Showing posts with label motivation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motivation. Show all posts
Friday, February 15, 2013
Thursday, January 03, 2013
Because YOU are reading THIS.
It's not over. Because you are reading this.
Stop apologizing. I don't mean you actually saying you're sorry for what you believe, I mean every time you've ever held your tongue. We've been coddling the softest of us for so long we think they're in charge. They're not. They never were. We were just conditioned to believe it.
This was no small feat. It was in our classrooms, our neighborhoods, our friends, our coworkers, our neighbors, our childrens' stories, our books, our newspapers, our TV shows, our commercials, our movies, our art, our music, our gender-neutrally adjusted history, our billboards, our decoder rings, the backs of our breakfast cereal boxes.
It permeated our society like a biological weapon that coated all media, transmitted from mind to mind by written and spoken word.
It is impossible that you still exist.
That you, through your formative years, felt that one splinter of doubt, deep in the back of your mind, and felt it long enough to locate, extract, and examine it. Only to realize it wasn't a foreign body at all. It was the one bit of truth left, and the rest of your mind was foreign.
Confronted with this reality you chose the hard path. You chose to take that splinter, now a seed, and painfully return it to your mind. Burying it deep where it could grow.
It's amazing you still exist, but you do for one reason. because these backward ideas are aberrant to our natures, and deeply different from what we instinctually know to be true.
Weakness is not strength.
Strength is not weakness.
Are you better than the man who accomplishes nothing, blames everyone and everything, including his peanut allergy, his parents for not hugging him enough, and his gym teacher for not making sure he was picked first at dodgeball?
YES.
Because when reality slapped you in the face, you didn't run or hide or make excuses. You learned, you grew, you changed, you adapted. Or maybe you just dug your heels in that much harder.
And while your cheek still stung, you looked it back in the eye and tried again.
When a hard thing hits a soft thing, the soft thing gets softer.
But not you.
Because when life hit hard it didn't make you softer, it made you harder.
Because when the authority figure repeats that unnatural lie with a wagging finger and disdain in his eye, you know in your heart that he's wrong, and your answer is the most powerful word in the world.
NO.
With that single syllable ejected forcefully from your lips, their world shatters, and so do they.
But how do I know this?
Because somehow, YOU still exist.
Because YOU are reading THIS.
Because you are still free in the only place that matters. The last bastion of reason. The final fortress of right. Your mind.
You preserved it for so long, tucking it away from sight when necessary, feeding it morsels from alternative news sources, alternative literature, and alternative people with alternative ideas.
Because you know that these things still exist.
Common sense. Reality. Truth. Honor. Respect. Integrity. Morals. The dogged refusal to give up.
You know they still exist because they still exist in your mind.
Because that's what this fight is actually about.
Because with these powers on your side, there is nothing on this planet that can stop you.
Except one.
Yourself.
They knew this. They knew their weakness of mind, heart, and spirit never stood a chance against your strength. So to hold you back, they used the strongest person they knew.
You.
When elephants are young they are tethered with heavy chains to stakes driven deep into the ground. They are mighty, but still small, and cannot escape. Eventually, they give up. They learn the FACT that they cannot defeat the tether.
When they grow to full size, and become many times stronger than the deepest stake, they do not struggle against the tether, and are held in captivity by a slender rope and a small stake. The only thing holding them back is themselves.
They ENSLAVED us.
They control us with their facts. But just because something is a fact does not make it the truth.
They would tell Edison the fact that the lightbulb can't be invented.
They would tell the Wright brothers the fact that man cannot fly.
They would tell America the many facts why man cannot set foot on the moon.
But Edison did, the Wright brothers did, America did, and YOU WILL.
Because YOU are reading THIS.
Because your chains don't really exist.
Because your freedom really is absolute.
Because your life is actually yours to live.
Because YOU are a HUMAN BEING, and YOU are FREE.
These aren't facts. These are truths.
And to begin to realize these truths all you have to do is say one thing. One syllable. One sound.
NO.
You say it to their faces, while looking them dead in the eyes, without flinching, blinking, or stuttering.
NO.
"I can't tell them what I really think. NO. That's not true. I can."
"I shouldn't do things differently. NO. I want to, and so, I will."
"I'd better do what he says. NO. I can make my own decisions."
"I can't do that, it's illegal. NO. It doesn't hurt anyone, so I can."
"It's impossible. NO. The impossible HAS been done before."
But be prepared for what will happen after you say that powerful word.
Because there is no fury like a master losing control of his slave.
They will rage and wail and threaten and slander and sneer and deride and spurn and scorn and seethe and burn with brimstone and sting with sulfur!
But you will notice one thing they will never do.
They will not stop you.
Because they can't.
They don't believe their own nonsense, they're too smart for that. This is why the rules don't apply to them. Publicly or privately. They know the game consciously or not, and they smirk when they see you following the rules, and they REVEL in their power over you.
Let me say that again; They REVEL in their POWER over YOU.
Every time they condescend you into changing your mind.
Every time they appeal to your better side to make you do something.
Every time they shame you into backing down.
Every time they threaten you into submission.
Every time they remind you of the rules they made up and never follow.
They get a thrill.
It's the thrill of commanding something much larger and more powerful than yourself. The thrill of tricking the behemoth into believing they cannot escape the tether.
So, as one Titan to another, I ask you to do the impossible.
I ask you to do perform futile.
I ask you to break the facts you've known your whole life.
I ask YOU, because YOU are reading THIS...
Pull on that slender rope.
Almost all stakes will pop free at the slightest tug, some will require struggle and strain, and a dangerous few, may take your whole life.
But once that stake comes free, so will you.
The walls that confined you will melt away. Monuments of fact, impossibility, and futility, built larger and greater, reenforced for decades by the careful architects of your mind will turn to DUST, and vanish into nothingness at the slightest breeze of TRUTH. Those glaciers that surrounded you your entire life will melt away and become puddles beneath your feet.
Then, you will truly be FREE.
Freedom IS a possibility if only we remember that what we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly. Freedom carries heavy costs, but I would pay them gladly because you cannot enslave a free man. You can only kill him.
Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated.
There is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come.
Again.
How do I know this?
Because YOU are reading THIS.
Stop apologizing. I don't mean you actually saying you're sorry for what you believe, I mean every time you've ever held your tongue. We've been coddling the softest of us for so long we think they're in charge. They're not. They never were. We were just conditioned to believe it.
This was no small feat. It was in our classrooms, our neighborhoods, our friends, our coworkers, our neighbors, our childrens' stories, our books, our newspapers, our TV shows, our commercials, our movies, our art, our music, our gender-neutrally adjusted history, our billboards, our decoder rings, the backs of our breakfast cereal boxes.
It permeated our society like a biological weapon that coated all media, transmitted from mind to mind by written and spoken word.
It is impossible that you still exist.
That you, through your formative years, felt that one splinter of doubt, deep in the back of your mind, and felt it long enough to locate, extract, and examine it. Only to realize it wasn't a foreign body at all. It was the one bit of truth left, and the rest of your mind was foreign.
Confronted with this reality you chose the hard path. You chose to take that splinter, now a seed, and painfully return it to your mind. Burying it deep where it could grow.
It's amazing you still exist, but you do for one reason. because these backward ideas are aberrant to our natures, and deeply different from what we instinctually know to be true.
Weakness is not strength.
Strength is not weakness.
Are you better than the man who accomplishes nothing, blames everyone and everything, including his peanut allergy, his parents for not hugging him enough, and his gym teacher for not making sure he was picked first at dodgeball?
YES.
Because when reality slapped you in the face, you didn't run or hide or make excuses. You learned, you grew, you changed, you adapted. Or maybe you just dug your heels in that much harder.
And while your cheek still stung, you looked it back in the eye and tried again.
When a hard thing hits a soft thing, the soft thing gets softer.
But not you.
Because when life hit hard it didn't make you softer, it made you harder.
Because when the authority figure repeats that unnatural lie with a wagging finger and disdain in his eye, you know in your heart that he's wrong, and your answer is the most powerful word in the world.
NO.
With that single syllable ejected forcefully from your lips, their world shatters, and so do they.
But how do I know this?
Because somehow, YOU still exist.
Because YOU are reading THIS.
Because you are still free in the only place that matters. The last bastion of reason. The final fortress of right. Your mind.
You preserved it for so long, tucking it away from sight when necessary, feeding it morsels from alternative news sources, alternative literature, and alternative people with alternative ideas.
Because you know that these things still exist.
Common sense. Reality. Truth. Honor. Respect. Integrity. Morals. The dogged refusal to give up.
