I post the images to my instagram story.
“Where are you?” I ask.
I wonder it all the time. Here’s a better question, though:
Where am I?
That’s the real question.
Where am I? And who is the guyshowing up in the world on a daily basis, instead? It doesn’t really feel like me, honestly.
Here’s the problem, though… I don’t feel like I fit in.
Maybe I don’t fucking fit in. Maybe “fitting in” is a loaded concept, a lie, a sham, something we’ve been sold and told we need to do in order to survive.
What if it isn’t true?
Seriously, what if it isn’t true?
What if the best way to ensure my survival isn’t by fitting in at all?
What if the survival of a man’s spirit is dependent on his willingness to make the worldfit into his ideals, instead?
It’s an appealing idea. It’s a dangerous idea, too. But it’s also appealing as fuck.
It’s a funny thing, balancing my nature with my chosen safe place within society. Man, if I really had my way with things, and if I was truly myself, I’d be sprinting through life, barely clothed, causing a ruckus everywhere I go and kissing every beautiful woman I came across.
Here’s the funny thing, though: as I typed that sentence, I immediately thought to myself afterwards, “Why can’t I do that?”
I don’t have a good answer for myself. I could sprint to through life, barely clothed, causing a ruckus everywhere I go and kissing every beautiful woman I came across. I’d most likely forfeit my ability to be employed by the city I live in, and I’d also probably gain many mortal enemies in the process…
But how much could I stand to gain?
What would life be like, living with that much passion, I wonder.
It’s an incredible proposition. Goddamn, what a life that would be.
See, here’s the thing. Here’s what really stresses me out: the men that I’d cross by living this way. You see, I’ve felt the scathing hatred of a man that’s been cuckolded. It can be fierce and demonic. And although it’s sad, because the man is blind and because he hasn’t opened his eyes to the truth, it can also be frightening, because rather than taking ownership for his lack of manhood, a man can become bitter and hateful and murderous toward the man that he feel “stole” his woman from him.
Cuckoldry is not to be fucking trifled with.
The entire Trojan War, one of the bloodiest conflicts in the entire history of mankind, was sparked because a man took another man’s wife.
Granted, the man who’s wife was taken, King Menelaus, was also the king of Sparta. Realistically speaking, he was probably the last fucker on the entire planet you’d want to mess around with.
Still, though – cuckolding a man is not a trifling matter.
One thing’s for sure, though: if I want to pursue women at such a reckless and passionate level, I’d need to be the baddest fucker I can possibly be.
Anyways, back to the original question. Why play small?
We get one shot at this life. If I’m not living authentically to who I truly am, what the fuck am I actually doing?
The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation, Thoreau said.
The mass of men have also been chumps that quit, accepted the lot that life gave them, and didn’t strive towards their potential greatness. What a fucking waste of perfectly good lifetimes.
I wonder how many millions of men throughout the ages have submitted to their own cowardice, instead of embracing the heroic ideal within?
How few have made the decision to leave their fears in the dust, and to boldly charge forward against life’s resistance?
Will I go down in the history books as a hero?
Or will I get beaten into submission by my own mind and fears?
That’s the question.
I have the opportunity to go down as a hero. I’m not sure there’s anyone else on Earththat has as much opportunity to influence the human race as I have right now, and that makes me feel really good, really anxious, and paralyzed all at the same time.
It’s like – what the fuck do I do with this power? How do I wield it effectively? How do I wield it for the benefit of as many people as possible?
This is what I think about.