Replace

Image Credit: Blog Talk Radio

In the blink of an eye, she appeared just behind me at the bar. I hadn’t seen her all night, but somehow, she had seen me. After she casually said hello, I treated her with the same lack of attention that she had done to me so many times 4 years ago.

I was talking to several regulars at the bar about the usual things, COVID, sports being back and maybe going away again, Trump, the police, and race issues. The debate was good enough that I failed to notice her looking at me most of the night, until after she came up, then I noticed more and more. She was trying to catch my eye, but I wasn’t having it.

We had met 4 years ago while I was in the death throes of my “nice guy” phase. I would see her at my local watering hole as she was a regular there.

I always wanted to get in her pants. First I tried the “be nice” approach. Talking with her, ordering her drinks, paying her tab. Didn’t work, she wasn’t having any of it.

Then the inevitable ignoring her, all while secretly hoping she’d see the dude I was and come running. Still nothing. She played the game well and was well versed in what a nice guy does. She’d seen it all before and I represented zero challenge. She was just like any other girl I lusted after while in my beta phases. Trying to figure out the combination for 2 years yielded my nothing but questions on what I was doing wrong.

But then that night at the bar….

Changing the Narrative

When a guy goes from the nice guy to the real guy, his priorities shift. But what doesn’t usually shift is the way women saw him and the way they still see him.

No matter the distance between the guy you were and the guy you really are, she’s not buying it, because she was sold on the guy you were and that made an indelible mark on her.

No matter the strides you made, no matter the weight you lost, no matter the style you have, the fairy tale of a self confirmed beta nice guy getting into the pants of the girl of his dreams after changing himself for her seldom comes to fruition.

And that’s the rub. I’ve seen men completely change themselves all for the possibility of the love of a woman they wanted in their lives, only to watch as despite all of their work, she still sees them as the man they were.

What they say about first impressions? That’s pretty dead on balls accurate.

The main motivating factor for all of this should be for you to change yourself for yourself, not for others. But guys will have plastic or bariatric surgery, spend thousands on a new wardrobe, get Lasik, or other things, not for themselves, but for the love of a woman.

Guys will literally replace their old personas in a matter of weeks or months in order to get the girl.

But what they have to understand is that this whole narrative doesn’t exist because she refused to allow it.

She saw you as a non-sexual entity. As far as being able to turn that piece around, it’s very difficult.

I see a lot of men trying to get some sort of success porn revenge on the women who turned them down by living successfully, however, they aren’t living successfully by shifting their entire persona. They are quite literally playing the game she’s dictating. They’re letting her decide what they do to try to get her in their lives.

It’s a matter of the “right lesson, wrong application” syndrome that recovering nice guys try to apply. The whole point is to either show her up or get her to accept you as a sexual being. It doesn’t work that way, because she doesn’t fucking care.

Women are going to size you up in a few moments and if you aren’t there to shine, there’s rarely a reason to keep going. Now I’ve seen romance bloom after YEARS of not seeing the person and seeing a new man come forward, but you don’t have that kind of time, and that also means she has to be out of your life, which ain’t happening if you’re pinning your hopes on this latest stunt to get her.

Grant Her Wish

After making it more than apparent that she was indeed looking at me that night, I smiled, paid my tab, and left the bar without so much as a word to her.

I know she was wanting to talk to me, but I didn’t want to talk to her.

I knew how she felt, but more importantly, I knew how I felt. I didn’t change myself to be with her. I changed myself to get rid of girls exactly like her.

And her first wish was the one she meant. She wasn’t attracted to me in that way. And no amount of polarity, tension, or PUA techniques would change it. She was probably good for a lay, but when you see a girl not be attracted to you, believe her, regardless of your improvements.

This is what guys fail to realize. They do whatever it takes to WIN the girl, but never wonder if they should. More times that not, winning the girl means losing in life, because the life you built up just for HER is not compatible with the life you wanted.

Pussy is powerful, but it shouldn’t be.

Men will change their lives in detrimental ways in pursuit of it, without even a care as to the consequences.

You, as a man, HAVE to be able to see the forest from the trees. It is absolutely imperative that men be able to take their eye and put it on the real prize, a life they actually want, versus the women of their dreams.

But here we are in 2020, having the discussions of what “gets me the girl”.

One thing that game, PUA, and the manosphere have taught me is it’s never about the girl.

The girl brings good things in your life, but only as an accessory to what you are doing.

When your world revolves around her, it ceases to be yours.

It’s now hers. And she doesn’t want the damn thing.

She never did. It’s an idea concocted in your head and your head alone.

Which is why the crashing disappointment is a vicious cycle that men can very seldom get out of. Imagine if you will, a woman of your dreams, the dream girl that you can’t live without. She comes up to talk to you, excited to see the new person you’ve become, and you walk away from it. You walk away from all of it. Why?

Because she’s not the answer to your prayers. She’s the antithesis to your expectations.

Stop thinking she’s your world. She doesn’t want to be. And do what I did. Regardless of your past feelings for her, make the right decision to avoid something that could be worse than you could possibly imagine.

A girl that wants to be a part of your life leaves no doubt.

But you still, of course, have to approach.

Rise

“Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson

5 months ago, as 2020 was turning into the dumpster fire we see today, I made a decision that would change my life.

I decided to change my life.

I had been tripping around America for almost a year, meeting new people and wonderful women, exploring, going on excursions to new cities by myself, enjoying the new life that I had yearned for for so long.

But a funny thing happened as I was doing this…

I realized I wasn’t where I wanted to be.

Not in terms of location, mind you. I saw much of the US that I’d never seen and was doing it alone, for the first time in my life.

But the base, the home, the foundation of myself wasn’t where I wanted it to be.

I was making major strides with women, a weakness I had vowed to correct. My game was getting better, and I was meeting and enjoying beautiful women all over the country.

I had met the men of FoE and forged tighter bonds with them.

I had met Twitter people who became friends and more. Great folks who I truly thank for having in my life.

New things started occurring when I came back from my last trip. And no, it wasn’t COVID, but the timing was the same.

Hard Realizations

It was time for a good ol’ fashioned self imposed time out.

It was time to get the sectors of my life in order, starting with finances, fitness, mental health, my kids, and my home base.

This base to which I tethered to was not what it should have been. It was rotting from the inside out.

My finances were suffering, I was increasing my debt after I had just spent 3 years whittling it down from $75,000 to just under $23,000. But I was racking up credit card debt with my traveling, wining and dining women, and spending money on meetups with new friends. Something had to give, and it was my wallet.

I had never fully committed to doing all I could to get my debt down. I had hoped I could just wing it by half-assing it, and it didn’t work.

The debt principles I’ve lived with my whole life were being ignored in the pursuit of a good time, and while I had a lot (a whole lot) of fun, when I got back to see the receipts I was writing checks my ass couldn’t cash.

My kids were suffering from my absence. My oldest daughter had a panic attack in November and was going through the teenage angst a bit early, and with me not there to help her, it was left to her mother, who tried her damnedest to carry it, but ultimately couldn’t. She needed her dad. She needed the calming presence that I had become to her, but I was gone a lot. She couldn’t keep it in line.

We ended up having to work with my daughter in therapy, and had I not been here for any of that, I don’t think she would be where she is now. But more on that later.

My home was being neglected. For four years I’ve lived here and not once have I made an effort to really take back control of my house. Landscaping, keeping it clean, minor repairs, all left undone while I tromped around not caring if they ever did get done. I didn’t have a nice place that I could call my home, it was a pit where I threw my shit in between airport visits.

My work was suffering. As an owner of a small business, I had to step away time and time again, leaving others to handle issues that should have been handled by me. Important, company changing issues that need my attention. It was only after COVID hit that I understood the scope of what my company was dealing with, and if I wasn’t there to face it with the other owners and employees head on, let’s just say we’d be on thin ice.

And finally, my mental health needed a reset. I was constantly traveling, driving, eating out, staying in Airbnbs and hotels, all over the place. I was tired, burning the candle at both ends at times, meeting new people but never having time to really get myself right. Vacations weren’t vacations, and it was becoming difficult to balance it all.

So, against everything inside of me that was saying keep going, let the world sort itself out, I stopped and held up. I was planning trips for April, May and June, and then COVID hit. I still could’ve gone, I thought. Rack up some more debt but then be done and take the winter to catch up.

Wasn’t happening. Not even close.