You know they still exist because they still exist in your mind.
Because that's what this fight is actually about.
Because with these powers on your side, there is nothing on this planet that can stop you.
Except one.
Yourself.
They knew this. They knew their weakness of mind, heart, and spirit never stood a chance against your strength. So to hold you back, they used the strongest person they knew.
You.
When elephants are young they are tethered with heavy chains to stakes driven deep into the ground. They are mighty, but still small, and cannot escape. Eventually, they give up. They learn the FACT that they cannot defeat the tether.
When they grow to full size, and become many times stronger than the deepest stake, they do not struggle against the tether, and are held in captivity by a slender rope and a small stake. The only thing holding them back is themselves.
They ENSLAVED us.
They control us with their facts. But just because something is a fact does not make it the truth.
They would tell Edison the fact that the lightbulb can't be invented.
They would tell the Wright brothers the fact that man cannot fly.
They would tell America the many facts why man cannot set foot on the moon.
But Edison did, the Wright brothers did, America did, and YOU WILL.
Because YOU are reading THIS.
Because your chains don't really exist.
Because your freedom really is absolute.
Because your life is actually yours to live.
Because YOU are a HUMAN BEING, and YOU are FREE.
These aren't facts. These are truths.
And to begin to realize these truths all you have to do is say one thing. One syllable. One sound.
NO.
You say it to their faces, while looking them dead in the eyes, without flinching, blinking, or stuttering.
NO.
"I can't tell them what I really think. NO. That's not true. I can."
"I shouldn't do things differently. NO. I want to, and so, I will."
"I'd better do what he says. NO. I can make my own decisions."
"I can't do that, it's illegal. NO. It doesn't hurt anyone, so I can."
"It's impossible. NO. The impossible HAS been done before."
But be prepared for what will happen after you say that powerful word.
Because there is no fury like a master losing control of his slave.
They will rage and wail and threaten and slander and sneer and deride and spurn and scorn and seethe and burn with brimstone and sting with sulfur!
But you will notice one thing they will never do.
They will not stop you.
Because they can't.
They don't believe their own nonsense, they're too smart for that. This is why the rules don't apply to them. Publicly or privately. They know the game consciously or not, and they smirk when they see you following the rules, and they REVEL in their power over you.
Let me say that again; They REVEL in their POWER over YOU.
Every time they condescend you into changing your mind.
Every time they appeal to your better side to make you do something.
Every time they shame you into backing down.
Every time they threaten you into submission.
Every time they remind you of the rules they made up and never follow.
They get a thrill.
It's the thrill of commanding something much larger and more powerful than yourself. The thrill of tricking the behemoth into believing they cannot escape the tether.
So, as one Titan to another, I ask you to do the impossible.
I ask you to do perform futile.
I ask you to break the facts you've known your whole life.
I ask YOU, because YOU are reading THIS...
Pull on that slender rope.
Almost all stakes will pop free at the slightest tug, some will require struggle and strain, and a dangerous few, may take your whole life.
But once that stake comes free, so will you.
The walls that confined you will melt away. Monuments of fact, impossibility, and futility, built larger and greater, reenforced for decades by the careful architects of your mind will turn to DUST, and vanish into nothingness at the slightest breeze of TRUTH. Those glaciers that surrounded you your entire life will melt away and become puddles beneath your feet.
Then, you will truly be FREE.
Freedom IS a possibility if only we remember that what we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly. Freedom carries heavy costs, but I would pay them gladly because you cannot enslave a free man. You can only kill him.
Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed if so celestial an article as FREEDOM should not be highly rated.
There is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.It is time for this idea.
Again.
How do I know this?
Because YOU are reading THIS.
Friday, May 25, 2012
California Screamin'
I'm having difficulty starting this post.
It's not that I lack complaints about California, I have plenty of those, it's just that I'm... exhausted.
I can't muster the ire to castigate the state on the mathematical certainty of its financial (and social) insolvency. I can't squeeze another drop of passion from the turnip that is my love for this state to pummel the high speed train to nowhere. I can't find a single synapse willing to explain how the variety of leeches up and down the food chain drain everything that was great from this state. Worst of all, I can't even bring myself to contemplate how bad the fall will be.
They won. They wore me down. I just don't care anymore. California is theirs. They can have it with all its dysfunction.
I've put in notice at my good-paying job with advancement opportunities, we've paid out of our lease, and we've shipped out the second car. We're moving to Kentucky.
We're not the first to leave, nor will we be the last.
We've been talking about moving for some time, but had no commitment to any state in particular. Kentucky was under consideration because we have some family there, but to be honest, other states were higher in preference. Last Christmas we visited our family in Kentucky, as we have before, but when we landed in California upon our return I got an odd feeling. I thought about it as we disembarked and finally put my finger on it as we rode the escalator down to the baggage claim. I turned to my wife and said, "I think we're moving to Kentucky." She nodded knowingly and said, "I think so too." And that was that. We left our hearts in Kentucky.
Given this revelation, I immediately checked the gun laws in Kentucky, and found them quite to my liking. Many states that would come to mind when discussing freedom have quirky laws about certain things. Kentucky doesn't have any that I have found.
I want to shoot steel targets in my backyard with my suppressed AR. I want use my Microtech UTX-85 to clean my fingernails. I want to own land that costs hundreds of dollars in property taxes, not thousands. I want to be able to defend my family without getting a signed Notice of Intent to Murder form from my attacker. I want strangers to return the greeting offered in passing. I want to drive to work in under an hour. I want to be able to hunt without researching conflicting ordinances and property lines for 6 months. I want to run a business without fear of the state changing my business classification and demanding back taxes while putting a lien on my business and preemptively draining my bank account (and charging me $200 for the privilege).
I don't want to live in fear that some bureaucrat is going to knock on my door with a piece of paper that says an endangered beetle lives on my land, or I use my wood-burning fireplace too much, or someone thinks I'm abusing my kid, or the tool shed I built needs to be inspected, or my birdbath doesn't have a circulation pump and filter, or my sprinklers ran on Thursday instead of Wednesday, or my garden is too large, or my grass isn't green enough, or my dog looks like a "pitbull mix," or my cat has testicles, or my cigar smoke wafted too far, or my kid's lemonade stand doesn't have a permit, or the political sign on my lawn is too large, or the tree across the sidewalk needs to be trimmed, or I can't have a chicken coop, or my pool doesn't have a fence, or my bicycle doesn't have a license, or I can't have people over to my house to discuss religion or politics, or my car is parked on my property in an unapproved fashion. I could keep going, but why bother?
I want to be free. Or at least, more free.
This move is a big shake-up, and I'm going to take advantage by making some other changes. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do next, but it'll be different. I feel like working with my hands, or for myself, or in a different industry, or all of the above. I don't know what's going to happen, but I know we'll be fine so long as we continue to trust the guidance in our hearts.
Blogging will become more regular (even if I have nothing to blag aboot) as he California job expires. It became uninteresting and unchallenging, and it ruined me for much else by the time I got home. I wasn't kidding about the upward mobility though, by their standards I was a golden boy. They hate to see me leave.
Everyone we've told has been surprisingly supportive. Hints in their speech make me suspect many have heard a similar call but declined to answer.
The stress of this completely out-of-character move may have contributed to the California burnout at the beginning of this post. All my specific concerns have been quelled with trust in guidance, but some deeper part of my brain can't help but worry. It's stressing me out and I can't address it. We move in twenty-something days, and I wish the waiting was over.
I've been playing around with new ideas and practicing the skills I enjoy. I whetted my appetite for fabrication by spending some time at a machine shop working on a project I've enjoyed planning. It's incomplete, but I'm cutting metal and learning fast. Once I get the prototype finalized, I'll toss it up on kickstarter. I think people will want one... or two.
I'm trying to be more productive with the things I like doing. Writing is one of them, so if I'm sticking to my plan, this blog should start getting busy again. Feel free to hold me to it.
I suppose that's it for now. It's terribly late for the morning I have, but I don't care because I finished this post just like I told myself I was going to.
This is the start of something great. Glad you're along for the ride.
It's not that I lack complaints about California, I have plenty of those, it's just that I'm... exhausted.
I can't muster the ire to castigate the state on the mathematical certainty of its financial (and social) insolvency. I can't squeeze another drop of passion from the turnip that is my love for this state to pummel the high speed train to nowhere. I can't find a single synapse willing to explain how the variety of leeches up and down the food chain drain everything that was great from this state. Worst of all, I can't even bring myself to contemplate how bad the fall will be.
They won. They wore me down. I just don't care anymore. California is theirs. They can have it with all its dysfunction.
