{"id":84769,"date":"2026-06-28T09:22:53","date_gmt":"2026-06-28T09:22:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769"},"modified":"2026-06-28T09:22:53","modified_gmt":"2026-06-28T09:22:53","slug":"look-at-this-scar-and-tell-me-i-havent-paid-my-dues-i-shouted-the-champagne-glass-shattering-around-me-standing-in-my-designer-gown-i-finally-revealed-my-darkest-secret-to-high-society-my-j","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769","title":{"rendered":"“Look at this scar and tell me I haven’t paid my dues!” I shouted, the champagne glass shattering around me. Standing in my designer gown, I finally revealed my darkest secret to high society. My journey started with a simple sandwich for a homeless woman, but the absolute truth they discovered tonight changes everything."},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

\n

Part 1<\/h3>\n

My name is Kira Bennett, and I know what exhaustion tastes like. It\u2019s the bitter, metallic tang after a fourteen-hour shift at a high-end Manhattan bistro, where your soul is measured by the quality of your tips. My feet weren\u2019t just aching; they were scream-singing a chorus of agony. But in my backpack, pressed close, was the singular beacon of light at the end of this tunnel: a turkey club sandwich I\u2019d snagged from the staff meal, wrapped in foil and smelling like salvation. It was going to be my dinner, my midnight snack, and my breakfast. That single foil-wrapped treasure meant I could afford my rent.<\/p>\n

As I pushed through the heavy glass doors into the biting November wind, the cold didn\u2019t just hit me; it stabbed me. The wind tunnels between the skyscrapers were a punishment, and my cheap winter coat was a joke. I huddled deep, marching with the determined speed of a woman with a purpose and very little patience.<\/p>\n

But when I reached the bus stop across the street, my steps faltered. The light of the lone streetlamp caught her. She was huddled on the bench, not in a coat, but in a chaotic, desperate pile of blankets, rags, and discarded newspapers. She was shaking, a rhythmic, violent shivering that made her look like she was about to rattle herself to pieces. She looked up, and for one fraction of a second, our eyes met. Hers were hollow, impossibly old, and filled with a cold that I couldn\u2019t even begin to imagine.<\/p>\n

I felt the sandwich in my backpack. My belly twisted. This was my food for the next twelve hours. This was the difference between an empty stomach and a full one. I took one more step, the cold wind whipping my face. I should just keep going. I was a single mom, surviving. I had nothing to spare. But my hands were already moving. I pulled off my backpack, unzipped it, and held out the warm, foil-wrapped sandwich. She didn’t move, her eyes wide with a combination of suspicion and disbelief. “It\u2019s good,” I said, my voice barely a whisper against the wind. Her hands, rough and calloused, slowly uncurled, ready to take it. And that was when I felt it. Not just the cold, but a gaze. I didn\u2019t see him, I didn’t see the car, but a deep, primal chill ran down my spine, more terrifying than any winter wind. Someone was watching us. And I knew, with an absolute, terrifying certainty, that my life would never be the same. I just didn’t know if that was a promise or a threat. I handed her the sandwich, turned, and without looking back, sprinted back toward the relative safety of the restaurant, my heart hammering a drumroll of pure, unadulterated terror.<\/p>\n

I thought giving that sandwich was just an act of desperation. I had no idea my every move was being tracked. The most dangerous game wasn’t on that cold street, it was just beginning. The rest of the story is below \ud83d\udc47<\/p>\n

Part 2<\/h3>\n

My heart wasn\u2019t just beating; it was a captured bird fluttering in the cage of my ribs, trying to make a prison break. Option A’s terror or Option B’s window, the final act was the same: a moment of frozen, perfect, absolute fear. The black limousine, or the phantom gaze, it felt like my entire life had just been put under a microscope and the lens was about to crush me.<\/p>\n

For the next twenty-four hours, the paranoia was a low-grade fever. Every set of headlights that followed the bus too closely made me jump. Every shadow in my tenement\u2019s hallway was a threat. I hugged my daughter too tightly, my one true compass in the storm, and I didn’t tell a soul about the old woman or the phantom gaze. Because if I was being watched, I was sure as hell not going to draw attention.<\/p>\n

The next night\u2019s shift was a grind. The air in the restaurant felt thin, a high-voltage current of nervous energy. The managers were running in circles, their eyes wide and their voices tight. I was on the brink of another epic, ten-hour spiral when a hostess, eyes as large as saucers, practically shoved me into the back hall. “He\u2019s asking for you,” she hissed, her voice trembling. “The CEO. The whole-thing<\/i> CEO. Carlile. He wants to see you. Now.”<\/p>\n

