I was reading something this morning and it showed research from Adam Grant, stating essentially, that there are four kinds of people.

Givers, takers, and scorekeepers.

Wait, you say. That’s only three.

Yes, and no. There are two kinds of givers. Those who give generously and get walked all over because of it. And those who give generously—until they don’t.

This. This is Shangri-La.

Takers. We all know one or two.

Scorekeepers. Tit for tat.

Low-tier givers. These poor saps have nothing because they can’t bear to not take care of the lost souls they encounter.

Top-tier givers. This is what I aspire to be. Yet lessons must be learned to transcend to this level.

It’s okay to give. It’s good to give. Hell, it’s rewarding to give—that old adage, “It’s better to give than receive.”

We’ve all heard it, precious few actually understand it.

The book said a lot about the scorekeepers. Because every favor comes with an expectation. A debt. A favor in return.

The top-tier givers aren’t keeping score. They aren’t naïve either. Every gift is tabulated. The return isn’t necessary.

But if you take. And take. And take. And continue to take. Well, you’re al asshole. You’re simply taking advantage. Your relationship with this person becomes tainted. It actually looks like you only value him/her for what he/she can and will provide for you next.

You become sneaky. You think this magnanimous soul doesn’t notice.

Well, my dear, he does.

He doesn’t care that your side of the balance sheet is practically empty. That never mattered.

What he does notice is that there are only a handful of lines left on his side. He’s done. You don’t value… him. You treat him as inconvenient. Even when he goes out of his way for you.

This isn’t a relationship. This isn’t a friendship.

This isn’t sustainable. Never was. It isn’t even viable.

All he wanted was effort. For you to show him. And you’re failing the assignment.

You’re running out of chances to make this work. Lord, he wants this to work. Do you?

What annoys you? More specifically, what do some people do that annoys you?

For me, I hate when someone takes a drink… and then that gasp of air afterwards. Like, seriously? Did you hold your breath that long?

Yes. Yes, I did. Because this is me.

I hate it. And I’m aware of it. And I can’t seem to shake it. In spite of the awareness.

Drink. Gasp.

I recall a funny episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm that touched on this very annoyance.

If only my awareness can help me… stop. No one needs to hear me sound like I’m dying after I take a drink.

Your lack of purpose is causing your romantic obsessions, by the way. Period.

You don’t miss her. You miss having something to think about.

A man with a mission doesn’t have 14 hours a day to analyze a text message. Read that again.

When your life is empty, one woman becomes your universe. When your life is full, she becomes part of it.

The average man isn’t heartbroken. He’s directionless. Big difference. That’s why she’s living rent-free inside your head. The property was vacant.

No mission. No goals. No business. No obsession. No purpose. Just endless emotional overthinking.

Meanwhile, the man building something meaningful forgets to check his phone for six hours.

You call it love. You call it attachment. You call it a soul connection. Sometimes it’s just boredom.

A shocking amount of male heartbreak would disappear if men became obsessed with their purpose instead of their crush.

If losing one woman completely destroys your mental state, the problem probably isn’t the woman. The problem is you don’t have anything bigger than her.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you
It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do
I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you
And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

And I don’t wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I don’t wanna fall in love (this world is only gonna break your heart)
With you (this world is only gonna break your heart)
With you (with you)
(This world is only gonna break your heart)

Nobody loves no one

What i'm listening to:

Wicked Game
Chris Isaak
Heart Shaped World

Do you realize that what you call “democracy” is corrupted in the instant you say, “This person isn’t as bad as that person.”

Anyone worthy of leading us, doesn’t want the job, or is too busy taking care of things that actually matter. So, whatever you think you’re accomplishing continues to disappoint you.

“Democracy basically means: Government by the people, of the people, for the people.... but the people are retarded.” Osho

Universe: You’re doing it again.

Me: What now?

Universe: Bracing.

Me: For what?

Universe: The bad thing.

Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Universe: Things are going well.

Me: They are.

Universe: And you’re waiting for something to go wrong.

Me: …

Universe: There it is.

Me: Can you blame me?

Universe: No.

Me: Every time something good happened before, it felt like it got taken away.