I've put in notice at my good-paying job with advancement opportunities, we've paid out of our lease, and we've shipped out the second car. We're moving to Kentucky.
We're not the first to leave, nor will we be the last.
We've been talking about moving for some time, but had no commitment to any state in particular. Kentucky was under consideration because we have some family there, but to be honest, other states were higher in preference. Last Christmas we visited our family in Kentucky, as we have before, but when we landed in California upon our return I got an odd feeling. I thought about it as we disembarked and finally put my finger on it as we rode the escalator down to the baggage claim. I turned to my wife and said, "I think we're moving to Kentucky." She nodded knowingly and said, "I think so too." And that was that. We left our hearts in Kentucky.
Given this revelation, I immediately checked the gun laws in Kentucky, and found them quite to my liking. Many states that would come to mind when discussing freedom have quirky laws about certain things. Kentucky doesn't have any that I have found.
I want to shoot steel targets in my backyard with my suppressed AR. I want use my Microtech UTX-85 to clean my fingernails. I want to own land that costs hundreds of dollars in property taxes, not thousands. I want to be able to defend my family without getting a signed Notice of Intent to Murder form from my attacker. I want strangers to return the greeting offered in passing. I want to drive to work in under an hour. I want to be able to hunt without researching conflicting ordinances and property lines for 6 months. I want to run a business without fear of the state changing my business classification and demanding back taxes while putting a lien on my business and preemptively draining my bank account (and charging me $200 for the privilege).
I don't want to live in fear that some bureaucrat is going to knock on my door with a piece of paper that says an endangered beetle lives on my land, or I use my wood-burning fireplace too much, or someone thinks I'm abusing my kid, or the tool shed I built needs to be inspected, or my birdbath doesn't have a circulation pump and filter, or my sprinklers ran on Thursday instead of Wednesday, or my garden is too large, or my grass isn't green enough, or my dog looks like a "pitbull mix," or my cat has testicles, or my cigar smoke wafted too far, or my kid's lemonade stand doesn't have a permit, or the political sign on my lawn is too large, or the tree across the sidewalk needs to be trimmed, or I can't have a chicken coop, or my pool doesn't have a fence, or my bicycle doesn't have a license, or I can't have people over to my house to discuss religion or politics, or my car is parked on my property in an unapproved fashion. I could keep going, but why bother?
I want to be free. Or at least, more free.
This move is a big shake-up, and I'm going to take advantage by making some other changes. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do next, but it'll be different. I feel like working with my hands, or for myself, or in a different industry, or all of the above. I don't know what's going to happen, but I know we'll be fine so long as we continue to trust the guidance in our hearts.
Blogging will become more regular (even if I have nothing to blag aboot) as he California job expires. It became uninteresting and unchallenging, and it ruined me for much else by the time I got home. I wasn't kidding about the upward mobility though, by their standards I was a golden boy. They hate to see me leave.
Everyone we've told has been surprisingly supportive. Hints in their speech make me suspect many have heard a similar call but declined to answer.
The stress of this completely out-of-character move may have contributed to the California burnout at the beginning of this post. All my specific concerns have been quelled with trust in guidance, but some deeper part of my brain can't help but worry. It's stressing me out and I can't address it. We move in twenty-something days, and I wish the waiting was over.
I've been playing around with new ideas and practicing the skills I enjoy. I whetted my appetite for fabrication by spending some time at a machine shop working on a project I've enjoyed planning. It's incomplete, but I'm cutting metal and learning fast. Once I get the prototype finalized, I'll toss it up on kickstarter. I think people will want one... or two.
I'm trying to be more productive with the things I like doing. Writing is one of them, so if I'm sticking to my plan, this blog should start getting busy again. Feel free to hold me to it.
I suppose that's it for now. It's terribly late for the morning I have, but I don't care because I finished this post just like I told myself I was going to.
This is the start of something great. Glad you're along for the ride.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The History channel.
Have you ever watched a History channel show about the lead up to X conflict, or Y situation? Did you find yourself yelling "Wake up, Sheeple™! Don't you see what's coming?!" at the teevee? If so, you should keep in mind that all the key events have been distilled out, and placed in a nice neat line of dominoes in the interest of focus and brevity.
Imagine watching one of those shows that was 30 years long, where each ominous event is noted in under 10 words as it passes on a news ticker at the bottom of the screen, while the main screen shows Charlie Sheen's rants or the new awards show or some wayward starlet's mug shot, or if those things don't strike your fancy, the latest footage from Afghanistan or the recent sports game or the newest tech gadget.
Are your progeny going to say, "Grandpa, we just learned about the global collapse in school, and we couldn't understand why you didn't see it coming." To which you may reply, "Well, little Jenny, it was a different time then. We wanted to keep track of the important things, but other things kept getting in the way. There was the NFL strike, Lindsay Lohan's rehab, decades of baseball stats, arguing on internet forums, video games, the new season of Dexter, iPods, health scares, new electronics, funny cat pictures, internet videos of people hurting themselves, Facebook, new and exciting things that were going to kill us in new and exciting ways, and the pills. So many pills. Have I told you about the pills? Pills for happy, pills for sad. Pills for bored, pills for mad. Pills to treat every affliction, and pills to curb our pill addiction. We had a cure for society's ills, and it was always pills, pills, pills." "Mom! Grandpa's Cat-in-the-Hatting again!"
History is a very interesting thing. Once it's past, we like to comment on it from the comfort of our armchairs. But we refuse to recognize that we're making (or not making!) history every day, and that one day, people in armchairs will look on our history as we looked on our forerunners', and they will comment. What will their comments be?
Imagine watching one of those shows that was 30 years long, where each ominous event is noted in under 10 words as it passes on a news ticker at the bottom of the screen, while the main screen shows Charlie Sheen's rants or the new awards show or some wayward starlet's mug shot, or if those things don't strike your fancy, the latest footage from Afghanistan or the recent sports game or the newest tech gadget.
Are your progeny going to say, "Grandpa, we just learned about the global collapse in school, and we couldn't understand why you didn't see it coming." To which you may reply, "Well, little Jenny, it was a different time then. We wanted to keep track of the important things, but other things kept getting in the way. There was the NFL strike, Lindsay Lohan's rehab, decades of baseball stats, arguing on internet forums, video games, the new season of Dexter, iPods, health scares, new electronics, funny cat pictures, internet videos of people hurting themselves, Facebook, new and exciting things that were going to kill us in new and exciting ways, and the pills. So many pills. Have I told you about the pills? Pills for happy, pills for sad. Pills for bored, pills for mad. Pills to treat every affliction, and pills to curb our pill addiction. We had a cure for society's ills, and it was always pills, pills, pills." "Mom! Grandpa's Cat-in-the-Hatting again!"
History is a very interesting thing. Once it's past, we like to comment on it from the comfort of our armchairs. But we refuse to recognize that we're making (or not making!) history every day, and that one day, people in armchairs will look on our history as we looked on our forerunners', and they will comment. What will their comments be?
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Response to Mike
Mike, I've got my ass-kicking boots on, and when I read your comments, all I hear is the wah wah wah of Charlie Brown's parents.
You know better than I what thing you wish you were doing. Write it out, break it down into bite-sized chunks, take a knife and carve out at LEAST 3 hours a day to make it happen.
Focus on the goal. Print out a picture of it, and put it on the ceiling above your bed. Getting up is the hardest part. Once you're vertical, it's all down hill from there. Leave your house to accomplish your goal, too many distractions there. Chip away at it every day, until you've made a good dent in it, then reevaluate. Has this been fun for you? Are you still interested in it? Do you look back on what you've accomplished and think, "Fuck yeah." Are you making enough progress each day to get there in time? Or did you realize you hate it, and can't stand wasting time on it? Time for something new.
It doesn't matter what you do. All that matters is that there's a goal, and you're making progress toward it.
It could be as specific as "get this accreditation," or as nebulous as "figure out how to run a business." Try to pick a path that will be versatile if you decide you hate the destination half way through. That way you can salvage some of that spent time.
Because time is your most valuable, and most finite resource.
A note on finding that "thing" that you want/are good at. I was talking to a personal trainer a while ago, he told me about how he never thought he could make enough money to become a private trainer, and how he would go to his office job, and squeeze in time to run up and down the stairs to get some exercise. This struck me because there is no way the thought to run up and down stairs simply for fun would have occurred to me. But this was his "thing," and to him, doing anything else was just crazy. He wound up striking out on his own, with a promise to his wife that if he couldn't make it work in 6 months, he'd drop it. He made it. Literally on the last day of 6 months, through a minor contact he made in passing several months prior. The universe deus ex machina'ed his dream.