My stomach didn’t just drop; it evaporated. Adrien Carlile. His name was more than just a brand; it was a global empire of data, finance, and raw, absolute power. He was the kind of person you read about, not the kind you met, and certainly not the kind who asked for you<\/i> at your crappy waitressing job.<\/p>\n

I was escorted not to the dining room, but to the VIP lounge, a space so pristine and silent it felt like a museum exhibit. And there he was. Adrien Carlile was forty-six years old, built with the clean, sharp lines of a man who didn’t just have money, but owned the systems that created it. He wore a suit that probably cost more than my apartment, and when he turned, his eyes didn’t just look at me\u2014they dissected me.<\/p>\n

“Kira Bennett,” he said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that was both comforting and terrifying. “The woman who gave a saint her dinner.”<\/p>\n

My confusion must have been a neon sign. “A saint?” I managed, my voice a cracked whisper.<\/p>\n

He pulled a small, expensive leather-bound book from his pocket and laid a single, tattered photo on the low glass table between us. I gasped. It was the old woman from the bus stop. “Her name is Margaret Ellis,” he said, his eyes a steel trap, tracking my every reaction. “She\u2019s the most important woman in the world to me. And also, for a long time, the hardest to find. She helped my family when we had nothing but a hope and a prayer. And she\u2019s also very, very proud. She\u2019s refused every single offer of assistance I\u2019ve tried to give her for twenty years. But she took your sandwich.”<\/p>\n

This was the twist. The old woman wasn’t just another faceless ghost in the city’s machine. She was the one connection, the one key to the most powerful man I’d ever seen. “Why… why are you telling me this?” I stammered, my terror being replaced by a terrifying, new, high-octane flavor of ambition.<\/p>\n

“Because character is a currency that never devalues,” Adrien said, his eyes now a warm, focused light. “Money is easy to find, connections are even easier. But a heart that gives when it has nothing? That\u2019s rare. You don’t know it, but Margaret has a mind like a steel trap and a sense of integrity that’s absolute. And she’s also a partner. She\u2019s agreed to take my help, on one condition: that I help you<\/i>. She will accept a life of comfort and care, if<\/i> I give you a path.”<\/p>\n

He reached for a thick, heavy cream envelope and held it out. “This is not a payoff, Ms. Bennett. It\u2019s an investment. In that envelope is a letter from Margaret. And also, a formal invitation to our entire leadership development program. Full scholarship. Full salary. Full mentorship. Everything you would ever need. You can keep working this job, or you can step through this door and use that character of yours to change the world. It\u2019s your move.”<\/p>\n

I stared at the envelope. This wasn\u2019t an offer; it was a revolution. My whole life, I\u2019d been running to catch the bus, running to make rent, running to keep my head above water. This was an invitation to stop running and start leading. I felt the weight of it, the possibility of it. But my heart also screamed a warning. A billionaire didn’t get to be a billionaire by giving things away for free. And the question was: what did Adrien Carlile and Margaret Ellis really want from me?<\/p>\n

If you’ve read this far, don’t hesitate to leave a like and comment before reading part 3. It makes us as happy as reading a complete story! Thank you. \ud83d\udc4d\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>\n

Part 3<\/h3>\n

The envelope felt heavier than a gold bar in my hand. Inside was a hand-scribbled note in cramped, shaky script. “Thank you, child, for seeing me when the whole world was too busy to look. This isn’t charity. It\u2019s a job description. Signed, Margaret.”<\/i> And next to it, the official, embossed invitation to the Adrien Carlile Global Leadership Institute.<\/p>\n

I didn’t just walk out of the restaurant; I felt like I was being propelled forward by a high-speed engine. For the first time, I didn’t see a bus stop and worry about the cold; I saw a platform of opportunity. But the transition was anything but a fairy tale.<\/p>\n

The Institute was a whole other world. My classmates were geniuses, MBAs from top-tier universities, veterans of foreign wars, and entrepreneurs who\u2019d built and sold their first companies before they were thirty. They spoke a different language of financial modeling, game theory, and strategic disruption. I felt like a spy in a tuxedo, sure that any moment the alarms would blare and I\u2019d be escorted back to the service door.<\/p>\n