Presence Required

When COVID hit in March, the uncertainty of it all hit my life like a ton of bricks. My business started to suffer due to closures of customers, trucks backed up, and we were left to scramble to figure out what to do. Had I not been there, I don’t know what would’ve happened. But the team all got together and after having to furlough several employees and part ways with a couple of others, we had stabilized in May. Small business has been kicked in the nuts during this pandemic for sure, and my team made it happen.

My daughter, after having multiple panic attacks and increased anxiety, went to intense therapy with me at her side. It was a struggle at first as she did not want to talk about what she was going through, but with our family together again, my ex and I co-parenting strongly with my presence there, she started to improve little by little. She was put on medication after seeing what a small dose did to improve her mood. She was put on the same medicine I am on, Zoloft, and we’ve seen her life improve this summer and do a complete 180 in terms of her outlooks on life.

My attendance in her life at this crucial moment was imperative. She needed the calm, guiding, levelheadedness that I provided, as well as her mother’s staunch work to keep her calm. Our whole family came together and broke through. It would not have happened unless I hit the reset button.

After gaining 15 lbs over my travels, I had to take care of my fitness once and for all. I hired a personal trainer to help me get to my goal, life goal of 15% body fat. I knew I was headed back down a road I didn’t want to go to, and while in decent shape, I wasn’t where I wanted to be. So I dropped everything and started to seriously take my fitness into account. I threw out all the old, bad food. I started getting to sleep at 9-10pm instead of 1-2am. I had already stopped drinking, but I took more steps to remove bad food from my life. No more eating out at fast food, no more carbs. The time to fuck around had passed.

And with that, I decided to completely renovate the outside of my house. I started by tearing out all the old landscaping and redid the entirety of my home in new mulch, landscaping guard, and decor. New hose reels, siding repairs, wood trim replacement, chairs, tables, and power washing. I was determined to get control of my home again.

My debt needed to be reigned in. I cancelled all credit cards except my business one. I started to throw entire paychecks at my bank debt from my divorce. I then chewed through my credit card debt. Knocking out over $14,000 in just 4 months, I currently sit (as of this blog post) at $8000 left to pay my ex-wife for my settlement. And I’m not looking back.

All of this combined has improved my mental health. I joined a men’s group to continue to improve my mind as well as help other men try to work on their lives. My home, now handled, became a place of peace, where I could work and live without stress. As of this writing, I’m sitting on my improved back porch typing, with everything cleaned, fixed, and improved.

The Goal

So what’s the point of this self imposed exile?

It was and always has been about getting better.

When you feel like you’re the best you can be, you don’t see that there are ALWAYS areas you can improve.

My whole life has been 75%. I would do up to about 3/4 of the improvement then stop and do something else.

Not this time.

This time, I will see it through. This is my future. I’m trying to shape my life the way I want it, and half to 3/4 ass isn’t going to cut it.

It’s time to stop playing games and start pushing through the tough bits to get to where I want to be.

Debt free except the house.

15% body fat.

Stress reduced living.

Making moves in my side hustle.

Continuing to help men get through their lives.

Monk mode is needed for you to get better.

Take the time to work on yourself with no distractions, no apologies, and no bullshit.

You have the keys to it, you just have to cut out the meaningless crap to get through it.

And it never stops.

My self imposed exile will end at the end of this year. At that time, I will have:

  • Lost almost 100 lbs
  • Paid off over $75,000 of debt
  • Created a safe, healthy mental environment for myself and my family
  • Made my home a better place to live

All of this to take off into 2021. Regardless of what happens, I’ll know that the steps I took this year put me ahead for good, and I’m not looking back.

Agendas

Photo Credit: Spongebob Squarepants

I think my father’s proud of me.

He’s not a man of many words, and his whole life, he’s avoided positive reinforcement of his kids. My grandparents raised him with 0 accolades of good work, words of encouragement, or just a “good job” every once in a while. It was seen as weakness to show affection or even positive rearing, because you still had work to do and you were never done. My father went on to be a successful entrepreneur, starting three companies and making them into multi-million dollar endeavors.

But even with all of his hard work and success, his parents really never complimented him on his accomplishments. So he was brought up with the impression that regardless of your wins, you can’t celebrate them. You can’t feel good about them.

Terrible way to grow up, but it was what it was.

But my dad still, at times, complimented me, as far apart as those compliments might have been. I know he cared and was rooting for me, but the fact that he was raised to see praise as a weakness was reason enough for me to understand exactly what he was going through and to know when he was happy for me and my accomplishments. I just knew.

I think a lot of the men of the baby boomer generation had the same thing happen to them. Their parents endured World War II and had to sacrifice so much, I don’t imagine there were many thanks for them for doing the basic day to day when they were busy taking a beachhead, watching their friends die in battle, and avoiding artillery shells.

But with my father, I don’t necessarily think he was fishing for compliments, I believe he was wanting SUPPORT for what decisions he was making in his life, and too often, parents are at odds with their kids on what constitutes a success.

Many parents push their kids to do jobs they believe are “successful” while putting their kids in the automated line of living a life that society tells them is the life to live.

It’s the same story we were all told.

Go to college, get a job, get married, have kids, get a house, get a car, and live happily ever after.

Applied emphasis on go to college here.

I was told that college was the key to getting a high paying, successful job with tons of benefits.

But now, we are seeing fallout of that. Kids who were told to join the rat race the way their parents wanted them to are disappointed and lost in their professional lives, and worst of all, stuck.

Living Vicariously

Why?

Because many parents are convinced that their kids can only make their lives good by doing what they say to the letter. And this is increasingly becoming problematic as kids get older and realize that they could have lived a dream instead of living their parent’s dreams.

They, like many other parents, have bought into society’s production lines of what success really means. Many people, including myself, bought into this and did what we were “supposed” to do. I wasn’t necessarily pushed by my parents, however, but my career arc followed those of many other kids in the 90’s, the idea of college was required.

We saw a shocking move away from trade schools and other things earlier in this century because of this mindset. And it was driven by parents who thought they underachieved.

Parents feel like they didn’t succeed in their lives, so they pour everything into their kids. And when their kids have the gall to decide to do something different from their parents, and kids, who are just looking to their parents for support and acceptance, get emotionally dropped kicked for doing what they love to do.

I understand parents pushing kids to do things. It’s understood that there are many young adults out there without a rudder who need a push. But the push doesn’t come from providing opportunities to these kids, it comes from parents who think they know better than their kids on what’s best for them.

This is where parents need to take the wheel in a different way. As a father of two daughters, I don’t try to push my kids into making life choices that I would approve of. I approve of their happiness doing what they want.

My job is to show them opportunities that they may want to take, give them a look into all things in this world to see if they like it. My oldest daughter is into robotics because it was an interest I saw for her and she now loves it. Not only that, but she also wants to be an engineer and do robotics for a living, and I support all of that. When I see something my kids love, I pour all my resources into that passion for them, because watching them light up with excitement is what I’m about as a parent.

My journey to this side of the world has been filled with men who are making their dreams come true by dropping the 9-5 and doing what they love, regardless of what it is. I’m not sure if their parents are proud or not, but it doesn’t matter. These guys are seeing a shift in their thinking that was hammered into them at a young age and taking the world by the balls.

Success isn’t defined by what society thinks, it’s defined by what YOU think.

The risk you take by doing something you love, even if the world thinks it’s ridiculous or wastes time, pays off when you’re happy.

And people will give you a ton of flack for it. But thinking against the crowd has resulted in some of the biggest successes in life.

Cheerleading

I’m certainly not rubber-stamping ALL activities (drugs, etc), but I see kids lacking motivation for activities their parents deem important and this is where the disconnect turns into a chasm.

So as a parent, you want to avoid pigeonholing your kids into things you liked or were forced to like as a kid.

What’s the greatest asset a parent can have with their kids?

An open mind.

Especially when it comes to hobbies, interests, and eventually, a career they love.

And if what you do is of interest to them, introduce them to it with the same patience you would with anything else.

My youngest daughter wants to play trombone and become a writer like her dad. That makes me happy, but more happy because SHE chose it, rather than me making her choose it. And if she changes her mind, so be it.

But I want my kids to live their lives on their terms, not on my agenda.

They deserve to be given opportunities to find something they love. So as a parent, you facilitate those opportunities and watch them either love it or leave it. That’s what you do as a parent. That’s what we should do as a society.

I see a ton of failure to launch kids who are unmotivated because they didn’t have parents who led them to something they loved. They tried what their parents wanted them to, hated it, and are now left with purgatory where they have to choose job, military, or nothing.