The point of that story is, we all have obligations, and there are things we can, and can't do. But if you can carve time for your dreams out of _your_ life, without disrupting the lives of those around you, the only person stopping you is you. I don't have a lot of obligations. I want to be a good husband, brother, son, friend, entrepreneur, and employee. Roughly in that order. My nights are for my wife. My weekends for my friends, family, and wife. My afternoons and evenings for my occupation. My mornings were unclaimed because I was too busy enjoying my lethargy, so they were up on the chopping block.
This last weekend was my first since I decided to pound the pavement till it bleeds, and I spent it with friends and family, and playing Minecraft. I played because I figured I had earned the chance to play a bit. But Sunday night? Regrets. I'm trying to get 4 hours of work in every morning, and I spent about 12 hours (or more, they melt together) playing Minecraft (yes, it's that good), but when I was done, all I had to show for it was a series of logic gates which equated to a combination lock using the in-game equivalent of transistors. I was proud I had accomplished this with no assistance or guide, but after that was done, I realized that I had wasted the equivalent of three (or more) mornings on this. Building things like this for no reason other than to see if you can, is a truly obscene waste of a human being's most valuable resource. I may not be ashamed of my accomplishment, but I'm definitely ashamed of my wasted time.
Of course there is room for leisure, all work and no play makes Jack go on a killing spree, but keep it to a minimum. Save the life of leisure for retirement. Sit on the porch of your mansion, and think back on how you picked yourself up by your bootstraps, and made a better life for yourself, your family, and your generations to come. Think about how your success allowed you to focus on the things that really matter in life. It beats the hell out of rotting in a retirement home, or worse, becoming burden on your family.
If you happen to experience a feeling of loss at the end of your day, don't worry, that's just your drive to succeed sucker punching your contentment. Not everyone has that drive. Consider yourself lucky. Now that you know it's there, and you know it's pissed off at you, you can choose to do one of two things. You can either kill it with sleep, beer, and cheap entertainment, or you can nurse it back to to full strength, put it at your back, and let it push you off the couch, and onto the path to your goal. Confront all the missed opportunities in your life, and instead of letting them hurt you, let them motivate you. They're not failures. They're fuel. Burn them.
And if you think it sucks waking up early for 5 years to become everything you dared dream, then try waking up late 20 years from now with nothing to show for it.
It's all starts in the mirror, man. What do you see when you look?
If you're fine with what you see, then rock on with your mediocre self. Relish your tiny victories over life, and bask in your supremacy over esoterica. Honked at some idiot? Amazing. Told your off your boss? Historic. New high score? Monumental. Level 65 Paladin? Prodigious. Built a combination lock using an in-game equivalent of transistors? You're like a god among men.
But if, in that mirror, you see a world of potential crammed inside a locked safe? Then there's only one thing you can do. Crack it, tame it, and ride it to victory over life.
The best and worst thing about this path is that you're the only one who can get you there, and you're the only one who can keep you going. It's all you. Other people may help, but you can't expect them to do it forever. You have to change yourself.
All of it, from beginning to end and everything in between, depends only on you.
You know better than I what thing you wish you were doing. Write it out, break it down into bite-sized chunks, take a knife and carve out at LEAST 3 hours a day to make it happen.
Focus on the goal. Print out a picture of it, and put it on the ceiling above your bed. Getting up is the hardest part. Once you're vertical, it's all down hill from there. Leave your house to accomplish your goal, too many distractions there. Chip away at it every day, until you've made a good dent in it, then reevaluate. Has this been fun for you? Are you still interested in it? Do you look back on what you've accomplished and think, "Fuck yeah." Are you making enough progress each day to get there in time? Or did you realize you hate it, and can't stand wasting time on it? Time for something new.
It doesn't matter what you do. All that matters is that there's a goal, and you're making progress toward it.
It could be as specific as "get this accreditation," or as nebulous as "figure out how to run a business." Try to pick a path that will be versatile if you decide you hate the destination half way through. That way you can salvage some of that spent time.
Because time is your most valuable, and most finite resource.
A note on finding that "thing" that you want/are good at. I was talking to a personal trainer a while ago, he told me about how he never thought he could make enough money to become a private trainer, and how he would go to his office job, and squeeze in time to run up and down the stairs to get some exercise. This struck me because there is no way the thought to run up and down stairs simply for fun would have occurred to me. But this was his "thing," and to him, doing anything else was just crazy. He wound up striking out on his own, with a promise to his wife that if he couldn't make it work in 6 months, he'd drop it. He made it. Literally on the last day of 6 months, through a minor contact he made in passing several months prior. The universe deus ex machina'ed his dream.
The point of that story is, we all have obligations, and there are things we can, and can't do. But if you can carve time for your dreams out of _your_ life, without disrupting the lives of those around you, the only person stopping you is you. I don't have a lot of obligations. I want to be a good husband, brother, son, friend, entrepreneur, and employee. Roughly in that order. My nights are for my wife. My weekends for my friends, family, and wife. My afternoons and evenings for my occupation. My mornings were unclaimed because I was too busy enjoying my lethargy, so they were up on the chopping block.
This last weekend was my first since I decided to pound the pavement till it bleeds, and I spent it with friends and family, and playing Minecraft. I played because I figured I had earned the chance to play a bit. But Sunday night? Regrets. I'm trying to get 4 hours of work in every morning, and I spent about 12 hours (or more, they melt together) playing Minecraft (yes, it's that good), but when I was done, all I had to show for it was a series of logic gates which equated to a combination lock using the in-game equivalent of transistors. I was proud I had accomplished this with no assistance or guide, but after that was done, I realized that I had wasted the equivalent of three (or more) mornings on this. Building things like this for no reason other than to see if you can, is a truly obscene waste of a human being's most valuable resource. I may not be ashamed of my accomplishment, but I'm definitely ashamed of my wasted time.
Of course there is room for leisure, all work and no play makes Jack go on a killing spree, but keep it to a minimum. Save the life of leisure for retirement. Sit on the porch of your mansion, and think back on how you picked yourself up by your bootstraps, and made a better life for yourself, your family, and your generations to come. Think about how your success allowed you to focus on the things that really matter in life. It beats the hell out of rotting in a retirement home, or worse, becoming burden on your family.
If you happen to experience a feeling of loss at the end of your day, don't worry, that's just your drive to succeed sucker punching your contentment. Not everyone has that drive. Consider yourself lucky. Now that you know it's there, and you know it's pissed off at you, you can choose to do one of two things. You can either kill it with sleep, beer, and cheap entertainment, or you can nurse it back to to full strength, put it at your back, and let it push you off the couch, and onto the path to your goal. Confront all the missed opportunities in your life, and instead of letting them hurt you, let them motivate you. They're not failures. They're fuel. Burn them.
And if you think it sucks waking up early for 5 years to become everything you dared dream, then try waking up late 20 years from now with nothing to show for it.
It's all starts in the mirror, man. What do you see when you look?
If you're fine with what you see, then rock on with your mediocre self. Relish your tiny victories over life, and bask in your supremacy over esoterica. Honked at some idiot? Amazing. Told your off your boss? Historic. New high score? Monumental. Level 65 Paladin? Prodigious. Built a combination lock using an in-game equivalent of transistors? You're like a god among men.
But if, in that mirror, you see a world of potential crammed inside a locked safe? Then there's only one thing you can do. Crack it, tame it, and ride it to victory over life.
The best and worst thing about this path is that you're the only one who can get you there, and you're the only one who can keep you going. It's all you. Other people may help, but you can't expect them to do it forever. You have to change yourself.
All of it, from beginning to end and everything in between, depends only on you.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Why I can do anything
It was about 10 years ago that I made it into the LA Sheriff's group to be accepted into the Marine Corp's Devil Pup program. I hoped to get motivation, a good extracurricular, and a bit of introduction into the military out of it.
The Devil Pups program is basically a physical challenge and team building "camp" that takes place in Camp Pendleton. The paperwork for applying was very explicit about one thing; this is NOT a camp for troubled youths. Of course, that paperwork came from the LA Sheriffs in charge of selecting the group they sent to the camp, not the camp itself. One of the first things the drill sergeant did was ask who was here because of something bad they did. I would later learn that third platoon seemed to get the lion's share of fuck ups, although it should have seemed obvious at the time. We were terrible. (Wow. after all these years, it still sticks. I just wrote "we were terrible" but personally, I was fine. Most of the platoon was terrible, but we were in it together, hence, we ALL were terrible. Interesting.) We couldn't follow the simplest instructions, and it only took a few of us to fuck it up for the rest. Hell, since we had so many fuck ups, fire watch was filled till the end of the camp, so I didn't have to worry about that punishment.
