Believe Beyond the Pattern

 

Its never strange how life goes. Not when you look at your past, or the past of others, and find the patterns of why the same things happen over and over.

Why can’t I find the right girl?
Why do I feel bad about myself?
Why can’t I get ripped?
What’s wrong with me?

Its because you aren’t changing. Your actions are the same. There may be different words, different people, different places, but you are still pussing out from talking to the hottie next to you. You’re still refusing to even do a set of push-ups every few days. You’re still not sleeping enough, drinking too much, trolling your ex’s Facebook.

Its all the same pattern.

Somewhere down that line that runs into all your past actions, there was something that said, “Do this and feel better.” You had a bad day, a break-up, some kind of trauma and you fixed it with fast food, drugs, alcohol, games, or any other of the millions of things we have now to avoid having to feel pain.

Want to break this pattern? Want to start, slowly, but surely, changing yourself and eventually get to your goals?

Start with your most treasured vice. The thing you go to anytime the world drops a bit of rain on your parade, and THROW IT AWAY.

End it. Kill it. Stop doing it with extreme prejudice. And replace it with something you want to improve: social skills, muscles, tech skills. Anything, anything, but what you used to do.

This is how we change. We recognize our faults, we eat our pride and we move beyond the destructive pattern we’ve held on to for comfort for years.

This is how we live.

 

If I Had A Heart (The Itch)

___
This will never end
‘Cause I want more
More, give me more
Give me more
___

You feel that itch. It can start on the skin, or just under, and it spreads. Arms, legs, hands, feet, fingers, nails; all up and all down until its consumed you. You’ve got to do something. You can’t just sit there, you’ve got to get up. Clean something, make something, do push ups, eat, drink, fuck. Something! The itch is overwhelming. Sitting at home, at your desk, listening to your girlfriend drone on and on with her friends at a “party”. God-fucking-dammit, you’ve got to disappear. Nothing feels right until you’re out in the real air, on a mission, to do ANYTHING, but what you were just doing.

I used to think there was something wrong with me. I would get bored easily of something, move on to something else of interest, get bored of that, move, move, move. I must be sick in the head, I must be lazy or unmotivated. I got told that this or that is out of place, that I must keep up with everyone else (“keep up” being used as a term for “same”), I can be so much more.

What is “more”? What is this goal I’m supposed to attain? The grand endgame of the life of a decently fit, white, western male…

This?

Or this?

Been there, done that.

None of that interests me.

You know why people get bored, sad and depressed when they get these things? Because they think life is over. Those who drilled themselves into deep, underground bunkers of forced lifestyles, no matter their clique, end up suffering under their own self-doubt and hatred. They hate their mortgage, their family, their legally bound fuck buddy they knocked up. They become mental cripples, complaining of the life they built for themselves, if only they did more before succumbing to weakness.

The itch is not a mental illness. Its not ADHD, ADD, bipolar disorder, anxiety, psychosis or white privilege. The itch is your natural male urge to go out and be. To build empires and to burn villages (or at least fuck some dude’s girlfriend). Its that ever-present, ever burning, ever enjoyable instinct that brought us from the death traps our evolutionary ancestors ran from and spread us across the planet to every corner, killing, eating and creating as we went.

Its not easy today, with the world so easy for us first-world folk. We live in the cultural empire of McDonalds, Starbucks and the ever-present wagging finger. I’ve climbed the stones of Death Valley, nearly been shot by idiots, seen the sunrise from the top of a mountain, sat with my feet dangling over some of the most dangerous rapids. Sometimes you need money, sometimes you just need to get off your ass. Either way, do it. Tell the voices in your head, or in your home, to fuck off while you go fulfill one of the oldest and most important urges in human history.

Make a name for yourself in your circle, or even better, try to make yourself a name in your town. Do something incredible, or infamous. Be part of a story. Be the reason for a story. Take the time to be remembered when you pass, or just be another faded name on your future kin’s family tree.

Lose Yourself

____

You can hang on to dreams. You can bring up the past, the future or the what ifs of times gone wrong. You can sign up to an ideology, pray and protest for a better world that your lizard mind knows won’t happen. You can cry and wait and wait and wait for the saving grace of charity or just freeze yourself in place until the world goes dark.

Or you can move and make it happen.

I’m still living with my parents. I used to be on my own. I was on my own for a long time. No government help, no money sent through desperate phone calls to ma and pa. I held my own. Then my world was torn apart. My pride was destroyed. My ego broken. The very deep darkness exploded and coated my every action. I had debt and I added to it constantly with binge drinking, fast food and impulse buying. Layer upon layer of security and self-medication. Still, now and again, I slip into that dark world. Angry, lost and happy to break the bank for a night’s worth of numbness.

