Making A Million Dollar

I did it. I actually did it. A million dollars. *A million.* The number on the screen—it’s not fake, it’s real, it’s there, and I’m staring at it like I’ve just seen God.

I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t care.

I’m shaking. My hands are vibrating like they’re plugged into a socket. I dropped my phone twice trying to screenshot it. I don’t even know what account I’m looking at anymore—bank, crypto, PayPal? Who cares. It’s all mine. It’s all real.

I screamed. No idea what came out of my mouth. Something like “YES YES YES YES YES!” And then I laughed. Then I cried. Then I screamed again. My neighbor pounded on the wall. I think I woke up the whole building. I don’t care. Let them hear it. Let them feel it. This is MY MOMENT.

I remember being seventeen, lying on that stained carpet in my parents’ basement, dreaming about this. Not joking. Just me, a bag of chips, and a notebook full of stupid ideas. People said I was delusional. Crazy. “You’ll never make it.” And now—I made it. I MADE IT.

I ran outside barefoot. Didn’t even put shoes on. I stood on the sidewalk screaming, “I DID IT! I DID IT!” Cars drove by. Some people looked annoyed. One guy honked. I flipped him off and laughed so hard I choked.

I called my mom. She started crying before I even said anything. Like she knew. Like she felt it. “Mom, we did it.” She whispered, “Baby, I always knew you would.” That broke me. I fell to my knees. Right there on the floor. Sobbing. Thanking her, thanking God, thanking everyone who ever believed in me—even when I didn’t believe in myself.

I opened every single app. Bank, Venmo, Coinbase, Cash App, Stripe, PayPal, everything. Just clicking, refreshing, checking numbers again and again like maybe one day it’ll disappear. But it doesn’t. It stays. It glows. It *shines*.

I texted my best friend: “We hit it.” He replied with an eggplant emoji. I threw my phone across the room. Then I picked it back up and texted him again: “I love you.”

I haven’t slept in 36 hours. Doesn’t matter. Sleep is for mortals. I’m floating. I’m flying. I’m alive in a way I’ve never been alive before.

I bought a bottle of champagne from the corner store. Paid cash. Tipped the guy $50. He looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I am. Maybe this is what insanity feels like. If it is—I want more.

I danced in my kitchen like a lunatic. Broke a plate. Didn’t care. I toasted no one in particular and drank straight from the bottle. Tasted like victory. Or maybe relief. Or both.

I’m thinking about buying a house. Or a car. Or ten cars. Or a private jet. Or a billboard in Times Square that says “I DID IT.”

I can’t stop smiling. My face hurts. My heart is pounding. I feel like I could run a marathon or write a book or start a revolution.

This wasn’t luck. This was years. Years of grinding, hustling, failing, crying, getting back up, scraping pennies together, working 20-hour days, eating ramen noodles for dinner, sleeping in chairs at airports, pitching to people who wouldn’t even look me in the eye—and now?

Now they’ll look.

Now they’ll listen.

Now I get to say, “I made it.”

No filter. No apology. Just pure, raw, uncut joy.

I’m not rich yet. Not really. Not soul-rich. That comes later. But today? Today I crossed a line. A line between dreamers and doers. And I’m on the right side.

I’m typing this and I can barely focus. Eyes blurry. Heart racing. Adrenaline surging like I just jumped off a cliff and sprouted wings mid-air.

This is it. This is the dream. Not the money. Not the stuff. But the moment. The moment where everything changes. Where you realize—you’re capable of anything.

I’m not scared anymore.

I’m not small anymore.

I’m not waiting.

I’m here.

And I made it.