We have to give our kids options to show them that they can do anything, yes, anything that they love. The understanding that success isn’t linear nor is it a cookie cutter blue print is key in getting your kids to the point of loving life and their choices. Regret is a bitch and we all see it all the time.

I wanted to be an entrepreneur. I am. I want to do more, I will.

All because my parents didn’t have an agenda for me to follow, even if they were and are skeptical of my current trajectory, they love me and my abilities. That’s the key here. You can’t make a pumpkin seed grow into a carrot, no matter the amount of water, sunlight, or oxygen. So you grow it into the best damn pumpkin you can.

So let’s take the glass ceiling and walls off of our kids and support their endeavors, all while showing them more things that they may take an interest in.

The thought shouldn’t be “why would you do that?”

It should be “what else can I show you about that?”

Kids deserve a cheerleader, not an agenda.

Make Believe

It was past 6:30. He was late.

“Jesus I hope he’s okay”, I thought. “Fuck this is so bad he may try to off himself”, I mumbled. I couldn’t stop worrying. I’d already downed two tall beers waiting on him, and a third was on deck.

He showed up disheveled, but in one piece.

“Sorry, man, I just got off work. It’s been a rough couple of days”, he stammered.

“I’d imagine”, I talked back.

“So what the fuck is going on? She cheated on you?”

“Yea, with one of my friends. At least I think so. She’s already left the house with the kids when she knew I knew, so….”, he looked exhausted.

This once proud man, who now was a shell of his former self, had the “perfect life”. He had a wife, 3 children, and, according to his social media, a white picket fence life of pure happiness. He worked as a dispatch operations manager for a large trucking company, successful, his wife was a stay at home mom who had recently gotten a new job after she had studied to be an accountant.

For years, this couple was the toast of my trucking friends circle. Beautiful house, a loving family, the whole dream that we are told that we should all aspire to, and the friend get-togethers were the best. Always smiling, rarely stressed, the picture of happiness. Family pictures every year, vacations, their social media was abuzz with the facade of perfection, joy, and general envy of all those around them.

He didn’t know where to start. I could see he was reeling. As he started to tell me what happened, I began to see the cracks in his facade.

“Dude, dude, you have to be kidding. You’ve always been the perfect couple. The marriage everyone wanted. What happened?” I asked in disbelief.

As he sat across from me on that humid August night, sipping a beer, nearly in tears, he then realized that his marriage had been an elaborate game of pretending. And now, shit got real.

The house, the cars, the wife, the kids, the life, all of it, was an elaborate ruse to show people how life was “supposed” to be, but not how it was. He was putting on a show, an expensive, debt crushing, false act whose consequences were now inevitably showing themselves in his mind.

And the more he spoke about it, the more terrified he became. It was hitting, it was real now, all the shit was falling down around him, and all he could do was watch.

She had cheated. She had gone outside the marriage. This perfect picture he had built, on a rusty foundation of lies, bitterness, jealousy, and mistrust, was gone. When the cameras were snapping, it was the picturesque family life. But when they turned off, the dark side of the marriage came up.

He explained that the arguments were off the charts. He would go so far as to punish the kids for not lying about how happy they were when they talked to their friends. He was in debt hundreds of thousands of dollars. He had a boat, two cars, a camper, and a gigantic house.

All for the show, it seems. All for show.

Paint the Picture

As he stuttered through his sentences, trying to grasp the gravity of his situation, I thought about my own marriage. I was struggling with my own life. I was still married, but not two years earlier, my wife and I had gotten ourselves a gigantic, 4300 sq ft house with 4 car garage, pool, two wings, and plenty of space for guests. We dreamed of entertaining our guests, making them envious of our new space, all while painting the picture of two people very much in love with each other and their lives being a natural growth of that.

But, under the picture perfect house and world….

  • My wife and I weren’t having sex, nor were we engaged in a marriage, it was now a business partnership.
  • I was killing myself at work at the time to pay for this monstrosity.
  • My kids were having issues at school and were seeing the dead marriage manifest itself into other areas

But what we were doing as a couple was trying to cover up the fact that we were both miserable. And the only thing that this house and this life did was stress the cracks that were already there, and they were getting bigger.

All of this happening as my friend poured over his drink talking about his wife’s betrayal to him. But was this a betrayal to him? After all, the dude he was wasn’t the dude he was portraying himself to be. She was cheating on that other guy, not the man who sat before me.

For 2 decades, he had carefully crafted a narrative and told his family to live by it, damn the consequences.

So they did, convincing themselves everyday that this was their life, even if it was the furthest thing from the truth.

And all of their friends, including myself, were playing the game as well. We all wanted to be pictured as successful, happy, and driven because, well, envy and adulation gives you that dopamine kick and makes you think you’re doing well, even when you aren’t even close.

So I made decisions that would come to haunt me in my future, all because I wanted to be liked and admired.

When people would ask, I’d lie. I had to. They saw my posts, they saw my life, I know they wanted to be just like me, successful, happy, and confident. But I was none of those things. Friends who I’d known for longer started to understand my moods. They knew I was lying about my life. And it took me talking to my therapist about it to realize that my life was a fiction.

But here’s the really scary thing. It seemed as if every person was inventing a life to be seen on social media.

Husbands cheating on their wives and the family showing a perfect face every time the camera was on.

Financial ruin or layoff that was played off as the rubble burned.

“Keep your face in front of your friends. Don’t let them know you struggle.”

And more and more of my friends were trying like hell to bury the body of their failed lives by buying new things, all while smiling as the snake bit their calf and the venom circulated in their body.

“You can’t show people weakness, they’ll not respect you….”

I was told this on many occasions.

You Can’t Invent A Life

Showing you have the perfect life most often means it’s not perfect.

Being married doesn’t guarantee good advice.

Being successful in view very rarely means you are behind the scenes.

We invent these lives because it’s not about what we want, it’s about what we want to prove.

Be careful, young kings and queens, putting your faith in those who’s world looks perfect from the outside, but on the inside, it’s crumbling.

Your advice should come from the goods, the bads, and the uglies of the marriage world.

The iceberg tends to be bigger under the water.

As I found out from my friend that night, you can’t invent a life, and you sure as hell can’t put band-aids on it to fix it if it’s irretrievably broken.

But people will try to keep the mirage going, many times to a terrible detriment to their own mental and physical health, to show everyone else that they are the best, they are successful, they are better than you.

And it’s more relationships than you think. And the ones who outwardly give advice are the ones who so desperately need to take it. And their friends will defend them to the hilt until the billboard sign falls and charred remains of the fake life are there for all to see.

It all looks so good on paper, in photos, in the eyes of those you wish to impress, but if it’s all a sham, why even do it? People who see you for the person you pretend to be were never going to be your true friends anyway. They glom on to whoever is most successful in their eyes, amateur bullshit artists looking for someone who plays the game better than they do so they can emulate the pretend life.

Social media has given us the opportunity to pretend to be someone we’re not with much more ease and less push back. So many people gun the throttle into this new life and make mistake after mistake eventually leading to disastrous consequences, but like when a Miss America contestant falls and tries to get back up with a smile, it’s going to ring hollow for those that you are trying to impress.

It’s a pissing contest that way too many people are playing way too often. And it’s time for all of us to stop and accept the reality that we sometimes aren’t successful, sometimes we fail spectacularly, and sometimes, yes, we can’t be the best we can be because of limitations.

We worry far too often about the opinions of people we don’t like, but are desperate to impress.

Wanna impress? Try being real. I’ve had times in my life I’ve been called out for lying. Blatantly, and the only thing I felt was shame for trying to bullshit the bullshitters. I felt bad I got caught, not the fact that I actually fucking lied.

My life is boring as fuck, but that’s the way I like it. I travel to meet people on Twitter, I type a blog, I own a small family owned company, I am divorced with two great kids. I don’t scream excitement.

But…..

Let’s stop pretending. It’s a sham and you know it, so take down the walls and have folks see you for who you really are. You’ll make more life long friends that way, and you’ll also have less stress of trying to hold up the curtain in Oz.

And if you are pretending, hold tight on giving advice to others. You’re putting on a show for the audience but when you speak the bullshit that people are really listening to, you are forcing them to put on a show as well that they aren’t ready to perform.

It’s time to stop the make believe. That’s the real red pill.

Redemption

“Light Redemption” – Richard George Davis

“Arms wide open
I stand alone
I’m no hero and I’m not made of stone
Right or wrong
I can hardly tell
I’m on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell”.

Five Finger Death Punch “Wrong Side of Heaven”

I’m not a religious man, never was.

