The Story of Scott. The Point of Beginning

Every morning Scott woke up not because he wanted to, but because he had to.
The alarm clock hit his head like a hammer.
Sleepy streets, the same bus ride, the same faces, the same meaningless small talk.
The office greeted him with cold light and endless tasks that never seemed to matter.

He pushed through it day after day: the fatigue, the early mornings, the reports, the meetings, the gossip. But instead of making him stronger, it drained him.
Life was leaking out of him, silently, drop by drop.

And yet deep inside, there was a longing — for something more.
He wanted to bring real value to people.
He wanted to feel alive again, like in childhood, when you could play for days and nights without ever growing tired, and still be happy.

But fear held him captive: fear of debts, fear of losing his job, fear of the unknown.
Above all, he feared the new.

One evening, exhausted and angry, Scott came home.
He dropped his bag on the floor, sliced bread in a hurry, opened the fridge, looking for a beer. But there was none.
And then, in the corner, he noticed a small gift from his friend — a packet of herbal tea.

His friend had picked the herbs himself, high in the mountains, where he had moved years ago.
Back then, everyone thought he was crazy: leaving the office, the career, the city.
But now this “madman” lived happily. He sent Scott messages, posted stories of gathering herbs, learning from shamans, laughing with his family.
He lived a simple life — but it was his own.

Scott brewed the tea.
He did it slowly, deliberately, almost ritualistically. He opened the packet, looked at the leaves, breathed in their scent. His thoughts kept rushing: “Hurry up,” “Tomorrow is work,” “You’re wasting time.”
But little by little, the noise faded.

He held the cup in his hands, felt its warmth, inhaled the aroma, took a sip…
And suddenly, tears began to flow.
First one. Then another. And then he couldn’t stop.

He wasn’t crying because of the tea.
He was crying because he realized: life was slipping away.
And he had never even tried to live the way he truly wanted.

Inside him a cry erupted:
“What do I want? Who have I become?”

And then, out of nowhere, a strange phrase surfaced in his memory, though he couldn’t recall where he had heard it:
“In the beginning there was a Brand. And the Brand was Meaning.”

He remembered himself as a child.
Drawing for hours, forgetting to eat. His grandmother pulling him away from the table so he would at least have dinner.
Falling asleep with pencils in his hands, waking up and immediately drawing again.
Whole worlds came alive in his sketches.

And at that moment, Scott decided:
— I will be an artist.
I will draw not what the market demands, but what I love.
I will build my own brand, step by step.
And when the time is right — I will leave this job behind.

He pulled out his old sketchbook.
He opened it, took a pencil, and drew a circle.
And in the center, he placed a dot.

It was the Point of Presence.

From that day on, Scott was no longer the same.
He drew in the mornings, before even getting dressed.
He drew on the subway, sketching strangers, sketching animals.
One day he drew a little dog and gave it to the owner. She burst into tears — not because of the drawing itself, but because of the care hidden within it.

He drew at the office too, during breaks, on napkins, on the backs of reports.
For his boss’s birthday, he painted a portrait. He worked on it for nights, and it turned out magnificent.
The boss showed it to his friends. They asked Scott for portraits of their wives, children, pets. They paid generously.

Scott lost track of time. He no longer woke up to an alarm clock — he woke up to inspiration.
He fell asleep with a pencil in his hand.
He shared reels and stories; people started recognizing his work.

And one day, there were so many commissions that Scott finally left his job.
Without fear. Without regret.
He thanked his old life for the roof and the bread — and let it go.

Now he lived differently: with lightness, inspiration, freedom.
He became known in small circles, but most of all — he was happy.

And one day, as he brewed that same mountain tea again, he smiled and remembered:

“In the beginning there was a Brand.
And the Brand was Meaning.”