Universe: I know.

Me: So now I keep looking over my shoulder.

Universe: Waiting for life to prove your happiness is temporary.

Me: Exactly.

Universe: Can I tell you something?

Me: Please.

Universe: You survived so many storms that your nervous system started mistaking peace for danger.

Me: That feels uncomfortably accurate.

Universe: I know.

Me: So what do I do?

Universe: Stop treating joy like a visitor.

Me: What does that mean?

Universe: Every time happiness arrives, you act like it’s about to leave.

Me: Maybe because it always did.

Universe: No.

Me: No?

Universe: Moments left.

Me: …

Universe: Seasons left.

Me: …

Universe: People left.

Me: …

Universe: But joy itself never left you.

Me: Then where did it go?

Universe: It waited underneath the fear.

Me: That’s beautiful.

Universe: It’s true.

Me: Why does receiving feel harder than struggling sometimes?

Universe: Because struggling became familiar.

Me: And receiving didn’t.

Universe: Exactly.

Me: So how do I stop expecting disaster?

Universe: By collecting evidence of safety instead of evidence of danger.

Me: Like what?

Universe: The people who stayed.

Me: …

Universe: The prayers that were answered.

Me: …

Universe: The mornings you woke up and everything was okay.

Me: I never count those.

Universe: I know.

Me: I only count the hard things.

Universe: That’s because survival taught you.

Me: And now?

Universe: Now it’s time to learn a new skill.

Me: Which is?

Universe: Letting good things happen.

Me: That’s a skill?

Universe: One of the hardest.

Me: Why?

Universe: Because it requires trust.

Me: Trust in what?

Universe: That you don’t have to suffer to deserve beautiful things.

Me: …

Universe: You felt that one.

Me: Yeah.

Universe: You’ve spent enough years proving your strength.

Me: Then what do I prove now?

Universe: Nothing.

Me: Nothing?

Universe: Your next chapter isn’t about proving.

Me: What’s it about?

Universe: Receiving.

Me: That’s terrifying.

Universe: I know.

Me: And if I mess it up?

Universe: You won’t.

Me: How do you know?

Universe: Because flowers don’t have to earn sunlight.

Me: …

Universe: And neither do you.

Me: So what happens now?

Universe: Now?

Me: Yeah.

Universe: Now you open your hands.

Me: Why?

Universe: Because I can’t place blessings into fists that are still clenched.

“You’re wasting your time.”

Has anyone ever said these words to you? Probably.

Yet, have you really thought about these words? And the one saying them?

What an arrogant statement? Who are you to put a value on my time? Or a definition on wasting it?

Misalignment lives at the center of this. Are you doing what you want? Or what someone else wants for you? My values are not your values. My goals are not yours. Nor dreams. Nor… anything.

No. I am not successful. By your definition. Or any, really. Yet, it is still MY time to waste.

If I want to spend as much of the time I have left unconscious, is that not my prerogative? What else is there to do?

Sebastian Bach was quite philosophical asking, “Is it all just wasted time?”

Because it is. Nothing really matters. We’re here until we’re not, shortly after which we’re entirely forgotten.

We are born without reason, we suffer without meaning, and we die without purpose. The universe doesn’t know we exist and it never cared. – Albert Camus

I am not convinced I’m not already in… hell.

What i'm listening to:

Wasted Time
Skid Row
Slave to the Grind

A submissive woman actually controls a man.

Masculine men don’t submit to loud women. Not to arrogance. Not to masculine energy. Not to women constantly trying to dominate everything. That kills attraction fast.

But a feminine woman? A peaceful woman? A woman who knows how to soften a man instead of fighting him? She can influence him deeper than any “boss babe” ever could.

It was psychological leverage. Soft power. Quiet influence. Ancient feminine intelligence. Women abandoned it because modern culture trained them to hate femininity.

A man will sacrifice for peace. He’ll move mountains for the women who makes life feel lighter. But he becomes emotionally cold toward women who treat relationships like warfare.

Women think power comes from attitude, arguments, and acting emotionally untouchable. Wrong. That only works on weak men.