My family was officially Protestant, but my father, as my grandfather before him, was agnostic. My mother took his lead, and my exposure to church was periodic trips on special holidays, or the rare every year Sunday “guilt trip” my mother put our family in that we were going to all burn in hell if we didn’t go and start making a habit of it. But in general, my father helped the family avoid the church because of his uncomfortable relationship with the afterlife. My father was fearful of death, still is to this day at 74, and wasn’t about to have his life, nor his potential afterlife, explained to him in a fiery diatribe from the pulpit. So he did what we all do when we have uneasy thoughts about anything, he avoided it.

I couldn’t totally avoid it, as I was an impressionable young man who needed to be trained in the correct way to worship, led by family friends and eventually by my own friends, whose family would gladly drag the “devil kid” to any service they could on days I spent the night at my friends’ houses. A chance to show him the right way to worship, at the right church, with the right congregation, with the right sermon, from the right priest, reverend, or bishop.

My experiences in church were quite unremarkable. I would go with friends who were Catholic, spend my 90 minutes on Sundays not kneeling when the congregation knelt, feeling like the priest would call me out any time I didn’t know what to say during the hymnal, or yell at me if I dared to come up and take bread and wine. As I got older and went to these functions with friends, I always joked that as soon as I entered the church I’d catch fire because I was “THAT” bad, but I wasn’t even close. God’s light nor Hell’s lighter could touch a kid that didn’t know any better.

My family, at first, when I was younger, would go every Easter, myself and my three older siblings, being force marched by our parents to church to try and atone for the sins of the past year. When my younger sister was born, we started going again sporadically, but we eventually stopped again. It was like each child born was a new attempt to salvage the faith my family didn’t have, until it got to the point where we stopped going altogether.

My mother would occasionally bring up that we should go to church again, meet people in our community, become a family of faith, but my father would grumble and tell her to forget about it. He wasn’t going. He wasn’t having it. No place of worship was going to take the fear of dying away from him, so he continued to stay away, as did his family.

As my adolescence bloomed into adulthood, I was pretty much in the same boat as my father, save the fear of dying. I was uncomfortable in churches, I didn’t understand the sermons dooming me to eternal hellfire if I didn’t worship the way that was required, the music was nauseating, and my high school and college years were spent being socially backward while experimenting with recreational drugs, so the cross wasn’t even in the ballpark of my mind.

I do remember the college religious crowds were annoying. The women, sworn to virginity during the meetings, would hook up with frat guys on the weekends after getting wasted, do the walk of shame home (I saw three girls who were the most religious of the group walking from Fraternity row on three separate occasions, disheveled and hung over) just in time to get back to their halos and the Monday – Friday sanctimoniousness that permeated every aspect of their pretend lives.

Like the parents that sent them there to be good girls (one floor in one of the dorms was called the “Virgin Vault” for super overprotective parents (quick hint – it wasn’t a vault nor were they virgins)), the parents lived their lives differently when the Jonenes were watching and the complete opposite when the curtains and the garage door closed.

I remember hearing my religious floor mates chuckling about who was real and who was fake and I just wondered if church, like high school and college, was just another popularity contest.

As I got married, my now ex-wife, who was about as religious as I was, tried to get me to change my set in ways, but I wasn’t having it. We’d go to church services on Easter, or Christmas Eve, but every church was the same. When my ex and I were on our Dave Ramsey kick, we even went to the church for over 3 months taking Financial Peace University, taking the kids to Sunday school while we did it (the church’s trap for free child care, hell it worked) and learned to manage our finances. But I kept seeing the church trying to aggressively sell us on their services, their message, and their congregation and spirit in the community, and I just saw through all of it. To me, I saw a facade of helpful people hiding a glorified social club, made up of people trying to jockey for prime positions in the church and in the community in case they wanted to run for public office someday.

The local churches even had soccer leagues we enrolled our girls in, hoping to meet new people, gain some perspective, but everywhere I went, I saw the same bullshit people crowing the same bullshit lines that I had heard for years. “If you don’t worship, you’re going to hell. And by the way, our church is the best.”

The church and I have never gotten along….

Sinner, Not a Saint

Sins, I have them. A lot of them.

In my writings, I’ve spoken at length about all of them. My past is full of it.

Cheating (sleeping with married women knowingly and not so), hitting on wives and girlfriends of friends, stealing, anger (I’ve put many a hole in walls), lying, drugs, you name it, I’ve done it all, and the mile long rap sheet would make any priest in confession have to stop and ask for a breather and a glass of water.

That’s why I know there’s no forgiveness for me. I don’t deserve it.

Even if I decided to go to church and absolve my sins, they are too burned into my personal psyche to think that a few thousand hail Mary’s and a dip in holy water (which would boil if I stepped in it, I’m convinced) would absolve what I truly know can’t be absolved. A blessing from a holy man doesn’t help me overcome the fact that I did these things. It doesn’t cleanse my mind of the acts, nor does it help me to sort them out any further. People are under the impression that you can wave a magic wand and be cured of sin when in fact it just gives them an excuse to go out and sin again.

Confessing that I cheated on my soon to be ex-wife with another woman doesn’t take the sting out of my mind. Should ‘t I have worked on the marriage, even if we were separated? Shouldn’t I have tried? Why did I walk away? Why didn’t I do more? No amount of getting it out will make the pain of what I did go away. Emotional affairs with friends wives, sex with women who were married, cheating on a girlfriend, lying to women about seeing other women, hell, even lying to the cops to cover for a troublesome friend gets to me everyday.

There aren’t magic words to make it all go away. The point of it all is I still did it.

What matters is I have to live with myself and my past. I don’t get to forget, nor do I get to move on until I know, myself, that I have done all I can to redeem myself. And, honestly, that probably won’t be enough.

I don’t want pity. I’m telling you there’s a lot of men out there who’ve done worse that I have, that are haunted everyday by the parts of themselves that they can’t change.

But what I am realizing, slowly but surely, is that I can take my troublesome past and create something with it. I can create a future that I can be proud of. And I want to show that any man, with any past, can overcome and push through to redemption.

Reclamation

“I’m sorry for the demon I’ve become.”

  • Five Finger Death Punch – “Walk Away”

After a life of tough lessons, lost friends and family, and absolute disregard for any kind of nuance or respectfulness, I had to change this life. My red pill unplugging was the first part of this, but seemingly I was getting into the same issues even after that, except now, there wasn’t much of a conscience to this new scorched earth policy of alienating myself from friends, lovers, and family with my actions. I didn’t care as long as I got mine and while many call this the “black pill” I can tell you it was putting my life on self-destruct for the sole purpose of getting my dick wet or at least the potential of it. I was better with women with the explicit distinction that all attractive women were fair game to me. It landed me flirting with married women who’s husbands had had affairs on them. I tried to become the equalizer with some success, but I was trafficking in a dangerous trade.

It’s become one of the worst moments in my life, but also one of the biggest realizations and awakenings that I’ve experienced. This low point of this supposedly new me was breached.

This is not me finding the church, or God, or anything else. This was an experience of finally finding MYSELF and knowing what was important.

My first 31 Days to Masculinity was at about the same time last year and during this time, I started to use my past to build for my future. I made amends with those I’d hurt and broke off relations with those that weren’t salvageable. I knew that my life, at that point being dedicated to helping men, wasn’t looking so good for men who were wanting to improve their lives. A dude who’s sex life thrived on jilted lovers, broken marriages, outright lies and deceit, or unhappy house wives wasn’t what I was trying to sell. Men didn’t need to walk the fucking razor line to truly find a better life. 31 DTM made me face this fact head on. And, even as a man without a country, I was an island at this point, but it was time to start swimming back to shore.

So I started to make it right and started to apply the red pill the right way. No more of this bullshit. It was time for me to grow up, sack up and make my life better by focusing on it primarily, and practice what I was preaching. At that time, I was really covering game and attraction in my tweets and blog. I was applying it to women I shouldn’t have been applying it to, but did it anyway because “enjoy the decline” right?

Dammit, there had to be more to this fucking life…

There is. I’ve found it. Renewed vigor towards my own goals of fitness, finances, foresight, and yes, even a little bit of faith. Once again, the church and I don’t see eye to eye, and probably never will.

The game is never as fun when you have the cheat codes, so I reset and started it over, this time making sure I covered all my bases. I made it a point to go out and meet new people, men and women whom I admire on Twitter and elsewhere, and to go out and meet the men of FoE. It was time for the world to meet the man that sits in between the forgiveness of God and the eternal damnation that I know may be waiting for me.