But that won’t get me where I want to be.

I use my skills. I can talk and attract women. Does it always go right? No. It never will. Sometimes I forget that. I hate when I miss things I think I deserve. A girl that caught my fancy who’s got a boyfriend. A “good job” when I just get more work piled on. Its what makes people snap.

99% of the time no one gets what they want.

Yet, at the darkest times, the flicker of light is there. The dream you can reach. It won’t be easy, it won’t be pretty, but the struggle will take you there. I recently bought myself a camera that shoots HD video. I haven’t owned camera nor shot my own stuff since 2007. I’ve been floating for years, now landing on solid ground, ready to put myself back out there, be creative and show my work to the world.

There is no happy, magic ending to your desires, whatever they may be. Once you get them, you will have to keep moving, fighting, being. But this is our way of living beyond what we’re told to be. I am still living with my parents, a kind, caring cage of the soul, and it can depress even the best excitement. It is only a step among many, and soon, those steps will take me out the door and back on my own, as I am meant to be.

The Fight Inside My Head

I’ve written before about my anxiety. The nasty monster that creeps into my life more often than I would like, during good or bad times, and ravages the way I think and act. I’m on meds for it. I’ve gone to group therapy for it. Both have helped immensely. What was crippling to the point of missing work is now manageable, though highly uncomfortable.

For those of you that have been around since the beginning, you know what an utter mess I was during the separation from the Ex. In the last 2 years, more so in the last 6 months, I’ve made vast progress in my emotional and mental wellbeing. I’ve rid myself of the parasites I found learning early game and now, totally single, have created standards and codes, aiming for the highest quality of woman. Not exactly an easy find here, but its a work in progress.

The problem with my illness is that its genetic, from what I can gather. Passed down generation to generation. My mother has a version, so does my sister. Both of my grandfathers and great grandfathers had a version. Its something I can’t escape. I felt it coming on a few days ago. Something simple, something normal, set off a trigger inside my head. The switch, fight or flight, was stuck and my brain pumped its energy. Instinctual, primal, the feelings are not part of my consciousness. They run deep. My life is not bad. I’m working. I’m doing kick ass at my job as I learn. I am not what the impulses say, but they scream it out anyway.

Last night, it kicked me in to insomnia. I laid in bed, tired as fuck, but unable to put down the thoughts racing back and forth. I could literally feel a fight inside my head, between reality and the disease, between the now and the what was. Everytime I told myself its not as bad, memories of the Ex would appear. Tainted memories, things I never thought about often. Fights, moments that I should of noticed, moments in bed of pure happiness made fleeting. The things a man needs to forget to move on. I rolled back and forth, frustrated, for hours, until my body overtook my mind and finally put the war to an end through pure exhaustion. A few hours later, I was awake again and had to function. Things to do in the real world that don’t care for what thoughts keep me up at night.

These moments aren’t the oneitis of a lost chance, able to be broken and scattered with the return to the sexual battlefield. Its not something easily changed by going out and being social. Wrapped in the cloth of this modern man lies the beast of my ancestors, every perk and every flaw. There is no heart disease that kills to early. Cancer doesn’t pop up randomly. Choices and old age usually kill in my family. What is left is the bite of the deepest invisible monster, the last medical stigma. You can survive AIDS. You can beat breast cancer. You can get a new heart. You can’t change the very electric sparks that make you, you. You just have to push through and live, despite the storms you see coming fast, and after the debris has settled, get back to rebuilding. One piece at a time.

Welcome to the Suck

Anthony: I just ran through incoming to get a dead fucking battery.
Troy: Welcome to the Suck.

___

Everyday, from the day you were born to now, you’ve fought to stay alive. Right now, your body fights invaders and disease, your heart pumps over and over to push blood and keep you going. Your brain makes a million decisions on its own that make your body ready for whatever shit you’ll encounter, be it a tiger or an on-coming car. You’re alive today because you have fought for every minute of life.

Life’s a war and we are all warriors.

When you think on that, think about how you act in social situations. The time you let someone push you aside or the way that chick took your seat when you went to take a piss. Did you bow your head and let it pass? When your girl gets mad, did you “yes dear” your way out? Did she get what she wanted despite it being the absolute wrong decision? Did she test you and win?

