigger, owned and operated Russell Brook Campground, a hunting preserve and rural campground, catering mainly to people seeking a break from the city. They raised pheasants, bred and showed bird dogs, built riding stables, and worked from sun-up to long after sunset taking care of a hundred campsites. This included mowing lawns, cleaning bathrooms, maintaining the swimming pool, running a small general store, conducting trail rides and hayrides for campers, and so much more. To say my parents were hardworking is an understatement; it was in their blood, and they passed this work ethic on to me.

Shortly after her birth, my mother was adopted into a family in Brooklyn. It was later suspected that her mother died during childbirth, and her grieving father put her up for adoption. Nothing more is known of her biological parents, although she grew up in a rich tradition with Jewish family members.

My father, on the other hand, knew his mother immigrated to America from Denmark, and his father came to this country from Switzerland. Like so many immigrants in the early 20th century, these two left everything they knew, including their family and friends, in pursuit of the American Dream. Because of their sacrifices, I am an heir to the dreams they planted and nurtured and have been blessed to see many of them come to fruition.

After landing in the U.S., my grandmother worked in the sweatshops of New York City as a milner making hats, while my grandfather was a hard laborer, boxer, and small business owner, eventually founding Lambrigger Moving Company. In fact, he met his future wife, my grandmother, while moving a piano for her. Unfortunately, I never met my grandfather as he died of a heart attack before I was born. I was fortunate to meet my grandmother, and to this day I enjoy baking homemade Danish cookies with my kids each Christmas, a family tradition she passed down to us.

After many years of working very hard and saving as much money as possible, my father’s parents moved to Roscoe, N.Y., in 1930 to build the “Little Switzerland of America,” which consisted of a few cabins along the Beaverkill River on Old Route 17. Soon travelers, outdoorsmen, and fly fishermen rented these cabins on their visits through the Catskill Mountains, and the place enjoyed a long history of operation.

Maybe it’s his entrepreneurial spirit, but I’ve always felt a connection with my grandfather, Constantine “Connie” Lambrigger. To this day, I keep an old black and white picture of my grandfather’s moving truck in my office, my grandmother standing in front of the old vehicle, with a sign that reads “Beer—15 ¢.” It is a reminder of the hardworking roots of self-sacrifice that my family came from, the history and genes of which still run through my blood.

Maybe their examples explain why I couldn’t simply give up my dream when the economy collapsed and threatened to take me down with it. I come from strong stock, who know what hard manual labor means and are always willing to work our hardest, especially in tough times. No one in our family was ever financially rich, but rather we were rich in the blessings of hard work, integrity, positive can-do attitudes, family, and community.

Like many people, I’ve had my share of devastating disappointments and trials with perhaps the first occurring when I was around eight. After 21 years of marriage, my parents decided to divorce. Needless to say, their breakup was very traumatic for me. Some of the fights, screaming, and arguments between them remain vivid in my memory still. Maybe my devoted commitment to family grew from seeds planted during this time. Based on their relationship, I knew one day I wanted my own family to be closer, kinder, and more loving.

When my parents separated and my father moved out of our home, my mother was left to run the campground. Overwhelmed by the responsibility, she hired a local man named Bill Watson to help oversee the operations at our campground. Bill worked at a local quarry, cutting stone in the Catskill Mountains. His nickname was the “Stone Duster” and he was a strong, capable man. After taking the job with us, he worked long hard days as there was so much to do to help in such an operation. Then one day my mother invited Bill to stay and eat dinner with us, and after several months of him occasionally joining us for a meal, she invited him to stay with us instead of making the long drive back to his place.

It wasn’t long then before they became a couple and soon married. I liked Bill and he treated me well. I also liked the kind, respectful, loving way he treated my mother. Not long after they started dating, Mom and Bill began discussing the possibility of a big move. Bill had a severe history of asthma, which was only aggravated by the climate of the Northeast. One of the main reasons for a move was to find a drier, cleaner climate to help reduce the growing number of his frequent asthma attacks.

In 1981, we moved to Montrose, Colorado. Their selection was based partly because they had visited Southwest Colorado to hunt for elk and thought it the most beautiful place they had ever seen, and in part because my mother had a friend in the area who wanted to build a large residential project that Bill could help develop, as he had construction experience.