So, I wake up tomorrow working on a new future for myself. Living the true red pill life. Taking the game that I’ve learned and adding confidence, honesty, authenticity, and a shit ton of attitude. It’s about me now, not anything else. I’ll still approach women, I’ll just be more mindful about their intentions, especially if there’s a ring on that finger. Never rub another man’s rhubarb, even if you think he deserves it. You’ll cash that check with your life if you aren’t careful.

Bros before hoes really does cover it.

The worst I can think of is that I continue to improve my life with the prospect of no forgiveness and no LTR, or a MGTOW wet dream, but I would appreciate a women in my life who supports me in all my endeavors and truly enhances my life.

But if I am running the rest of this life marathon alone, then I am absolutely prepared to do that.

The best I can hope for is being on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell, as Five Finger Death Punch put it so eloquently.

Forgiveness is lost, but give me redemption so that I may live as a symbol to those who walk in my footsteps.

Time Stamps

5/28/2016.

This date will forever be burned into my subconscious.

It was the day my new life began.

It was the day that my life officially changed and I was on my own, in my own house, the marriage a distant memory and the divorce, freshly finished not two months earlier.

I had just gone through the nightmare of selling my gigantic expensive house that my ex and I had bought, the 4 car garage, the pool, the separate wings for all the family and friends that didn’t ever come, the large basement we never used. The house that took all of my energy to move out of, fix up, and sell for a $50k loss, the house that was supposed to save our marriage, instead became one of the most expensive head stones in history.

The struggle was real.

For 4 dark months between December 2018 to March 2019, my life was a dark hole. I was depressed, broke, paying a gigantic mortgage for a house I was trying to sell, working on the said house getting it fixed up so I could lose my ass on it. All the while, I was packing up 4300 sq ft worth of shit I didn’t want. It all reminded me of my failed marriage, my life at that moment, I was convinced I had indeed let so many people down, including myself.

Two portable storage units stood coldly outside my house as I diligently, slowly, and deliberately, filled them up with my old stuff. I had to eat at my parent’s house a ton because I couldn’t really afford any food except Ramen noodles but I always saved enough to make sure my kids had full bellies. For some strange reason, women would come around, damaged women looking for a damaged guy like me, and while I entertained some of them, many of them only added to the misery of me, slowly trudging along trying to pack up my life for the hope of a new one. That hope was a fucking glimmer that I thought would only continue to dim.

My family wasn’t speaking to me, much. My mother and sister were angry at me for making the choice to “duck out” on a responsible marriage.

I was mindless at work, just going through the motions thinking about the misery awaiting me in the house I didn’t want, with the stuff I didn’t want, living the life I didn’t want, thinking I would be stuck in this monstrosity forever. So naturally, depression sunk in.

I was going to therapy once a week and it was helping. It really was the only light that kept this dark winter aglow. My therapist kept discussing that if I kept working, the time would come that I could look over the mountain and see my glorious future waiting for me. But with every hurdle, there would be 5 more.

My dog I had raised with my ex passed away from complications of diabetes in February of 2019 and I cursed myself that if I had not been in this situation, I could’ve saved his life. If I wasn’t so damn depressed, feeling sorry for myself, miserable, he would still be alive. I sat in the vet’s office looking down at the floor after I had carried my lifeless dog into the office, knowing that he was going to be dead the next morning. It added to the general feeling of just fucking grey.

Every part of that 10 years I spent married was either being removed, being thrown away, or dying in front of my eyes. It’s enough to grind a man to dust to see everything he worked for being lit on fire, but I knew I had to keep going.

I had a few friends, but my best friend Jack always came over to help when he could, and my older sister and brother helped me as well. But in this four-month period, it was a lonely time. With the occasional whore ringing my doorbell, I slept, ate, and worked day and night to try and get out of this hell I was in.

When you’re alone during and after a divorce, life tends to look pretty fucking bleak. You have no money, no life, the quality of people are lacking, the women are trash, and all you can do is watch the clock and hope that the things you talk about to yourself, the hope you give, the sun that shows up as the clouds part this purgatory you sit in, will all be just around the corner.

At least that’s what my therapist kept saying, as I sat staring at him in disbelief. Good things are coming? Bullshit.

He told me I needed to get my mind off of things. I was semi-active, going to the gym 3 times a week, but I hadn’t really done anything to challenge myself.

That’s when Spartan came up.

The Shift

I had done a Spartan in October of 2015. The easiest one, the sprint, was a 5-mile course of mud, muck, and obstacles in the Kentucky bluegrass.

I had done it, barely, but my therapist told me I should do more.

I told myself that I would do a Trifecta, which is all three races in a Spartan year. A sprint is 5 miles, a super is 10, and the beast is 15. So I joined a team and signed up.

How hard could a Spartan be?

And of course, the first Spartan was in May of 2016. It was the beast.

15 miles in Southwest Ohio. Mud, hills, trees, obstacles, getting around them all. I wasn’t going to run the damn thing. Hell, I could barely get up the stairs.

So I made a commitment and purchased P90X and started doing it every day.

I ended up losing about 30 lbs, but I was still chunkified and wasn’t sure I was going to make it.

And why the fuck was I even signing up for a Spartan race of this magnitude in the first place? I was divorced, broken, shattered and trying to build something from ashes.

The reason? Because I needed to prove to myself I could do something hard.

I had never, NEVER, challenged myself. My first hard challenge was breaking away and filing for divorce. And now it was personal. This was my new start. This was my goal to be the best man I can be.

As I was tearing down my old life, in the basement of my gigantic house, I was slowly building my new one. Every day, because I had nothing else to do, I went downstairs and did a workout. I started to get stronger. I knew this was the first step every man must take to reclaim their lives.

I knew something amazing was going to happen.

So on that day, I got with my team and started the 15 mile trek. Hauling logs, carrying boulders, climbing hills, scaling walls, then halfway through, I lost my team.

Spartan Beast – Ohio 2016

It was just me and the course. Rain was coming down hard as I slogged through the mud. I was by myself, on a 15 mile course, easily the toughest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I had a half bottle of mustard, an energy bar, and my water pack.

I was terrified, I’ll be honest. Every hill I climbed, my legs cramped something horrible. I kept eating the mustard and kept going. There were other people around me, alone, overweight, fighting for every step, and we talked as we worked up this course. I would talk to strangers, other folks trying to do something amazing by finishing this course, jumping the fire, and getting their medals. I had that in mind too, as well as catching up with my team, but also, it became about proving something to myself. Proving that I could finish this course on my own. Proving that I could tackle the obstacles. Others quit around me. A 68-year-old man who was with me for most of my time and I talked. He’d been doing Spartans for years, and while he was slow, he did them, and he did them well. We worked over several obstacles together as we talked.

As I neared the last 2 miles, I was climbing a mud hill when I saw my team, waiting for me. It was almost dark. I wanted to get to the finish before the sunset. So I summoned what strength I had left, did the last few obstacles, and made the finish line by jumping over the fire. I was ecstatic.

I had done it. I had conquered a course. And it showed me what this second chance in my life really was about. Getting over the hard parts to enjoy the feeling of accomplishment.

But the Beast was also a microcosm of my own struggles in my life. That course took me 8 hours to get through. My life, currently, was a trudge that I knew I was going to get through, I just had to do it.

And suddenly, after the Spartan, the world seemed much easier to deal with. The small shit I was bitching about in my life became shit that I checked off of the list. I finished my house up, and after a few last minute panic moments, got it sold.

With it getting sold, I was able to move into my new house, my new life.

The last shackles of my married life were in that gigantic house, and now, without it, my world seems much more promising.

Then came the 28th. I came into work with a smile on my face. I had closed on my old house and was ready to move into my new house. As I left work that afternoon, I went to my new house, my new life, and stood in front of it.

This was a new start for me. A second chance to live my life MY way. A promise that I had made to myself that I was keeping. I stood in front of my new house beaming. Regardless of what happened from this point on, this was now on my terms. This life was now mine. I owned it, finally.

That night, I pulled out my bed, assembled it, and got to sleep in an empty house. But it was the greatest night’s sleep I ever got. Because deep down, I knew that my nightmare 6 months was now over.

I could breathe again. And I could finally live.

This is why 5/28 will forever be the number one date in my life.

Because I finally got to be me.

This is now my life, on my terms.

And I’m never looking back.