The camp was hard. Really hard. Little or no sleep, constant running, marching practice, all the expected stuff. Luckily, the food was good. That is, if we had any time to eat. Part of being the fuck up platoon was entering mess last, which became the norm after a first few days hashed out the pecking order among platoons. Third platoon, my platoon, was the shit platoon. But hey, that was because we were shit.
The two points that stick out in my mind, the most important ones, were the 35 foot drop into the pool, and getting my challenge coin.
The drop was really an exercise in fear. Falling's the easy part, and the first step is hard, but a little easier knowing everyone is watching you, but the line at the top is what got most guys. The camp couldn't force anyone to jump, so they had a (comparatively) low dive that some of the platoon went off of, and most of us (including myself) were pretty skittish until one of the bigger fuck ups jumped. The sergeant wasn't going to let the D students live it down if one of the F students jumped. (We were graded based on how well we followed orders, but since we were the fuck up platoon, we were graded from C, D, or F. I was a D student based on my plan to just get through it without standing out too much. Not sure if it was the right move now, but since we were the fuck up platoon, the C students got more than their fair share of punishment since they were line leaders. I became a line leader twice on accident, and suffered for my line both times.) So after one of the big F students went up, a small group of us D students had to go up there. I had made a few friends among the D's, and we were psyching each other up privately, while the rest of the platoon was cheering us on publicly. I went up fourth, but wound up second in the line at the top. I neared the edge, and looked down. I froze.
They say not to look down, but you can't not look down. A passing glance tells you that what you're doing is very wrong, and that you should stop. But I was stuck staring down into the blue mass, so far away, knowing that hitting it with enough speed would be like hitting concrete. The fear inches up from your neck, encompasses around your brain, and squeezes your mind. The instructor at the top saw me hesitate, and said to step to the edge. I stepped. He said, "Look at that pole out there in the distance," I looked. "Now don't think: take a step." I stepped.
I stayed focused on the pole the entire time. That wasn't a problem. The problem was the time it took to get down. Obviously it didn't take more than a second, but in my mind? Well, I had time to make conversation with myself.
Holy crap! I did it! Ok, doing good, just stay focused on the pole, don't look down or you'll tilt backwards and back-flop. I've jumped off the high dive in high school, this is kind of like that. You're not going to die, you'll be fine, just stay in form. Ok. still falling. Alright, I should be hitting the water now. Any second now. Ok, where's the water? I'm going to take a quick look. NO DON'T LOOK, NOW YOU'LL GET BLACK EYES! Shit! Ok! But where's the water?! This is taking too long! I'm too high up! I THINK I'M TILTING! CORRECT YOURSELF! CORRECT! No! Don't correct! You can't flail now! It's too late! You're going to hit the water any--
That was my lesson in fear. I knew I was going to survive, I knew what I had to do, and gravity was going to do most of the work for me. but I was still scared to do it. From then on, fear became a warning instead of a roadblock. I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer...
The challenge coin was a bit harder. It was presented at the top of a mountain that you hiked half way up, camped on, and hiked the rest of the way up the next day. I didn't think it would be a problem since we ran so often, but running is very different from hiking with packs. The hiking drained us a lot more than any of us thought, and we were relieved to set up camp. We ran on little food, and little sleep, having stayed up the night before remaking our racks because of somesuch fuckupery. The punishments became the norm so often we were better runners than the other platoons. Shame it didn't help with following orders.
The next morning I was sore, and slept terribly on the thin bedroll. I had been too worn out to bother moving the rocks that somehow escaped my initial ground clearing. Plus we weren't allowed to get up except to use the bathroom, and the other platoon's DIs were on fire watch, so clearing them clandestinely would either take up too much energy, or get me caught and see me run some more. We unceremoniously resumed the hike. Hours later the top was in sight, and I got a second wind. With the rest of the trail in sight, I knew I could power through it. We marched on as I felt my body fading, but my mind saw the goal, and kept it moving forward. On the last switchback, we had the end in sight, the final turn up to the plateau, and the top of the mountain. Except when we rounded that last corner, it wasn't the end.
What stretched before us was about 150 yards of 45 degree mountain. You couldn't hike it, you had to crawl it. The first part of the platoon had already started up, and I could see them struggling. I stood in place, thinking about how much energy it would take to get up there, and knew I didn't have enough. The Sergeant saw me stop, and screamed me onto the hill, his motivation getting me about a quarter of the way. Once I was on the hill, it was easier for me to just keep going, but higher up, the mountain was covered with some kind of hay/dirt mixture that our feet sank into when we stepped into it, and our hands pulled clumps out of when we grabbed for hand holds. Thinking back on it now, I'm not sure if it was trucked onto this last slope to make it easier or harder. But it didn't matter, because it was like walking in snow. As I groped for balance and my feet slipped out from under me, I looked up, and that's when it happened.
That's when I gave up.
I remember it very clearly, even today. The smell of that hay/dirt, the itching of my arms, the burning in my lungs, the dust in my eyes, and the immutable fact of the universe that I wasn't going to make it.
I was on my hands and knees, looking up at the side of that steep mountain, and my muscles stopped working. It couldn't have been more than two seconds that I was there, on my hands and knees, lost to the world; but as with the dive, I had plenty of time to think.
I was done. I was lost. I didn't make it. I washed out. I was so close, but there was no doubt in my mind that I would never make it up that mountain. It's so hard to put that feeling into words. It wasn't even hopelessness, because there was never any hope, never any chance, there had never even existed the idea that I could make it. As sure as the sun would rise in the east, as sure as the vastness of the universe, I could not make it. There wasn't even impossibility, there wasn't anything. There was nothing.
Except for one thing...
Disappointment. I was disappointed that I wouldn't make it. I was disappointed that I was letting my platoon down. I was disappointed that I had come so far, for absolutely nothing. I was disappointed that I would return home a failure.
Worst of all was the conclusive knowledge, the undeniable truth, the insurmountable certainty that there was nothing I could do about it. I believed it as I had never believed anything before.
Then someone grabbed my arm and started pulling. Then someone else grabbed my other arm and started pulling. They weren't going to be able to drag me up the hill. They didn't have enough energy to pull me and themselves up this hill. Didn't they know this was impossible?
From my left: "C'mon [last name], we won't let you quit."
From my right: "Move it [last name], we start as one, we finish as one."
I looked at them both, and realized I didn't know their names. They probably didn't know mine either, but we had it taped to front and back of our covers. I didn't know them personally, but we were third platoon.
Then my leg pushed.
Then my other leg pushed.
Then I started moving up.
My nameless helpers pulled me a few feet before I reached for the mess of earth below me, and started climbing myself.
Eyes transfixed on the top, I climbed as fast as I could, passing others by. My arms and legs moved like normal. It wasn't like a runner's high where they move mechanically, they were doing what I was telling them to do. They were doing what they had refused to do. My brain was doing what it told me was impossible.
I made it to the top.
I had done the impossible.
This was my lesson in limits. All of my limits before that day were mentally imposed. From then on, my body wasn't finished until continuing to do so became dangerous. I wasn't done hiking or running until my toes started to drag because my legs were incapable of being lifted to a safe height to continue my activity. I wasn't done gasping for air until the the black began encroaching on my vision. I wasn't done working out until my arms halted mid-lift, and wobbled instead of pushing a single inch more. No task was impossible with enough thought, planning, and preparation.
Obviously, it's not productive to push yourself to the breaking point for every challenge you encounter. But to doing so every once in a while will show you where your true limits are, not where you think they are.
Only when you break through that mental block will you be free to achieve your true potential.
The Devil Pups program is basically a physical challenge and team building "camp" that takes place in Camp Pendleton. The paperwork for applying was very explicit about one thing; this is NOT a camp for troubled youths. Of course, that paperwork came from the LA Sheriffs in charge of selecting the group they sent to the camp, not the camp itself. One of the first things the drill sergeant did was ask who was here because of something bad they did. I would later learn that third platoon seemed to get the lion's share of fuck ups, although it should have seemed obvious at the time. We were terrible. (Wow. after all these years, it still sticks. I just wrote "we were terrible" but personally, I was fine. Most of the platoon was terrible, but we were in it together, hence, we ALL were terrible. Interesting.) We couldn't follow the simplest instructions, and it only took a few of us to fuck it up for the rest. Hell, since we had so many fuck ups, fire watch was filled till the end of the camp, so I didn't have to worry about that punishment.
