Two days after I surrendered, I met Michael in the library. By then, I knew we were both in Dorm D.

“How you doing, young man?” he asked.

“Well, not great. I just got to prison. Sort of off my game.”

“For how long?” he asked.

“Eighteen months.”

“Well, I will make a deal with you. I will serve every day of that sentence with you.”

Over the next few weeks, we began to communicate more, and I studied his deliberate routine. He would start early (like 3 am), write blogs and books, send the work home to his wife, Carole, run 10-15 miles, write more, teach a class in the warehouse behind the chow hall, mentor prisoners, write more, then go to bed at 7 pm, and then do it all again the next day. You had to see it to believe it. The work ethic was truly insane.

During visits, I used to tell my best friend and retired baseball player, Brad Fullmer, how impressed I was with Michael’s work ethic.

“I saw how hard you worked to get to the big leagues. He works 10 times harder than you.”

Brad was so impressed and inspired that he invested $40K in Michael’s advocacy efforts, helping set the stage for the courses Michael creates and implements in prisons across the country—more on this later.

After visiting Brad and other friends, I told Michael how thankful I was for their support.

“My friends and family no longer ask about prison, but rather what I will do when I leave. I want to learn more about what you do exactly. Can I join you in the quiet room and learn from you?”

“Sure,” Michael said.

For hours each day, we would talk, and I would ask Michael hundreds of questions about his background—how he had managed being in prison for so long, how he did it, how he got there, how he could be so happy in prison, how he got degrees, wrote books, got married, and built such a huge network.

Michael shared that his transformation began in a county jail in 1987 after reading The Trial of Socrates. He introduced me to concepts like reverse engineering, the quadrant theory, and the importance of being an individual thinker without fearing others’ opinions. He spoke of thinkers I had never heard of and explained how each one influenced his perspective. He laid out 10-year plans and showed his progress toward each goal within that framework.

I listened as he laid out his vision for prison reform and incentivizing excellence, which he detailed in Earning Freedom, a book he wrote in 2008, a decade before The First Step Act was passed.

I could not learn enough, but there were times Michael had had enough! The funniest part of the day was when Michael would say, “J.P., enough training and enough questions. I must continue my work now. Please leave the room!”

Michael would ask me questions about my preparations for sentencing, prison, and the entire investigation. At the time, he had aspirations to write a book called White Collar, and I think he was considering adding my story. He also questioned my adjustment to prison and some of the choices I was making.

Just after the 10:30 am standing count, around ten weeks into my prison term, Michael asked me, “Do you want to know something that every guy walking around this prison camp has in common?”

I looked at him. “That every guy here wants out?”

“True,” he acknowledged. “Every guy here would’ve liked to have made better decisions at the outset of his problems. Everyone who faces legal challenges for the first time makes decisions from a position of weakness. They rely upon defense attorneys, as they should. But there is much more to a criminal indictment than the judicial process. That’s what defendants don’t understand.”

“You’ve got that right,” I said. “All I cared about was getting out of trouble. But I did not know how, so I made choices that made matters worse. I didn’t even consider prison as an option. Later, after I was sentenced to 18-months, my attorney couldn’t prepare me because he didn’t know. All he said was prison would be boring and at some point they would release me.”

“Well, your lawyer was right about the boring part. Look at how many men spend their days in endless fun with T.V., tabletop games, exercise, and waste time reliving the glory days. You are no different. You might not watch T.V. all day or play games, but exercising all day with Andrew is just another way to pass the time. Yet, you think you are different because it is exercise, not T.V. It is the same—whether watching T.V. all day or exercising, you are not preparing to go home. Let me ask you: how much will people pay you to run or do those pull-ups? You talk about wanting a better life and making your mom proud, but on a scale of 1-10, with one being the lowest, what number would you give yourself?”

“One,” I said.

“Own it and prepare for more struggle. You should also prepare to encumber your parents’ retirement.”

Finally, it hit me—my “aha” moment.

The next day, my routine changed. Rather than exercise all day, I started writing and documenting my journey in a private journal. I did not just read; I read with a purpose.

At Michael’s urging, I began writing book reports:

• Why did I read the book?
• What did I learn from the book?
• How will the book help me after prison?

Feeling inspired with my new routine, I told Michael I was ready to do more. While walking around that dusty track, he suggested I put my journey online for others to learn from and to hold me accountable.

“I am out of phone minutes. When my mom visits on Friday, I will ask her to register JustinPaperny.com (now WhiteCollarAdvice.com). I will also mail her a letter today.”

Ten days later, with help from Michael, my first blog was up with a commitment to write every day until my release.

Thirty days later, I started getting scores of letters at mail call from people thanking me for providing a glimpse into life in a minimum-security camp.

On Thanksgiving day 2008, I asked Michael to help me write Lessons From Prison.

On May 13, 2009, one week before I was released, I received the book at mail call.

There was no official launch date for WCA, though I know it started on that day in 2008 when Michael helped me understand how my actions would continue to hurt me and my parents. 

What will it take to motivate you to act?