Intent to Silence

Photo Credit: medium.com

When you are in my line of blogging, writing, Youtubing, and podcasting, you tend to get a lot of flak from those that disagree with you. I am proud to say feminists don’t like me very much, because until 4 years ago, I didn’t have my head on straight on what I truly believed about the feminism movement and femininity in general.

But as I’ve evolved into this man you see today, still learning, still writing, working on a book, launched a new show on Youtube, and working on my podcast again, my views have always been called “misogynistic” by many feminists. Read my stuff. I’m critical of women, liberals and feminists in particular, but my views on women are generally that I love them and that feminism is a false god that has led them from looking for equality (which is just) to looking for revenge and power (which is happening).

While we disagree on many things, I still have every right to write what I think with discourse and debate welcome and insults and shaming being blockable offenses.

Listen, just because I paint certain segments of the female population in a negative light doesn’t mean I’m misogynistic. Everyone is ripe for criticism, me included. I stand by my writings as what I believe and if you don’t like it, there’s the door.

However, modern feminism is more interested in silencing those that disagree with them than openly debating ideas and issues. It’s not enough to agree to disagree, tip your cap, and move on your merry way. No, this person is wrong and they have to be made an example of.

No where is this more visible than with what happened with Jack Murphy.

Go to his Twitter page and read his pinned tweet. It will terrify you.

When the mob comes for you, it comes for you good and hard. You’ll lose family, friends, jobs, and relationships because you dared to write something you believe, much less something that is controversial.

But there will be no debate. The mob speaks and it speaks quickly and with brutal effectiveness. If you are seen as a person who’s views are “questionable”, be assured they will come for you.

That continues to be the problem today and will be the problem for the foreseeable future.

And this has come full circle with a little stunt an unknown woman pulled with me in a personal Facebook group.

Be Quiet or Be Ruined

When you are on this side of the debate, many, many men are changing names, choosing anonymity for having the temerity to express their opinions that may go against the grain. It is a constant worry, that actually expressing your views will get you fired from your job, removed from any activities, losing family and friends because you have an opinion that isn’t necessarily popular.

Look at Jack Murphy, Brett Kavanaugh, and the hundreds of other men who’s lives have been ruined because of false accusations and speaking for what they believe in. You never know when you might piss off the wrong people for saying what you think, resulting in your boss getting wind of your social media, and then the pitchforks and torches come out big time.

On another innocuous Monday night, I had recently tagged a bunch of my female mother friends in a Facebook post wishing them all a Happy Mother’s Day. I do this every year, as I recognize the importance of mothers to all of our lives and it was done again this year with little regard to what Pandora’s box I had just opened.

As I sat with my daughter doing homework, I got a notification with an unknown woman who had posted in my tagged group post with a link to my blog post about “The Single Mom Dating Dilemma”, which was a post in which I discuss my dating situation and try to debunk the manosphere issues with many single mothers, while pointing out that some of what is said is the truth. But the bottom line of that who article is women who take responsibility for bad choices in their lives (hell, ANYONE who does) tend to make better dating prospects because they own their lives, no questions asked. And I lavish praise on those women, with several women I’ve dated and countless family members who I admire and respect as strong, independent women who have succeeded in their lives. And yes, I do discuss my general disdain for the feminism movement that wants to “empower” women by trashing men and as usual, I call out my normal boogeymen of victimhood mentality, lack of personal responsibility, and the entitlement ruse that modern feminism uses as its “modus operandi.”

As always, this is where my blog focuses on. It’s nothing new to my 10k plus subs, but as it hits new audiences, it’s going to be challenged. And I welcome open debate on my conversations…but as we know, many toxic feminists aren’t interested in debate. They’d rather attempt to “expose” you and shame you into silence. And that’s just what happened.

So there it was, let’s call this woman….hmmmm, “Karen”. A woman I didn’t know, but a woman who was friends with a past acquaintance of mine I had dated briefly whom I happened to have tagged in the post because she’s a good mom. We disagreed on politics (she absolutely hates Trump) and left it at that. She ghosted me but we still were friends on Facebook.

So, Karen had a pithy comment saying that how I “really” feel about moms was in my blog post, especially single moms, in an attempt to shame me in front of my closest female friends and family. She then linked my blog post “The American Woman”, describing the total dumpster fire of Tinder and where many modern American liberal women have been lied to and lost their way. None of this is particularly salacious, I’m merely stating what I believe with the sense of entitlement that many women (and men for that matter) have developed with the “participation trophy” society I so desperately want to get away from.

What the hell was she trying to do?

Well, she was trying to shame me into silence. By “sticking it to the man” by posting my blog posts (which a majority of my friends and family know about, and either agree or disagree with) she was trying to “expose” me to my friends and family as a “misogynist” for posting such “horrible” things about women. I’m merely reporting what I believe and what I see, which is holding women accountable for their actions as well as men.

After my back and forth banter with “Karen”, a friend of mine recommended I block her, which I did, after many confused messages about what was going on. Karen had took it upon herself to enact justice on behalf of all women everywhere by trying to put the “toxic” male in his place because he happened to have a different opinion that she did.

Once again, modern femininity isn’t concerned about healthy discourse as it is with trying to silence and shame those who disagree with it. And once again, it shows the need for everyone to stand up for what they believe in, regardless of what people might think.

And that’s exactly what “Karen” was after here. Shame me in front of women whom just a day earlier I had wished a happy Mother’s day (including my own mother and sister) in order to show all the women of my life what a horrible man I was because I choose to voice my opinion which isn’t in lock step with what modern feminism deems appropriate.

So, for the people that don’t know what I do, here’s your introduction to my opinion. Take it or leave it, but be better and agree to disagree, rather than try to destroy or silence someone you disagree with. With the advent of social media, people have HAD to go anonymous because they believe certain things and are shamed, shunned, and destroyed by those who have an ax to grind against them.

Trying to silence those who you disagree with only does one thing. It makes them come back stronger and more polarized that if you had tried to discuss your side of things in an constructive manner. But everyone wants to be an outrage broker.

This has only polarized us further. And as with other hot button topics like feminism (fat acceptance, toxic masculinity, politics) the more controversial, the more eggshells and the more sitting on your hands. You have every right to disagree with me, as do I with you, but can we do it respectfully and openly, instead of treating every opinion like a lit stick of dynamite that will blow families, friends, and societies apart because we can’t have the difficult conversations that need to be had.

Bottom Lines

Do I come across as rough and direct? Sure, but that’s my right. We don’t live in China (yet) but we are starting to trend that way.

I respect your opinion even if I disagree with it. I believe you should do the same. I should never have to apologize for my convictions and beliefs just because they rub you the wrong way. And I should never have to pay for my opinion with my job, my life, my kids, or my freedom because I said something you don’t like. Last time I checked, this was still America.

So here you go. Here is what I believe:

  • I voted for Donald Trump and I will again
  • I am a conservative and I believe in small government
  • I disagree with Trump on many things, mainly his Twitter foolishness
  • I believe all mainstream media from FOX to CBS has been corrupted with FAKE news
  • I believe that obesity is a national epidemic and we all need to get into shape for our best lives
  • I believe in equality of both sexes, but that each sex brings strengths to a relationship
  • I believe in two genders
  • I believe and support gay marriage
  • I believe that taxation is theft
  • I believe that modern feminism is damaging women and it is trying to change men
  • I decry the term “Toxic Masculinity
  • I support public schools but they need to teach without an agenda
  • I don’t go to church and I am agnostic, but I respect all religions and your beliefs as long as you respect mine
  • Religion and I don’t necessarily get along, it has the same trappings as government as a form of absolute worship versus an open mind
  • I believe masculinity and femininity are both amazing things that people should respect and nurture, versus trying to change
  • I don’t drink anymore, but I respect your right to do so
  • I believe a strong father is required to have well rounded kids
  • I don’t believe in entitlement, but I do believe that everyone needs help and has dark times they need to get through
  • Systematic racism still exists, as does white privilege
  • I absolutely love women and all they are
  • I believe biology trumps everything else

So, all I ask is that you respect my opinion. I am still learning every day and my opinions often change, and I am always up for hearing a side of something I didn’t hear. But EVERYONE must bring the respect. If you don’t respect me, I highly doubt I will respect you back.

I have every right to my opinions and shouldn’t have to cower because it doesn’t fit with the “Right think” narrative that many men who’ve had their lives destroyed are still fighting to this day.

If I lose followers, friends, or family by writing this, so be it. It gets tiresome to try and dance around feelings, all while trying to keep the peace because of intolerance of opinion. And I’m sure I will be pigeon-holed as a misogynist, right wing whack job, etc, but that’s on you. You’re labeling me in the same way you shame others for labeling you.