The camp was hard. Really hard. Little or no sleep, constant running, marching practice, all the expected stuff. Luckily, the food was good. That is, if we had any time to eat. Part of being the fuck up platoon was entering mess last, which became the norm after a first few days hashed out the pecking order among platoons. Third platoon, my platoon, was the shit platoon. But hey, that was because we were shit.
The two points that stick out in my mind, the most important ones, were the 35 foot drop into the pool, and getting my challenge coin.
The drop was really an exercise in fear. Falling's the easy part, and the first step is hard, but a little easier knowing everyone is watching you, but the line at the top is what got most guys. The camp couldn't force anyone to jump, so they had a (comparatively) low dive that some of the platoon went off of, and most of us (including myself) were pretty skittish until one of the bigger fuck ups jumped. The sergeant wasn't going to let the D students live it down if one of the F students jumped. (We were graded based on how well we followed orders, but since we were the fuck up platoon, we were graded from C, D, or F. I was a D student based on my plan to just get through it without standing out too much. Not sure if it was the right move now, but since we were the fuck up platoon, the C students got more than their fair share of punishment since they were line leaders. I became a line leader twice on accident, and suffered for my line both times.) So after one of the big F students went up, a small group of us D students had to go up there. I had made a few friends among the D's, and we were psyching each other up privately, while the rest of the platoon was cheering us on publicly. I went up fourth, but wound up second in the line at the top. I neared the edge, and looked down. I froze.
They say not to look down, but you can't not look down. A passing glance tells you that what you're doing is very wrong, and that you should stop. But I was stuck staring down into the blue mass, so far away, knowing that hitting it with enough speed would be like hitting concrete. The fear inches up from your neck, encompasses around your brain, and squeezes your mind. The instructor at the top saw me hesitate, and said to step to the edge. I stepped. He said, "Look at that pole out there in the distance," I looked. "Now don't think: take a step." I stepped.
I stayed focused on the pole the entire time. That wasn't a problem. The problem was the time it took to get down. Obviously it didn't take more than a second, but in my mind? Well, I had time to make conversation with myself.
Holy crap! I did it! Ok, doing good, just stay focused on the pole, don't look down or you'll tilt backwards and back-flop. I've jumped off the high dive in high school, this is kind of like that. You're not going to die, you'll be fine, just stay in form. Ok. still falling. Alright, I should be hitting the water now. Any second now. Ok, where's the water? I'm going to take a quick look. NO DON'T LOOK, NOW YOU'LL GET BLACK EYES! Shit! Ok! But where's the water?! This is taking too long! I'm too high up! I THINK I'M TILTING! CORRECT YOURSELF! CORRECT! No! Don't correct! You can't flail now! It's too late! You're going to hit the water any--
That was my lesson in fear. I knew I was going to survive, I knew what I had to do, and gravity was going to do most of the work for me. but I was still scared to do it. From then on, fear became a warning instead of a roadblock. I must not fear, fear is the mind-killer...
The challenge coin was a bit harder. It was presented at the top of a mountain that you hiked half way up, camped on, and hiked the rest of the way up the next day. I didn't think it would be a problem since we ran so often, but running is very different from hiking with packs. The hiking drained us a lot more than any of us thought, and we were relieved to set up camp. We ran on little food, and little sleep, having stayed up the night before remaking our racks because of somesuch fuckupery. The punishments became the norm so often we were better runners than the other platoons. Shame it didn't help with following orders.
The next morning I was sore, and slept terribly on the thin bedroll. I had been too worn out to bother moving the rocks that somehow escaped my initial ground clearing. Plus we weren't allowed to get up except to use the bathroom, and the other platoon's DIs were on fire watch, so clearing them clandestinely would either take up too much energy, or get me caught and see me run some more. We unceremoniously resumed the hike. Hours later the top was in sight, and I got a second wind. With the rest of the trail in sight, I knew I could power through it. We marched on as I felt my body fading, but my mind saw the goal, and kept it moving forward. On the last switchback, we had the end in sight, the final turn up to the plateau, and the top of the mountain. Except when we rounded that last corner, it wasn't the end.
What stretched before us was about 150 yards of 45 degree mountain. You couldn't hike it, you had to crawl it. The first part of the platoon had already started up, and I could see them struggling. I stood in place, thinking about how much energy it would take to get up there, and knew I didn't have enough. The Sergeant saw me stop, and screamed me onto the hill, his motivation getting me about a quarter of the way. Once I was on the hill, it was easier for me to just keep going, but higher up, the mountain was covered with some kind of hay/dirt mixture that our feet sank into when we stepped into it, and our hands pulled clumps out of when we grabbed for hand holds. Thinking back on it now, I'm not sure if it was trucked onto this last slope to make it easier or harder. But it didn't matter, because it was like walking in snow. As I groped for balance and my feet slipped out from under me, I looked up, and that's when it happened.
That's when I gave up.
I remember it very clearly, even today. The smell of that hay/dirt, the itching of my arms, the burning in my lungs, the dust in my eyes, and the immutable fact of the universe that I wasn't going to make it.
I was on my hands and knees, looking up at the side of that steep mountain, and my muscles stopped working. It couldn't have been more than two seconds that I was there, on my hands and knees, lost to the world; but as with the dive, I had plenty of time to think.
I was done. I was lost. I didn't make it. I washed out. I was so close, but there was no doubt in my mind that I would never make it up that mountain. It's so hard to put that feeling into words. It wasn't even hopelessness, because there was never any hope, never any chance, there had never even existed the idea that I could make it. As sure as the sun would rise in the east, as sure as the vastness of the universe, I could not make it. There wasn't even impossibility, there wasn't anything. There was nothing.
Except for one thing...
Disappointment. I was disappointed that I wouldn't make it. I was disappointed that I was letting my platoon down. I was disappointed that I had come so far, for absolutely nothing. I was disappointed that I would return home a failure.
Worst of all was the conclusive knowledge, the undeniable truth, the insurmountable certainty that there was nothing I could do about it. I believed it as I had never believed anything before.
Then someone grabbed my arm and started pulling. Then someone else grabbed my other arm and started pulling. They weren't going to be able to drag me up the hill. They didn't have enough energy to pull me and themselves up this hill. Didn't they know this was impossible?
From my left: "C'mon [last name], we won't let you quit."
From my right: "Move it [last name], we start as one, we finish as one."
I looked at them both, and realized I didn't know their names. They probably didn't know mine either, but we had it taped to front and back of our covers. I didn't know them personally, but we were third platoon.
Then my leg pushed.
Then my other leg pushed.
Then I started moving up.
My nameless helpers pulled me a few feet before I reached for the mess of earth below me, and started climbing myself.
Eyes transfixed on the top, I climbed as fast as I could, passing others by. My arms and legs moved like normal. It wasn't like a runner's high where they move mechanically, they were doing what I was telling them to do. They were doing what they had refused to do. My brain was doing what it told me was impossible.
I made it to the top.
I had done the impossible.
This was my lesson in limits. All of my limits before that day were mentally imposed. From then on, my body wasn't finished until continuing to do so became dangerous. I wasn't done hiking or running until my toes started to drag because my legs were incapable of being lifted to a safe height to continue my activity. I wasn't done gasping for air until the the black began encroaching on my vision. I wasn't done working out until my arms halted mid-lift, and wobbled instead of pushing a single inch more. No task was impossible with enough thought, planning, and preparation.
Obviously, it's not productive to push yourself to the breaking point for every challenge you encounter. But to doing so every once in a while will show you where your true limits are, not where you think they are.
Only when you break through that mental block will you be free to achieve your true potential.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
It's a marathon, not a sprint
Alright, it has been a little over two weeks since I started pounding the pavement, and I quickly discovered that a kickass attitude is no match for burnout.
The first week was easy. Well, it was technically easy. It was hard to get out of bed, and get to Starbucks, but once I was there, and my brain was in gear, there was no stopping me. I may have been more tired than I was used to at the end of the day, but it wasn't that bad.
But after the first week, I started to notice that not only was I more physically tired, I was also mentally tired. Code I had written days before made no sense to me, which wouldn't be the first time, but probably the first time for code I had written so recently, and definitely the first time I could not grok after a few minutes. Frustrated with the confusing code I had written, I decided to just start work on a different segment of code. Except... Nothing was coming out. I just sat there, unable to put two thoughts together. I started just writing whatever came to mind so I could keep track of what I was doing, but I'd forget where I was after a few lines. Then I got really angry with myself for forgetting how to code, and surfed the net idly, stopping periodically to see if I remembered how to code. I didn't. Then I got mad at myself for wasting time, and opened my list of things to read, and started reading about some perl methods I wanted to try out. Except... That didn't make sense either... I was broken, frustrated, and angry. I went home.