My nights were no longer fourteen-hour spirals of exhaustion; they were sleepless, caffeine-fueled deep dives into concepts that made my brain bleed. I was the first one in, the last one out, a ghost in the study hall, my mind a war zone of impostor syndrome and a desperate, driving need to prove that my place here was earned. I didn’t just want to be here; I needed to be great, because I had to be worthy of that sandwich, and of Margaret’s trust. I took every single piece of feedback as a personal attack on my capability, every lesson as a puzzle I had to solve not to pass, but to survive.<\/p>\n

A year later, the real test arrived. The Capstone Presentation. This was the moment. Five finalists would present their leadership philosophy and a global strategy to a panel of top-level executives, investors, and Adrien Carlile himself. A billion dollars in resources were on the line. The others presented intricate, data-driven strategies about algorithmic trading, AI-integrated logistics, and carbon-credit trading. They were brilliant, polished, and utterly devoid of soul.<\/p>\n

My presentation was different. I stood before the most powerful people in the world, not in a cheap coat, but in a tailored suit that made me feel like I was wearing armor. I didn’t have a presentation full of jargon and statistics. I put a simple, single photo on the screen: a close-up of my own worn-out serving shoes from my first night.<\/p>\n

I spoke about my time on the street, not as a victim, but as an observer. “The biggest challenge in the world isn\u2019t a lack of resources,” I said, my voice strong, no longer a broken whisper. “It\u2019s a lack of connection. We build a city of glass and algorithms to protect ourselves, and in the process, we have made it so that we cannot see each other. My strategy for a new kind of business isn\u2019t based on disruptive data, but on a disruptive connection. It\u2019s on a leadership philosophy of ‘Dignity.’ Not that we are giving people things, but that we are giving them back the part of themselves that the world took away. My first investment was a twenty-dollar turkey club, and it paid off with a world of opportunity, because for one fraction of a second, I treated another human being as a peer, not a problem.”<\/p>\n

The room was so quiet I could hear the hum of the ventilation. I looked at the panel, at the billionaires and CEOs who could destroy a company with a single tweet, and I saw something I hadn\u2019t expected. I saw a spark of a connection. Not just a like or an opinion, but a raw, unfiltered recognition. I didn\u2019t just win the capstone; I didn’t just get the resources. I was the clear, undeniable winner of the entire year’s program.<\/p>\n

My true victory, though, wasn’t a resource or a title. A month later, on my first day in my new office with a window that overlooked the very street where I\u2019d stood with the sandwich, a simple, black town car pulled up. Out walked Margaret. She wasn’t in rags; she was in a simple, elegant gray dress, and her eyes, though still hollow with age, were filled with a warm, unwavering light.<\/p>\n

She didn’t look at the expensive view or the new job. She walked right up to me, took my hand, and looked me in the eye. “Thank you, my dear,” she said, her voice stronger than I remembered. “Because of you, I’m not a ghost anymore. And I want you to know, the true reward of that night… it wasn’t the sandwich. It was that you sat down and talked to me. You made me feel like I had worth. Because ‘Bread, anyone can give, but to bestow dignity, very few can do that.'”<\/p>\n