It may be the way our society works today, but that’s not how to win a war.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

Don’t think because you haven’t been a strong person means you can’t be one. Everyone can fight. Every man born has a God-given ability to rise. I started my current job in film with a fear of making mistakes. I felt small and useless among those who have worked in it much longer than I. I got angry at myself a lot. Yet, it did not take long for my natural ability and my vast confidence to come out. Now, my boss looks to me for answers and his boss compliments me on my way of thinking. What was indecision last month is purpose now. I walk into work, no matter the situation, knowing I can win.

Fearless at Exceed and Lead posted this gem last month, and it fits with how I currently run:

A man’s potential is unlimited, the reasoning goes. A man can reach any heights in life in any sphere of activity. But in order to defeat his opponents a man must first overcome himself, combat his own fears, his lack of confidence and laziness. The path upwards is one of continual battle with oneself. A man must force himself to rise sooner than the others and go to bed later. He must exclude from his life everything that prevents him from achieving his objective. He must subordinate the whole of his existence to the strictest regime. He must give up taking days off. He must use his time to the best possible advantage and fit in even more than was thought possible. A man aiming for a particular target can succeed only if he uses every minute of his life to the maximum advantage for carrying out his plan. A man should find four hours’ sleep quite sufficient, and the rest of his time can be used for concentrating on the achievement of his objective.

Work to improve. Work to survive. Work to live.

Work to win.

Don’t Stop

My sleep had been off almost for a week. One day that lasted too long, and I just couldn’t get back into the groove. Napping days turning into sleepless nights. Frustration set in. Its still off, but I’ve had enough.

Don’t be surprised when your rest kills the rest of your spirit. It bites into your day and what you can accomplish, even if you’re unemployed. There are 960 minutes in a 16 hour day, if you sleep for 8 hours. That’s 960 minutes to get your ass in gear. To work out, to look for work, to clean, to read, to do anything, but sit there and say “There’s nothing to do.” There is always something to do that improves your body and mind.

The biggest killer of motivation is inaction. When you slow, you falter. When you falter, you fall. I’ve worked a full 24 hours, slept for 4 and then gotten back up for another 12. I’ve come home sore and collapsed to get up and do it again. I’ve burned my body to the core before and I did it because there was something coming after. Always after.

When you’re stuck in a rut where you can’t go out, work, or whatever. Remember its just a bump. Its not a roadblock that ends the road your on. Any roadblock is a barrier YOU have put up for yourself. When you say “I can’t,” its no one else’s fault but your own. Climb, dig, tear that motherfucker down brick by brick if you have to. You can trip, get scraped up and cringe through pain, you can rest for minute, but don’t ever, ever stop going towards what you want.

___

Gan Eagla

___

What’s the point?

Wake up. Get up. Bathe. Brush. Eat. Ignition. Drive. Work. Lunch. Work. Ingition. Drive. Open door. Sit. Watch. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

What’s the point?

What’s the point of taking up weights? What’s the point of going out for a drink and a night of pretty women rejecting you? What’s the point of socializing? What’s the point of suffering? Why do any of it?

There are plenty of people who get along just fine doing the minimum. They glide across life like a dog on ice, going and going and going until they hit the end, and that’s it. Its over. They’ve made it to the end with little effort and smile their stupid canine smile, content.

Why bother pushing yourself? Why bother trying? What’s the point? No tales will be written of you. No songs. History will forget you as it does every name that doesn’t change the world or try to conquer it through evil. You’ll never be Achilles or Leonidas or Perseus or Spartacus or Vercingetorix. Even the great heroes of the war that ushered in the atomic age, Richard Winters or John Basilone, fall in comparison to the names of the famous, the socially smart or the politically correct. Without an army, a party, a massacre or a sex tape, you are nothing but wind to history’s mountians.

What’s the point?

The point is you. The point is the effort. The point is your cause. Being the best without laurels or fame or throngs of screaming harpies and parasitic men leeching your aura, trying to taste your life through presence.

The great names of history became history to due to circumstance more than anything. Right place, right time, right choice. Not too long ago, a poor man with the right words and a strong will could usurp an empire. Men with vision could have entire islands or countries named after them. Wars fought in their name. Monuments of valor. Now, men trod along, living like kings, but feeling like slaves. Greatness comes at the behest of a dollar or the backing of a shadow government. Now, if you are not their man, you are no man, if you hold to what the world believes a man is.

What’s the point?

The point is reclaiming. The point is adventure. The point is glory and honor and pounding your chest on top of the world even if no one hears you. The point is to touch God through your blood, sweat and tears. Loosing the fat of life and leaving only the harden muscle of living.

The point is being without fear. Now, and forever.