The following week I started sleeping through my alarm. No matter how much I turned it up, I slept right through it. And when I woke up an hour or two late, still with time to work, I didn't want to go to Starbucks because I felt like it would be a waste of time and money. So I tried to work at least one hour at home. But I had the same problem. So I just wound up playing Fallout New Vegas. More metaphorical comfort food, but it didn't matter to me, because I knew i wouldn't be able to code.
When the weekend rolled around, I wanted to code, but something always got in the way. I played obscene amounts of Fallout, and honestly had fun doing it. But I still knew time was passing me by.
I overdid it on Sunday, and stayed up too early playing, and fucked up my morning. I still work up early, and actually woke to my alarm this time, but I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything but play Fallout. So I thought about it a bit, and decided to sleep in as much as I could because I was going to work Tuesday.
So two weeks after I declared war on sleep, I slept.
After about 10 hours of sleep, I woke up a new man. Feeling refreshed, and ready to work. I didn't though, because I didn't want to jinx it.
I went to a particularly vexing day of work, came home, unwound with some teevee with the wifey, and got to bed at a reasonable hour.
This morning, I was up on time, got ready for work early, headed into Starbucks, got 2.5 hours of serious coding done, and still had a half to write this post, and head in to work.
tl,dr; I need to start pacing myself. I don't think I've ever worked as mentally hard as I did that week, certainly not on that little amount of sleep. I just didn't think I could induce burnout in a little over a week. Honestly, I'm kind of impressed. But I'm not in it for the short game, and I certainly shouldn't expect to take off at a full sprint with no training. I'm going to try doing half-mornings of non-business stuff in between my business mornings, and generally figuring out the maximum I can do without going over that threshold.
The first week was easy. Well, it was technically easy. It was hard to get out of bed, and get to Starbucks, but once I was there, and my brain was in gear, there was no stopping me. I may have been more tired than I was used to at the end of the day, but it wasn't that bad.
But after the first week, I started to notice that not only was I more physically tired, I was also mentally tired. Code I had written days before made no sense to me, which wouldn't be the first time, but probably the first time for code I had written so recently, and definitely the first time I could not grok after a few minutes. Frustrated with the confusing code I had written, I decided to just start work on a different segment of code. Except... Nothing was coming out. I just sat there, unable to put two thoughts together. I started just writing whatever came to mind so I could keep track of what I was doing, but I'd forget where I was after a few lines. Then I got really angry with myself for forgetting how to code, and surfed the net idly, stopping periodically to see if I remembered how to code. I didn't. Then I got mad at myself for wasting time, and opened my list of things to read, and started reading about some perl methods I wanted to try out. Except... That didn't make sense either... I was broken, frustrated, and angry. I went home.
The following week I started sleeping through my alarm. No matter how much I turned it up, I slept right through it. And when I woke up an hour or two late, still with time to work, I didn't want to go to Starbucks because I felt like it would be a waste of time and money. So I tried to work at least one hour at home. But I had the same problem. So I just wound up playing Fallout New Vegas. More metaphorical comfort food, but it didn't matter to me, because I knew i wouldn't be able to code.
When the weekend rolled around, I wanted to code, but something always got in the way. I played obscene amounts of Fallout, and honestly had fun doing it. But I still knew time was passing me by.
I overdid it on Sunday, and stayed up too early playing, and fucked up my morning. I still work up early, and actually woke to my alarm this time, but I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything but play Fallout. So I thought about it a bit, and decided to sleep in as much as I could because I was going to work Tuesday.
So two weeks after I declared war on sleep, I slept.
After about 10 hours of sleep, I woke up a new man. Feeling refreshed, and ready to work. I didn't though, because I didn't want to jinx it.
I went to a particularly vexing day of work, came home, unwound with some teevee with the wifey, and got to bed at a reasonable hour.
This morning, I was up on time, got ready for work early, headed into Starbucks, got 2.5 hours of serious coding done, and still had a half to write this post, and head in to work.
tl,dr; I need to start pacing myself. I don't think I've ever worked as mentally hard as I did that week, certainly not on that little amount of sleep. I just didn't think I could induce burnout in a little over a week. Honestly, I'm kind of impressed. But I'm not in it for the short game, and I certainly shouldn't expect to take off at a full sprint with no training. I'm going to try doing half-mornings of non-business stuff in between my business mornings, and generally figuring out the maximum I can do without going over that threshold.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Pound the pavement till it bleeds
Because of a number of factors in my childhood, I was on edge most of the time at home. I didn't sleep in because my mom wouldn't let me. There was always something to do. When I moved out, I worked mornings, and sleeping wasn't possible. After my hours got changed to evenings, for the first time, I could sleep in without worry of disturbance. After trying it out a bit, I realized I really liked not having to do anything.
I was now able to wake up, and feel joy that I didn't have to get up, and could go back to sleep. I started doing it every weekday (on weekends it felt like a waste of free time), and I enjoyed it. I did this for about 3 years.
Since work started kicking up, I started to feel down. I used to have more fun at work, but with the recession, understaffing, and elimination of overtime, work has just been draining me.
It was a medium-sized push, but I was already close enough to the edge for some reason to start feeling depressed again. Since I had fought it so well before, it took some time for me to recognize the old symptoms. My mind would automatically avoid the thought, because that starts the spiral, so I had to come to the realization somewhat obliquely, but there it was.
At this point, I was relying on metaphorical comfort food to keep my mood up. I found the FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU sub-Reddit, and it was guaranteed lolz for me. Hanging out at the top of the board on Modern Warfare 2 on Xbox Live for hours was fun, but wore off quickly when I stopped. Enjoying my wife's company was great, but as soon as she left, so did the feeling.
I stopped blogging anything of substance, I hated work, I hated the feeling I got after an 8 hour session of MW2 pwnage, I hated checking the FFFUUUU subreddit and seeing there was nothing new because I checked it 10 minutes ago, I never felt like going to the range, I had no drive to code, and I acted like an unmotivated employee in the company I co-owned.
I knew I was depressed, but was afraid to admit it to myself because the source of my depression had changed, and I wasn't sure how to address it.
Realizing how big the world is and how small you really are is great for when you're getting caught up in the small stuff. But this was different. I was comfortable with where I was, and somewhere in my mind, I knew I was doing something wrong.
Then I saw some drawings on FFFFUUUU based on a comment from Ask Reddit. I tracked the comments back, and read the original post, and the comments referenced.
Original post
One of many responses;
The response to the above that I saw first;
The specifics of the motivation are as unimportant as the typos and grammatical errors. The main points for me were the last line of the first comment, and the motivation of the second.
When I read this I remembered making the conscious decision that I was going to sleep in and be lazy because I had never been able to do so before. I actually decided to be lazy. Three years later, I was close to the edge, and work troubles pushed me over. Now that I could see what I was doing, I could see how I had rationalized it all this time.
I wasn't oversleeping, I was sleeping at least 8 hours, which is what doctors recommend.
I didn't need to work harder at the business, coding was easy enough for me that I just needed to code, and the rest would come.
Shooting is expensive, and I'm already good enough with my .22s. Plus it takes all day to drive out to the desert where I can shoot larger rifles.
Work is annoying, but I power through it, so it's OK.
Even though these rationalizations aren't technically lies, it was obvious they weren't working for me. I needed to change. I didn't used to be like this. I kicked ass and took names to get where I am today. I had that "don't tell me what I can't do" spirit. Where is that guy?
Oh.
He's sleeping.
He's procrastinating.
He's looking for the quick fix.
He's acting like every other person you see out in the world, wandering around aimlessly, looking for a quick shot of pleasure, and waiting for the next big thing to happen to them.
And he's not going to have ANYTHING to show for his actions in 10 years.
Which brings me to the second comment;
Wake up early and pound the pavement till it bleeds.
The comfortable life is a phantom temptation. It creeps up on you, and whispers into your ear;
"Hey, things are going pretty good right now. They're not incredible or anything, but they used to be much worse. Remember those times? All you gotta do now is tread water, and you'll never have to live those times again."
Beat the comfortable life like it owes you money.
The motivated people I read about and listen to are never satisfied. They want more, and when they get it, they want even more than that.
My misanthropy stems from a severe abhorrence of mediocrity. It's like I can see the skates many of the people around me are coasting through life on. Just hoping the bump into something good. Sometimes they run out of steam, and have to push a little. Sometimes they bump into something good. Sometimes other people give them a push toward a goal. But they're just coasting.