What do you think of this story? Please leave a like and share your thoughts in the comments. Your support means a lot to us and inspires us to keep writing more meaningful and powerful stories. Thank you! \ud83d\udc4d\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Part 1 My name is Kira Bennett, and I know what exhaustion tastes like. It\u2019s the bitter, metallic tang after a fourteen-hour shift at a high-end Manhattan bistro, where your soul is measured by the quality of your tips. My feet weren\u2019t just aching; they were scream-singing a chorus of agony. But in my backpack, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":84770,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"tdm_status":"","tdm_grid_status":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-84769","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-purpose"],"yoast_head":"\n"Look at this scar and tell me I haven't paid my dues!" I shouted, the champagne glass shattering around me. Standing in my designer gown, I finally revealed my darkest secret to high society. My journey started with a simple sandwich for a homeless woman, but the absolute truth they discovered tonight changes everything. - Purposeful Days<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\""Look at this scar and tell me I haven't paid my dues!" I shouted, the champagne glass shattering around me. Standing in my designer gown, I finally revealed my darkest secret to high society. My journey started with a simple sandwich for a homeless woman, but the absolute truth they discovered tonight changes everything. - Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Part 1 My name is Kira Bennett, and I know what exhaustion tastes like. It\u2019s the bitter, metallic tang after a fourteen-hour shift at a high-end Manhattan bistro, where your soul is measured by the quality of your tips. My feet weren\u2019t just aching; they were scream-singing a chorus of agony. But in my backpack, […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Purposeful Days\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-06-28T09:22:53+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Woman_with_scar_confrontation_pe\u2026_202606281619.jpeg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"558\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1000\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Phong Nguyen\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Phong Nguyen\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"10 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769\",\"name\":\"\\\"Look at this scar and tell me I haven't paid my dues!\\\" I shouted, the champagne glass shattering around me. Standing in my designer gown, I finally revealed my darkest secret to high society. My journey started with a simple sandwich for a homeless woman, but the absolute truth they discovered tonight changes everything. - Purposeful Days\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Woman_with_scar_confrontation_pe\u2026_202606281619.jpeg\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-06-28T09:22:53+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/4bbf0aec017fee1fb5027b7c39e98951\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Woman_with_scar_confrontation_pe\u2026_202606281619.jpeg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Woman_with_scar_confrontation_pe\u2026_202606281619.jpeg\",\"width\":558,\"height\":1000},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"“Look at this scar and tell me I haven’t paid my dues!” I shouted, the champagne glass shattering around me. Standing in my designer gown, I finally revealed my darkest secret to high society. My journey started with a simple sandwich for a homeless woman, but the absolute truth they discovered tonight changes everything.\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/\",\"name\":\"Purposeful Days\",\"description\":\"\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/4bbf0aec017fee1fb5027b7c39e98951\",\"name\":\"Phong Nguyen\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9e2b64a6c1ed5f8027bfe6755272684b8d3b9607a7de613d6bdb22d00442333c?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9e2b64a6c1ed5f8027bfe6755272684b8d3b9607a7de613d6bdb22d00442333c?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Phong Nguyen\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\"],\"url\":\"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=3\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"\"Look at this scar and tell me I haven't paid my dues!\" I shouted, the champagne glass shattering around me. Standing in my designer gown, I finally revealed my darkest secret to high society. My journey started with a simple sandwich for a homeless woman, but the absolute truth they discovered tonight changes everything. - Purposeful Days","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"\"Look at this scar and tell me I haven't paid my dues!\" I shouted, the champagne glass shattering around me. Standing in my designer gown, I finally revealed my darkest secret to high society. My journey started with a simple sandwich for a homeless woman, but the absolute truth they discovered tonight changes everything. - Purposeful Days","og_description":"Part 1 My name is Kira Bennett, and I know what exhaustion tastes like. It\u2019s the bitter, metallic tang after a fourteen-hour shift at a high-end Manhattan bistro, where your soul is measured by the quality of your tips. My feet weren\u2019t just aching; they were scream-singing a chorus of agony. But in my backpack, […]","og_url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769","og_site_name":"Purposeful Days","article_published_time":"2026-06-28T09:22:53+00:00","og_image":[{"width":558,"height":1000,"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Woman_with_scar_confrontation_pe\u2026_202606281619.jpeg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Phong Nguyen","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Phong Nguyen","Est. reading time":"10 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769","name":"\"Look at this scar and tell me I haven't paid my dues!\" I shouted, the champagne glass shattering around me. Standing in my designer gown, I finally revealed my darkest secret to high society. My journey started with a simple sandwich for a homeless woman, but the absolute truth they discovered tonight changes everything. - Purposeful Days","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Woman_with_scar_confrontation_pe\u2026_202606281619.jpeg","datePublished":"2026-06-28T09:22:53+00:00","author":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/4bbf0aec017fee1fb5027b7c39e98951"},"breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Woman_with_scar_confrontation_pe\u2026_202606281619.jpeg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/Woman_with_scar_confrontation_pe\u2026_202606281619.jpeg","width":558,"height":1000},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?p=84769#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"“Look at this scar and tell me I haven’t paid my dues!” I shouted, the champagne glass shattering around me. Standing in my designer gown, I finally revealed my darkest secret to high society. My journey started with a simple sandwich for a homeless woman, but the absolute truth they discovered tonight changes everything."}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#website","url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/","name":"Purposeful Days","description":"","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/4bbf0aec017fee1fb5027b7c39e98951","name":"Phong Nguyen","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9e2b64a6c1ed5f8027bfe6755272684b8d3b9607a7de613d6bdb22d00442333c?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/9e2b64a6c1ed5f8027bfe6755272684b8d3b9607a7de613d6bdb22d00442333c?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"Phong Nguyen"},"sameAs":["http:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org"],"url":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/?author=3"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84769","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=84769"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84769\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":84771,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/84769\/revisions\/84771"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/84770"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=84769"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=84769"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/purpose.lifestruepurpose.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=84769"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}