On the night we finally arrived in Colorado, we learned that the development, which had planned to hire Bill, was not moving forward. I remember my mother and Bill discussing if they should stay in Colorado, or move to Phoenix, Arizona, where one of Bill’s brothers lived. After much consideration, they decided to try and make a life for themselves in Colorado, and I’m so glad they did.

After deciding to stay in Colorado, Bill established his own construction company. By this time I was a boy on the cusp of adolescence and old enough to help Bill with this new venture. This allowed me to learn about real estate first-hand, literally from the ground up. Though most of his projects were refurbishments of existing buildings, we also constructed some new buildings as well. Whether it be laying brick or stone, making a new cement patio, building an addition to a home, we worked long hard hours together. My main role was to carry bags of cement, mix the concrete so he could lay stone, and complete a host of other manual jobs; consequently, I learned a tremendous amount about work ethic, having your word be your bond, and the satisfaction of starting a job and finishing it with a quality result.

As I worked for Bill during my summer vacations from school and on the weekends, he told me that one day I would appreciate all I was learning: how to build with my own hands, how to envision and to create, and especially the value of working hard. Once again, the seeds were planted for what would become the 7 Rings. Hard work, self-sacrifice, entrepreneurship, and the desire to build something of lasting value were all developed in me from a very young age, through the wonderful example of my parents.

During this time I grew especially close to Bill. In fact, after a few years I asked Bill to adopt me, changing my last name to Watson. After settling in Colorado, we were finally a happy family, and enjoyed hunting, fishing, camping, hiking, riding horses, and spending vacations together. We built our own house as a family, literally nailing boards, stuffing insulation, and laying brick and stone by hand. My mother still lives in this same house now 33 years later, and each time I visit home I’m reminded of all the wonderful memories we built there together.

Overall, life was good even as I began to navigate the turbulent waters of being a teenager. Although we had never regularly attended church together before moving to Colorado, we started to do so. Bill eventually became a deacon in the Montrose Community Christian Church, and for the first time in my life, faith became a priority in our lives.

A few years later, in August 1985, my mother and Bill decided to increase our family by adopting a little girl from South Korea. My older sister Lisa lived back East, and my other sister Cindy would soon be graduating from high school and leaving for college. Our family’s new addition, only two and a half, became my sister Amanda, and I continue to cherish our relationship and love her like all of my other siblings. One year later, I learned I would soon have yet another new sibling. At the age of 42, my mom was pregnant! Yes, indeed, the only constant in life is change.

On a frosty January day in 1988, I was getting ready for school when Bill asked me to complete some additional chores. Already in a grumpy mood that day, I balked. Bill and I had one of our rare arguments, and we both left the house with it unresolved. Feeling badly about how I had acted, at basketball practice that evening I bought Bill a team t-shirt as a way of apologizing. He still wasn’t home when I went to bed, and I left the t-shirt and a note on the counter for him. Little did I know, he would never read my words or wear that shirt.

Later that night my mom rushed in and woke me, desperately needing my help. Upon walking out to our kitchen, I saw Bill bracing himself against the counter with both arms outstretched, where inhalers and various medicine bottles were strewn before him. He was struggling to breath, gasping for air, with the sound of each raspy breath being forced through his throat.

Apparently, he had gone to a meeting in Grand Junction that afternoon, about an hour away, at a client’s house. The home included several pet cats, and Bill’s exposure to them triggered a severe asthma attack. Rather than heading to the nearest hospital, Bill decided to make the hour drive home. By the time he had reached our door, the asthma attack was in advanced stages.

Upon seeing him struggling, I helped carry Bill to the car so my mother could drive him to the Montrose Community Hospital. Soon after they drove away, my mother frantically pulled back into the driveway as Bill could not breathe since his diaphragm was further constricted as he sat in the passenger seat next to her. So I helped to carry Bill back into our house, and minutes later as we waited for the ambulance, he collapsed on the floor in front of me.

These memories remain so vivid. I remember the medics finally arriving, the mad dash to the hospital, and then the moment the doctor came out of the hospital room to inform us Bill had died. Upon hearing the news, my mother collapsed into my arms, weeping that her beloved husband was so unexpectedly taken away from her. Being only 16, I did not know what to say or do, so I simply held her. Everything about that night seemed surreal, too painful to process, wrenching.

For a long time afterward, I felt a gaping hole in my heart and soul, and if you have ever lost a close loved one, you know what I mean. Many months after his death, I would sit alongside Bill’s grave, weeping, while other days I hoped he would walk through our front door and we’d all be a happy family together again. But he was gone.