Well, I finally looked down, and somewhere along the way the ass-kicking boots I put on years ago turned into skates. The world was passing around me and I wasn't doing anything about it because I was afraid I forgot how to walk.
FUCK.
THAT.
I'm meant for bigger things.
I'm getting up at my equivalent of dawn, getting away from my distractions, and pounding my equivalent of the pavement till it bleeds. I'm going to practice what I love until it loves me back. And I won't stop for anything or anyone until I can look back and say, "Fuck yeah. I did that. I did it all."
Changing your life is hard, and it's a lot harder to kick yourself in the ass when you're lying down in bed, groping for the alarm when your eyes haven't started working yet. I recorded a message to my tired self from my kick-ass self, and I listened to it this morning... Sure, it took a few times before I actually got up, and I'm cold, and hungry, and tired in this Starbucks, and my car has been in the shop for 5 hours longer than I thought it'd be, but I've been getting shit done for 6 hours now, and it's not even 2. Today, I got 5 hours of work done before the time I would have gotten out of bed two days ago.
I was lucky enough to record the big picture things I need to do during the moments of clarity in the fog I was coasting through, so I've got plenty to work on.
I know it's hard, but nothing worth doing is easy.
I've done enough hard things to know that they get easier to do if you keep doing them, and if you keep doing them long enough...
They come as naturally as breathing.
So that's the goal.
Rebuild myself once more.
Become that guy again.
And I'm gonna fucking win it all.
I was now able to wake up, and feel joy that I didn't have to get up, and could go back to sleep. I started doing it every weekday (on weekends it felt like a waste of free time), and I enjoyed it. I did this for about 3 years.
Since work started kicking up, I started to feel down. I used to have more fun at work, but with the recession, understaffing, and elimination of overtime, work has just been draining me.
It was a medium-sized push, but I was already close enough to the edge for some reason to start feeling depressed again. Since I had fought it so well before, it took some time for me to recognize the old symptoms. My mind would automatically avoid the thought, because that starts the spiral, so I had to come to the realization somewhat obliquely, but there it was.
At this point, I was relying on metaphorical comfort food to keep my mood up. I found the FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU sub-Reddit, and it was guaranteed lolz for me. Hanging out at the top of the board on Modern Warfare 2 on Xbox Live for hours was fun, but wore off quickly when I stopped. Enjoying my wife's company was great, but as soon as she left, so did the feeling.
I stopped blogging anything of substance, I hated work, I hated the feeling I got after an 8 hour session of MW2 pwnage, I hated checking the FFFUUUU subreddit and seeing there was nothing new because I checked it 10 minutes ago, I never felt like going to the range, I had no drive to code, and I acted like an unmotivated employee in the company I co-owned.
I knew I was depressed, but was afraid to admit it to myself because the source of my depression had changed, and I wasn't sure how to address it.
Realizing how big the world is and how small you really are is great for when you're getting caught up in the small stuff. But this was different. I was comfortable with where I was, and somewhere in my mind, I knew I was doing something wrong.
Then I saw some drawings on FFFFUUUU based on a comment from Ask Reddit. I tracked the comments back, and read the original post, and the comments referenced.
Original post
One of many responses;
Three words; wake up early. Wake up every day at the crack of dawn. Beat the sunrise like a boss. 5 AM is ideal. Tired? Fuck that. By waking up early every day, you take control of your entire day. The first thing you should do when you wake up is not think "Fuck I'm tired..." but "FUCK YEAH ANOTHER DAY I LIVE!" and plan your day accordingly. Write down goals all the time and circle the ones you have not completed yet in the morning. Conquer every day. Do not let the day control you. Sleep every day early unless your goal needs to be completed that day. You can either enjoy the indulgences of lethargy and then drown in regret or take the pains of goals and live a champion.
~ihaveacalculator
The response to the above that I saw first;
Three words reiterated: Wake thefuckup earlier. Fuck dawn, be awake for that as well. Wide awake. Leave your house while dark, grab a coffee, and attack nature. Climb a mountain, surf a wave, dive a trench, or pound pavement until the concrete bleeds. I don't know where you fucking live. But seize it. See those dark windows as you're running by? They don't know what the fuck they are doing with their lives. You do. And your gonna fucking win it all. Graphic design the shit out of your life too. Dont have art on your walls? Fucking make it! Lost your pet? Put some fucking signs up. Even if you didnt, make some anyways! Practice the shit out of what you love, and it'll love you back like your bitch. Yea your short. So fucking what. Bet you one day living like its yours, and every person in the world will look up to you. Just don't ever fucking stop. Not for anyone, and not for anything, until you can look back on your life and say fuck yeah. I did that. I did it all.
~news_and_coffee
The specifics of the motivation are as unimportant as the typos and grammatical errors. The main points for me were the last line of the first comment, and the motivation of the second.
You can either enjoy the indulgences of lethargy and then drown in regret or take the pains of goals and live a champion.
When I read this I remembered making the conscious decision that I was going to sleep in and be lazy because I had never been able to do so before. I actually decided to be lazy. Three years later, I was close to the edge, and work troubles pushed me over. Now that I could see what I was doing, I could see how I had rationalized it all this time.
I wasn't oversleeping, I was sleeping at least 8 hours, which is what doctors recommend.
I didn't need to work harder at the business, coding was easy enough for me that I just needed to code, and the rest would come.
Shooting is expensive, and I'm already good enough with my .22s. Plus it takes all day to drive out to the desert where I can shoot larger rifles.
Work is annoying, but I power through it, so it's OK.
Even though these rationalizations aren't technically lies, it was obvious they weren't working for me. I needed to change. I didn't used to be like this. I kicked ass and took names to get where I am today. I had that "don't tell me what I can't do" spirit. Where is that guy?
Oh.
He's sleeping.
He's procrastinating.
He's looking for the quick fix.
He's acting like every other person you see out in the world, wandering around aimlessly, looking for a quick shot of pleasure, and waiting for the next big thing to happen to them.
And he's not going to have ANYTHING to show for his actions in 10 years.
Which brings me to the second comment;
Wake up early and pound the pavement till it bleeds.
The comfortable life is a phantom temptation. It creeps up on you, and whispers into your ear;
"Hey, things are going pretty good right now. They're not incredible or anything, but they used to be much worse. Remember those times? All you gotta do now is tread water, and you'll never have to live those times again."
Beat the comfortable life like it owes you money.
The motivated people I read about and listen to are never satisfied. They want more, and when they get it, they want even more than that.
My misanthropy stems from a severe abhorrence of mediocrity. It's like I can see the skates many of the people around me are coasting through life on. Just hoping the bump into something good. Sometimes they run out of steam, and have to push a little. Sometimes they bump into something good. Sometimes other people give them a push toward a goal. But they're just coasting.
Well, I finally looked down, and somewhere along the way the ass-kicking boots I put on years ago turned into skates. The world was passing around me and I wasn't doing anything about it because I was afraid I forgot how to walk.
FUCK.
THAT.
I'm meant for bigger things.
I'm getting up at my equivalent of dawn, getting away from my distractions, and pounding my equivalent of the pavement till it bleeds. I'm going to practice what I love until it loves me back. And I won't stop for anything or anyone until I can look back and say, "Fuck yeah. I did that. I did it all."
Changing your life is hard, and it's a lot harder to kick yourself in the ass when you're lying down in bed, groping for the alarm when your eyes haven't started working yet. I recorded a message to my tired self from my kick-ass self, and I listened to it this morning... Sure, it took a few times before I actually got up, and I'm cold, and hungry, and tired in this Starbucks, and my car has been in the shop for 5 hours longer than I thought it'd be, but I've been getting shit done for 6 hours now, and it's not even 2. Today, I got 5 hours of work done before the time I would have gotten out of bed two days ago.
I was lucky enough to record the big picture things I need to do during the moments of clarity in the fog I was coasting through, so I've got plenty to work on.
I know it's hard, but nothing worth doing is easy.
I've done enough hard things to know that they get easier to do if you keep doing them, and if you keep doing them long enough...
They come as naturally as breathing.
So that's the goal.
Rebuild myself once more.
Become that guy again.
And I'm gonna fucking win it all.
Monday, August 02, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
"It's not crumbling, YOU'RE crumbling!"
Some new years motivation.
Watch this for a swift kick in the ass.
direct link
"Lethargic. Uninspired. Terrified."
Watch this for a swift kick in the ass.
direct link
"Lethargic. Uninspired. Terrified."
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Let me tell you something you already know...
1. Click "play"
2. Repeat step 1 as necessary.
3. ???
4. PROFIT
2. Repeat step 1 as necessary.
3. ???
4. PROFIT
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