There it is. This is me.

Take it or leave it, but I’m not going to let my opinions be silenced because you don’t agree with them.

I won’t be bullied.

Storms

The phone rang about 2 that afternoon, I was in the middle of working on some things for work. It was my oldest daughter…

“Ally’s having a seizure.”

Fuck.

With a rushing heart, I ran out of the office and bolted to my car. Jumping in and driving as fast I could.

When I arrived at my ex’s home, I found my 10 year old completely out of it laying on the ground with her mother rubbing her head. She was still recovering from her first seizure after 8 months.

Dammit.

We had seen such improvement, we thought we had the epilepsy kicked. We only needed another 16 months of no new seizures….but, alas, that’s not how the story’s going to go.

As her mother got up to tend to other things, I laid with my daughter on the floor of the bedroom and rubbed her head. I didn’t want this to happen, but it had. That’s the deal.

She had gone into the other room to play with the cat and that’s when my ex and my oldest daughter heard a thud. They called out to my daughter, but no response. Then they heard another thud. When my ex got there, my daughter was leaning against the wall, unresponsive to words, and my ex knew.

She laid her down and held her as she had the seizure, which was in many cases, different from the ones before. No convulsing, no foaming at the mouth, but my ex knew this was happening.

After my ex had administered the meds to bring my daughter back out of her seizure, she had a gigantic headache and slept for 14 hours. A seizure is like running a marathon for your mind and it wears you out.

So, in the quiet of the room, I looked at my daughter resting after this incident and just kept saying, “When is shit gonna calm down. Fuck.”

Guess what Mr Beckett? It doesn’t.

When Times Are Tough

Without a doubt, this is one of the most challenging times for many of us, and I’m not an exception. As a small business owner, I’ve had to lay off my part time staff, hoping that one day soon I can hire them back. Everyone is surrounded by uncertainty and government handouts only help for so long.

Still, it speaks volumes for people who are struggling right now that it’s EVERYONE that seems to be going through some shit on some level or another. It always helps when people who are struggling just like you understand and empathize with you on your journey. That’s one of the brightest spots in all of this.

But it still doesn’t answer the questions that we all have that generate self doubt in all of us everyday. Why? Why does this happen?

People try so hard to control what can’t be controlled, they sometime forget to read that sentence again. “You can’t control what can’t be controlled.”

Which is why the only thing you can do during a storm is seek shelter and wait until it passes. You can scream at the storm to stop, you can run around like a chicken with it’s head cut off, you can jump up and down in anger, but the storm is still going to strike.

Which is why, after 20 years before of looking up at the sky and asking “why me?” I was calm, collected, and smiling as I looked at my daughter post seizure sleeping after it passed. I knew that there wasn’t shit I could do about what had just happened except what I could do.

So I calmly called the neurologist, who explained that because of my daughter’s recent growth spurts, she may have to increase her medication, got my daughter comfortable, kissed her forehead, and went home to contemplate my situation.

I had a business in the balance of all of this uncontrollable mess, a daughter who has now relapsed into epilepsy, another daughter who’s in intensive therapy over out of control anxiety, family issues, and all the other bullshit that life throws at us everyday.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t sleep much the next two days. But all of that mental masturbation as I contemplated what had happened didn’t help one bit. As a matter of fact, after hour one, I started to work on solutions that I could actually DO, as opposed to pie in the sky bullshit that only landed on the flip of a coin or worse, the spin of a roulette wheel.

One of my most used sayings is “it is what it is” and it continues to ring true in these unprecedented times.

Two things to remember:

  1. It can always be worse. No matter what you’re going through, imagine there are thousands of folks going through worse.
  2. You can’t control it, you can only control how you react to it, or better yet, how you prepare for it.

There will always be a segment of the populace who labors under the false assumption that their complaining will change their outlook. It never does, it only adds to the misery of how they are living their lives.

You can only control:

  • Your actions
  • Your perspective
  • Your reactions to events

This is it. There’s nothing you can do with things you can’t control.

It’s been a long time coming for many people as they continue to get smacked in the face by life to just lay there and cry instead of getting back up. They think if they lay in the fetal position after the punch they’ll get left alone only to find out that life continues beating their ass as they lay there.

Punches and kicks don’t stop because you tell them too. At some point, you gotta hit back.

If you want life to stop hitting you, you have to be tougher to absorb the blows.

But you also have to register that fact that there’s nothing you can do. You can contemplate, you can pray, you can do a whole host of things, but stuff is still not going to change until you realize that you must adjust to it all.

The simple fact that the hits keep coming in your life isn’t your fault but it doesn’t change that they’re going to keep coming at you, for better or worse. If my daughter’s medical bills pile up right before I’m about to make a payment on my debt, there’s nothing I can do about that except move forward with my current plan and tweak when necessary.

My joy of seeing my daughter eight month seizure free was dampened by the most recent seizure, but in the big scheme of things, there are children having daily….hell, HOURLY seizures that can’t be controlled with medication.

And with a simple increase in medication and a bit of expense to restock seizure ending meds in the long run is much better than being whisked to a hospital every week with life threatening seizures.

It can always be worse, but it can also be better.

That’s why, regardless of what is going on, you need to construct a plan, sort of a “hope for the best, prepare for the worst” type of plan. And you need to go over it every day and twice on Sunday. Have it as a part of your life.

Plan for the Storm

Let’s be honest, there’s no way to completely plan for every little eventuality, is there? Health issues are unpredictable. Financial windfalls and shortfalls happen very quickly. Which is why what this pandemic and ensuing fallout from it is showing us that there’s nothing wrong with being prepared.

Despite the fact that my daughter had another seizure, I was prepared for it.

We had a plan. Contact the neurologist. Understand the symptoms and what was ahead. Know that the medication amount hadn’t changed and we were going to have to raise it. Know that a keto diet may be in the cards. Know about CBD oil and it’s effects. Run through all of these plans.

Which is why I was set back, but not set out. As unpleasant as the eventuality was, I had to keep it on the table. You can’t whistle on the train tracks all day without knowing what to do when a train is coming, especially on a bridge…(for you Stand By Me fans out there).

You have to have a feel for the track when a train is coming. Which is why the reaction to run as the train came was the only one, and it was a distinct possibility that Gordie knew about as he kept feeling the track.

Prepare for the worst, hope for the best is your best stance, especially financially.

In my life currently, I am going on month number 2 of monk mode Beckett.

I am working on paying down my debt, once over 75k to now under 19k with more to come. I have cut every last expense in order to get me over the hump and put me in a better position come 2021. My plan, regardless of what happens, will still be in place. I have contingency plans for job loss, for homelessness, for lack of clothing, for lack of food.

I have contingency plans in place for my daughters. If I die, they have millions coming.

If their health, either mental or physical, becomes an issue, I have avenues to work with. We have different paths that we take to get to our destination, and most often the ones with the most hardship are the ones we avoid, but are also the ones that get us there the quickest.

Every situation you can think of can help you craft and mold a plan to ride out the storm. Which is better? Riding it out in a metal shack with holes in it or a brick house that has been built to withstand the chaos?

You build and you re-build, but you never cower and hide. You make it stronger than before the storm, but you keep re-building. You keep preparing so you aren’t surprised like you were the last time. Adaptation is a key component to a full life.

Death? Life insurance. Job loss? Updated resume on file and hard copied. Health issues? Doctors, specialists and people who know how to treat these conditions. Divorce? Several attorneys that can give you advice. Finance? Invest, have a plan, learn about money. Expenses? Only pay for what you need and pay cash as much as you can. Many ways to skin a cat.

This won’t be the last crisis we have. This won’t even be the last crisis we have this MONTH. So you have to be better and prepare for all things, even the worst things like death, so that you can continue to persevere in this life of yours. Get stronger in all aspects of your life and you’ll weather any storm life throws.

The storms aren’t stopping, all you can do is prepare.

And even better, be the storm yourself.

The American Woman

Your modern American woman.

When she has all the attention, she never gives it back, she only loses it.

It’s been a while since my last post, so what better way to jump back into the cesspool with a stark and real look at what I’ve seen in the dating apps.

Tinder, especially, is a dumpster fire. As I have always said guys, you can avoid a ton of garbage if you swipe left on any and all dating apps. But they’re there to be convenient. And that alone is why they all suck.

But it gives me a chance to really discuss the state of the modern American woman.

