Will Smith - Will

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Just the Two of Us (Will Smith Rap Version)

Words and Music by Ralph MacDonald, William Salter, Bill Withers, and Will Smith

1998 BMG Ruby Songs (ASCAP) / Antisia Music Inc. (ASCAP)

All Rights Administered by BMG Rights Management (US) LLC.

Used by Permission. All Rights Reserved.

Yvette by Grandmaster Caz, 1985 Curtis Brown

La Loba from Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Ests, Ph.D., copyright 1992, 1995 by Clarissa Pinkola Ests, Ph.D. Used by permission of Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC and Clarissa Pinkola Ests, Ph.D. All rights reserved.

Go See the Doctor

Words and Music by Mohandas Dewese

Copyright 1986 by Universal Music - Z Songs

International Copyright Secured. All Rights Reserved.

Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard LLC.

Hold It Now Hit It

Words and Music by Rick Rubin, Adam Horovitz, Adam Yauch, and Michael Diamond

Copyright 1986 AMERICAN DEF TUNE, UNIVERSAL - POLYGRAM INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING, INC. and BROOKLYN DUST MUSIC

All Rights for AMERICAN DEF TUNE Controlled and Administered by UNIVERSAL MUSIC CORP.

All Rights for BROOKLYN DUST MUSIC Controlled and Administered by UNIVERSAL - POLYGRAM INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING, INC.

All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard LLC.

My Adidas

Words and Music by Darryl McDaniels, Joseph Simmons, and Rick Rubin

Copyright 1986 PROTOONS, INC.

All Rights Controlled and Administered by UNIVERSAL MUSIC CORP.

All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard LLC.

Illustration credits appear on .

ISBN 9781984877925 (hardcover)

ISBN 9781984877932 (ebook)

ISBN 9781984879868 (international edition)

COVER DESIGN BY DARREN HAGGAR

COVER ART BY BMIKE BASED ON A PHOTOGRAPH BY BRIAN BOWEN SMITH

BOOK DESIGN BY LUCIA BERNARD, ADAPTED FOR EBOOK BY SHAYAN SAALABI

Some names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.

pid_prh_5.8.0_c0_r0

CONTENTS

THE WALL

W hen I was eleven years old, my father decided he needed a new wall on the front of his shop. It would be a big wall: roughly twelve feet high by twenty feet long. The old wall was crumbling, and he was sick-o-lookin at it. But rather than hire a contractor or construction company, he thought it would be a good project for my younger brother, Harry, and me.

Daddio did the demolition. I remember looking at that gaping hole in excruciating disbelief. I was utterly certain that there would never be a wall there ever again.

Every day for nearly a year, my brother and I would go to my fathers shop after school to work on that wall. We did everything ourselves. We dug the footing, mixed the mortar, and carried the buckets. I still remember the formula: two parts cement, one part sand, one part lime. Harry was in charge of the hose. Wed mix the pile with shovels out on the sidewalk and then fill two-gallon buckets and lay our separate bricks. We did it without any rebar or wood forms, just one of those levels with the water bubble in the middle.

If you know anything about construction, you know this is a loony-ass way to do this. If we can keep it real, this is chain-gang kinda labor. Today we would just call Child Protective Services. This is a job so tedious and unnecessarily long that what ended up taking two kids most of a year would have only taken a team of grown men a couple of days, at most.

My brother and I worked weekends, holidays, vacations. We worked through the summer that year. It didnt matter. My father never took a day off, so neither could we. There were so many times I remember looking at that hole, totally discouraged. I couldnt see how this was ever going to end. The dimensions became unfathomably large in my mind. It seemed like we were building the Great Wall of West Phillybillions of red bricks stretching infinitely into some distant nowhere. I was certain that I would grow old and die still mixing concrete and carrying those buckets. I just knew it.

But Daddio wouldnt let us stop. Every day, we had to be there, mixing concrete, carrying buckets, laying bricks. It didnt matter if it was raining, if it was hot as hell, if I was mad, if I was sad, if I was sick, if I had a test the next daythere were no excuses. My brother and I tried to complain and protest, but it made no difference to Daddio; we were trapped. This wall was a constant; it was permanence. Seasons changed, friends came and went, teachers retiredbut the wall remained. Always, the wall remained.

One day, Harry and I were in a particularly stank mood. We were dragging our feet and grumbling, impossible this and ridiculous that.

Whyd we have to build a wall for, anyway? This is impossible. Its never gonna get done.

Daddio overheard us, threw down his tools, and marched over to where we were yapping. He snatched a brick out of my hand and held it up in front of us.

Stop thinking about the damn wall! he said. There is no wall. There are only bricks . Your job is to lay this brick perfectly. Then move on to the next brick. Then lay that brick perfectly. Then the next one. Dont be worrying about no wall. Your only concern is one brick .

He walked back into the shop. Harry and I looked at each other, shook our heads This dudes a kook and went back to mixing.

S ome of the most impactful lessons Ive ever received, Ive had to learn in spite of myself. I resisted them, I denied them, but ultimately the weight of their truth became unavoidable. My fathers brick wall was one of those lessons.

The days dragged on, and as much as I hated to admit it, I started to see what he was talking about. When I focused on the wall , the job felt impossible. Never-ending. But when I focused on one brick , everything got easyI knew I could lay one damn brick well....

As the weeks passed, the bricks mounted, and the hole got just a little bit smaller. I started to see that the difference between a task that feels impossible and a task that feels doable is merely a matter of perspective. Are you paying attention to the wall? Or are you paying attention to the brick? Whether it was acing the tests to get accepted into college, hitting it big as one of the first global hip-hop artists, or constructing one of the most successful careers in Hollywood history, in all cases, what appeared to be impossibly large goals could be broken down into individually manageable tasksinsurmountable walls comprised of a series of conceivably layable bricks.

For my entire career, I have been absolutely relentless. Ive been committed to a work ethic of uncompromising intensity. And the secret to my success is as boring as it is unsurprising: You show up and you lay another brick. Pissed off? Lay another brick. Bad opening weekend? Lay another brick. Album sales dropping? Get up and lay another brick. Marriage failing? Lay another brick.

Over the past thirty years, like all of us, I have dealt with failure, loss, humiliation, divorce, and death. Ive had my life threatened, my money taken away, my privacy invaded, my family disintegratedand every single day, still, I got up, mixed concrete, and laid another brick. No matter what youre going through, there is always another brick sitting right there in front of you, waiting to be laid. The only question is, are you going to get up and lay it?