The loud girl gets attention. The feminine girl gets commitment, protection, investment, and a ring. There are levels to female intelligence.

Masculine men don’t respond to control. They respond to loyalty, peace, grace, and genuine respect. That’s what makes a powerful man emotionally fold.

A submissive woman rarely has to beg. The man gives willingly. Because peace makes a man generous naturally. Pressure makes him distant.

Modern women were told acting like men would make them powerful. Now many are single, angry, combative, and confused why relationships keep failing.

She controls his heart quietly. Effortlessly. Gracefully. Without force. A truly feminine woman doesn’t lose power through submission. She multiplies it.

And you were scared and you were beautiful
I want to peer over the edge and see in death if we are always the same

Oh, I fear that no love will ever be like this again
‘Cause your love kept me alive and it made me insane

I don’t know what to believe anymore.

Maybe this is part of “the process.” Maybe writing it out will help. Help me get my mind off of her. Off of us.

Lord, Faye was so beautiful last night. And slight. And supple. And smooth. And willing.

She bounced up and down for an hour. An hour. My mind was elsewhere. Even bearing witness to this beauty. Elsewhere.

I just want to feel. Something. Anything. I’ve lost touch with feeling.

Turns out I need… a friend. Someone to experiment with. Embodiment practices are better with a partner. Someone to take me out of my head space.

Someone with experience. Faye was willing, but inexperienced.

Clarissa shared that. The inexperience of youth. That elephant stands silently in our room. Just there.

At this point, it’s probably just ego. And delusion. Not wanting to let go.

Not wanting to let go.

Yes, we affected each other in ways neither of us will forget any time soon. But now I doubt if it was ever truly “love.”

Delusional. Indeed.

Yet, her world is so small. Except in certain arenas. That’s where my world is small. What can I do about that?

Our worlds are so… different. Mine is in no way perfect, or even good, yet I enjoy big experiences. Travel. Good food. Great sex.

She enjoys her television. Social media. Nicotine. Energy drinks—her kidneys must look like a quarry. Alcohol. Drama. Gossip.

I can see how she enjoys my world—she’s so calm, she can sit in silence with screens off, she doesn’t hardly puff—yet it’s foreign to her. There’s no clear path from there to here. Plus, there’s the doubt that I can make her feel good… or anything. Even though I have…

Yet, am I missing the entire point by mentioning this “path?” After all, we’re not trying to “fix” each other. Are we?

Today, I overheard a story. A 64-year-old man was telling the tale of breaking a young lady’s heart. As he tells it, she was fitting him for dentures. And she had to ask him out for a dinner date. He explains that his daughter is older than she is. Out of the question. Even for a night of fun.

Where are these opportunities? Or is my ego so stubborn I simply miss them?

Maybe I’m the problem. Can I accept that I’m the problem? Then move on?

Problems have solutions. And I have the charisma. I see it. Every day.

I’ve seen it with my own love interests. And I’ve seen the light in her eyes dull… the second I perceive the gap. The abyss. How do I get there from here? Oh, hey ego… and now I’m in my head.

We’ve shared the look. The look of love. Yet, as long as I believe I’m a disappointment—to her, to the world—I’ll remain in my head. Overthinking. Immortal.

I’m reminded frequently that “no man is an island.” Who can I talk to, though? When I try, whoever I’m talking to has to reassure me. “That’s not true. You did everything great. It’s her loss.”

No. Fuck off. I failed her. I’m aware that I failed her. Because I gave into my own demons. And someone else made her feel.

I made her feel seen. And special. And even loved. Yet I couldn’t make her… feel. Because I can’t… feel.

Seriously, how do I feel? Before the insanity takes root? How do I cast off this ego? Long enough to throw her onto the bed, bend her over, and fuck the shit out of her, like she wants?

She wanted this to work. Until she discovered I don’t really feel.

Two kinds of people in this world
Winners, losers
I’ve lost my power in this world
‘Cause I did not use it

Two kinds of trouble in this world
Living, dying
I lost my power in this world
And the rumors are flying

So I go insane
Like I always do
And I call your name
She’s a lot like you

What i'm listening to:

Go Insane
Lindsey Buckingham
Go Insane