This certainly does not ascertain a blanket sweep of all women, as I’ve met many women who are quite awesome, especially those that I DON’T meet on dating apps, but there is a disturbing trend we are seeing that only continues to get worse.

I do believe in equality, but I don’t believe in equality of outcome. Women most certainly have had to earn rights and still suffer in other countries under brutal regimes. But I also think that women growing up in this modern time have been led to believe that they can act exactly like men. And that is a mistake. And it’s showing when you see women who are ravaged by trying to be something they are not. You can’t make biological differences a factor in equality, because Mother Nature doesn’t play that, and feminists these days certainly don’t believe in equality as much as they believe in revenge for what men did to them all those years ago.

Make no mistake, women have come a long way. They’ve had to fight for rights and privileges that they should naturally have, but did it go to far?

As the COVID-19 epidemic is showing you, feminists are reverting back to “save me” mode and wanting men for what men do, because quite honestly, no one can be a man except a man. That’s biology, not anything new.

But the modern feminist and women in general “have their cake and eat it too” is getting tiresome for this generation. When men step up, they are being lauded as “toxic”. When they fade back, they are told to “man up” or do their jobs. In essence, men can’t win, and feminists want it that way.

Feminism has poisoned several generations of women, with the oldest generation now reaping the crops they sowed so long ago.

Modern Feminism in the Dating Scene

The glory days of Sex in the City and having a career and sleeping with an entire city have now crumbled and you see tired, fading women who didn’t embrace their femininity, they flaunted it, and now they don’t have it to flaunt.

You are seeing women who were rode hard and put away wet. Years of “empowerment” have resulted in tattoos, piercings, obese and worse with these women being told that living just like a man is a great life and you can be sexually promiscuous with tons of men and be just fine.

But as they are finding out, that’s not the case. As Jordan Peterson has stated many times, “Who would want to be a man?”

Men are built biologically to reproduce with as many partners as they can. Now while we certainly don’t do that, women are not built that way, and society saying that they are is empowering? And we see the result. Dating apps filled to the brim with women who took their wild years too wildly and now are a shell of who they were. They were told embracing their femininity is weak and acting like a man would strike a blow to the patriarchy. And you see this behavior seeping into younger generations.

While Tinder is a very small slice of the pie, you consistently see women who are 30-45 that are very damaged. Liberal women galore. “If you like Trump, swipe left.” “I’m a feminist” types that have been on the dating app carousel for ages, hoping to find a guy who puts up with the crap they dish out, and finding there isn’t anyone out there. Swipe left.

And then you have the IG fisher thots, amateurs trying to grow their respective followings of simps IMing them dick pics, swipe left.

Then you have the feminazi’s who have found the error of their ways but are so far gone there’s no hope. Buy cats. Swipe left.

Emotionally damaged women who made the wrong choice and now have addictive behaviors, but refuse to help themselves or work on themselves as they’ve been sold the “be yourself” trash by society. Swipe left.

Dudes pretending to be girls (either digitally or in real life), she-male fiesta hoping to trap a dude by looking attractive enough from the waist up. Swipe left.

Married women looking for that guy who will be the bull in their loveless marriage because their man stopped trying years ago and hey “do you mind if he watches us?” Swipe left.

22 year old with 3 kids who’s ready to “settle down” after three different fathers didn’t know she wasn’t on birth control. Swipe left.

But we know this isn’t the norm, is it? You are seeing a slice of the female pie that only exists online. There is hope for women, I’ve seen it in the women I’ve dated because I’ve put down the phone.

Empowerment Traps

I’ve said many times, society has allowed women to overvalue themselves while pushing men to undervalue themselves. Once again, empowerment was never about equality, it was about putting men in their place for the feminine dominant to come out. But when the dominant feminism came out, the minute a spider shows up, the imperative wants men to kill it so they can continue to rule.

The influencer movement is extremely interesting to me, as it’s turned millions of men into mindless followers hoping for just a taste of that perfect woman who’s far from it. And now, thanks to OnlyFans, thousands of amateur women can now have male followers who pay for homes, cars, and other necessities while she fucks around with the best of the best who she has. It’s hypergamy on steroids and feminism in a nutshell. “Have your cake and eat it too.”

And men not only allow it, but they placate it. Men have been neutered to the point of being willing accomplices to a woman’s sexual strategy. And they aren’t stopping anytime soon.

“Venmo me for nudes!”

Remember, gentlemen, these women described above are garbage. Plain and simple. And they are the product of feminism let out of the barn with no plan on how to deal with it. Even since the advent of birth control and women’s sexual options opening up, any woman with a vagina has an open season on any guy.

But here’s the fail-safe that we are seeing that women didn’t count on. Age.
Many of these women have an expiration date. Women don’t age as well as men, and they can’t understand that the fun they had when they were younger didn’t translate to a kick-ass life when they are older. We are seeing aging hipsters like Sharon Stone, long a screen smoke show, now having to resort to Tinder to find a dude that will put up with her feminism sideshow. The makeup, hair dye, and skin products can only do so much to hide the hideousness inside and underneath, and these women will rightfully grow old and die alone, which is a much bigger fear for women than for men. (Manosphere term is “the wall” as Rollo has dubbed it.)

When women fought for and what women expected were two different things. They want all the fun without the consequences, preferring to blame others for their lots in life, or with feminism, evil men and their patriarchy which by the way, paved the way for women to have the very rights they feel they don’t have.

These women dictate terms as long as their favorable, then tap out when they aren’t, blaming all and everything but themselves.

And when they don’t get their way, they scream “sexism” and move on down the road to deface their bodies in the name of fighting against “the man”. Militancy is not a path for women to go down so they have men with guns to keep other men in line until the men with guns are busy with a bigger threat.

Feminism creates perpetual victimhood with endless demands and bottomless complaints. You can’t satisfy those who refuse concessions.

So, we see this, now, with women struggling with their identities. Society tells them to be empowered and the men they want telling them to be more feminine. It’s a struggle that feminism is winning, sadly, but there is hope. As we see COVID-19 and other factors pushing women to be more feminine, they are starting to see they can attract more bees with honey than vinegar. They’ve been lied to, and for many, it’s too late, but for others, they are resetting their lives before it’s too late. And while I may poke fun at the “born again” crowd, it shows more guts to admit a change in your mindset than blindly plowing forward until death to try to fulfill a blantently untrue narrative.

This part gives me hope. I see many women in my travels who are bucking the feminism clap-trap for a more nuanced approach to femininity. And this makes me smile because I know that the narrative isn’t affecting near as many women as we think.

But we as men need to do our part as well. We have to stop placating this behavior as normal. Silence means acceptance. We have to stop financing women with hopes of intimacy. It’s only making the whole situation worse.

So beware of the new American woman. She’s on a mission to maximize everything she has while she can. But also applaud the women coming out of this realizing the lie and praising masculinity instead of toxifying it.

There’s hope for the American Woman after all.

American woman gonna mess your mind
American woman, she gonna mess your mind
Mm, American woman gonna mess your mind
Mm, American woman gonna mess your mind
Say A
Say M
Say E
Say R
Say I
C
Say A
N, mm
American woman gonna mess your mind
Mm, American woman gonna mess your mind
Uh, American woman gonna mess your mind

Uh!

American woman, stay away from me
American woman, mama, let me be
Don’t come a-hangin’ around my door
I don’t wanna see your face no more
I got more important things to do
Than spend my time growin’ old with you
Now woman, I said stay away
American woman, listen what I say

https://tpc.googlesyndication.com/safeframe/1-0-37/html/container.html
American woman, get away from me
American woman, mama, let me be
Don’t come a-knockin’ around my door
Don’t wanna see your shadow no more
Colored lights can hypnotize
Sparkle someone else’s eyes

Now woman, I said get away
American woman, listen what I say, hey

American woman, said get away
American woman, listen what I say
Don’t come a-hangin’ around my door
Don’t wanna see your face no more
I don’t need your war machines
I don’t need your ghetto scenes
Colored lights can hypnotize
Sparkle someone else’s eyes
Now woman, get away from me
American woman, mama, let me be

Go, gotta get away, gotta get away
Now go go go
I’m gonna leave you, woman
Gonna leave you, woman
Bye-bye
Bye-bye
Bye-bye
Bye-bye
You’re no good for me
I’m no good for you

Gonna look you right in the eye
Tell you what I’m gonna do
You know I’m gonna leave
You know I’m gonna go
You know I’m gonna leave
You know I’m gonna go, woman
I’m gonna leave ya, woman
Goodbye, American woman…