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

Hell, I can’t even walk and chew gum at the same time. Dumb David… always chomping on his shoes and blowing bubbles with his feet!

Volumes have been written about the mind, brain, deductive reasoning, and whether we can actually multitask or not.

I fall in that latter camp. Attempting to multitask does a disservice to both of the tasks… especially when they deserve focus.

And sometimes, that focus is hard to find. Because our minds are always racing. But, I digress…

Yet, today, I noticed something that made me pause.

I was holding a bowl of Crunch Berries, filled to the brim with milk, in my left hand; holding a spoon and feeding myself said cereal with my right hand; walking around the room; and chewing/crunching my breakfast; all the while thinking of a funny meme to send to a friend about how our mouths scream when we pour that third bowl of Cap’n Crunch.

I didn’t trip or fall. I didn’t spill the milk. Nor dribble milk down my chin. I didn’t bite the inside of my cheek, nor my tongue—lord knows, I do that enough in daily life… especially when distracted.

So, clearly multitasking is possible.

Although, the argument can be made that it is only possible with activities so ingrained into our instinct they require no thought.

Eating, largely instinctual since birth. Walking less so. Holding a bowl of liquid requiring balance, even less so—plus we’ll lose this first as we age, no?

And normally, I eat left-handed, because that hand is steadier… which is precisely the reason it was required to hold the bowl and I was eating with my right.

So… is it possible to transfer some of our more menial tasks to our instinctual, subconscious mind? And truly multitask with actual tasks?

Maybe. Just maybe.

They say around the way you’ve asked for me
There’s even talk about you wanting me
I must admit that’s what I wanna hear
But that’s just talk until you take me there

My every thought is of this being true
It’s getting harder not to think of you
Girl, I’m exactly where I wanna be
The only thing’s I need you here with me

If it’s true, don’t leave me all alone out here
Wondering if you’re ever gonna take me there
Tell me what you’re feeling because I need to know
Girl, you gotta let me know which way to go

Because I need to know, I need to know
Tell me, baby girl, cause I need to know
I need to know, I need to know
Tell me, baby girl, cause I need to know

What i'm listening to:

I Need to Know
Marc Anthony
Marc Anthony

Why do we persist on needing a reason to do what we do? At least why do we think this… when clearly we do not? Something meaningful. Hmm.

The algorithm presented me with the following today:

If you aren’t naturally tired at night and excited in the morning, then you probably haven’t found something meaningful to work on. Most of your stress doesn’t come from having too much to do, it comes from not doing the things that actually matter to you. The only worse thing than failing at something meaningful is succeeding at something meaningless.

Okay, the author is not wrong.

But why? Why does something have to have meaning?

And why do we despair when we are void of something meaningful? Something internal, anyway…

More and more on this eternal quest, I’m still searching for something meaningful. Something internal. Something I want for me. (Note, not SOMEONE. Fixating on someone is easy.)

I have fixated on the external all of my life. No lie. I’ve recently been encouraged to dig deep into my psyche to determine why. Not to know the reason why, but to forgive this, now, old man and find that one thing. A reason to believe. To live.

Seeing the same struggles mirrored in her, doesn’t help. Yet her journey is her own. She will need to find her internal reasons. As I will need to find my own.

They say we cannot love another until we love ourselves. I don’t know if this is true. I have loved others. And I can safely say I have not loved myself.

If one cannot exist without the other, well, I guess it’s going to be a very, very lonely existence. No wonder I relate to the characters who are alone.

This is humanity. Unique to humanity.

Today I saw a bird. It was a beautiful black bird, with wings that were red and yellow on the shoulders. And I realized, this bird doesn’t know it’s beautiful.

An ancient memory erupted from the depths. My aunt Margie, singing to her pet parakeet. “Pretty bird. Pretty bird.”

And the bird singing back. Did she know she was pretty? Did she simply sing along? Mimicking the music?

Yes, animals groom. And have the ability to look amazing. Without mirrors. I believe it is more from their instinct to be healthy. To scratch an itch. To eliminate unpleasant sensations.

And because it feels good. Like sex.

The entirety of nature—beyond humans—appear to naturally tire, and wake up excited, without something meaningful.

So, in the meantime, humans that struggle (like myself) fixate on external things. Hoping to fake it until we make it. Bullshit.

We talk ourselves out of doing things. If we do this enough, we excel at lying to ourselves. And lose all meaning. Even in the mundane. Maybe even our reason to go on. Still a choice, I am told.

And not choosing is a choice.

Oh, to be a thunderstorm. A force of nature. Or even a cloud.

There’s no intent. No meaning. Simply chaos. Moving in to see what’s grounded. And eliminate what’s not.

Not unlike the love of a fiery woman.

Is this what they mean by letting go? Becoming that force of nature? Thriving without meaning?

I just can’t believe it’s over.

I have few regrets. And I kinda wanted it to last forever. Yet, nothing really does, does it?

We’ve reached the end. It’s a natural end. The end of the road.

Things won’t improve. We are both mired in our lives. And it’s okay.

I am forever grateful. For a moment, you were my girl. You’re sensational. Incredible. And I am glad we shared so much in so little time.

Time. It is time. You’re content with your life. Yet I find it… restraining. I can’t play small. You’re not interested in growing. In rising up.

Everything is black or white for you. Looking back, maybe I was the same way at that age. No third way. No grey.

You are not yet capable. And I cannot stay. Adventure calls. Always calling.

I made the mistake of making you my adventure. What a burden that must have been! You played the role like a star. Too much? Maybe. At times.

A bond formed between us. Ironclad. There’s no animosity between us. It’s simply time.

Time to drift apart. A conclusion I arrived at while compiling a list of reasons to stay together. The irony isn’t lost on me.

And perhaps, one day, we’ll meet again.

Perhaps. I’d like that.

Bye.

Today, I’m okay.

I’m okay with continuing without her in my life. After all, what else really changes?

I read something terrifying today. Something I had written. About a prior breakup. And home ownership. About keeping “those bloody dreams at bay.”

Really? Really.

Reading it made me recall my mindset of that time. Work. Make money. Own a home.

Make my dad proud. Lawn mowing and all.

Today, I am no longer employable. I see too much. I see the flaws in the system. And I can’t fake it.

I need the dreams. I need to realize them. Make money.

My dad’s gone. My mom’s gone. My girl’s as good as gone. No one is coming to save me.

No one is coming to stop me, either.

Honestly, I don’t know what she’s thinking. She has a lot going on—all of which I’m fully aware of. She doesn’t believe. Everything is either black or white. There are no shades of grey. No path from there to here.

So, it is time. Time for me to go. To proceed with life. With or without her.

Will I be sad? Yes. For a while. A long while. Yet, I learned long ago we cannot make others do anything. If she doesn’t believe she can join me on this adventure, I cannot convince her.

Well, here we are.

Life. And silence. Enjoying the sunrise. Working on myself again. Kicking a li’l ass. Magnificence in the mundane. One breath at a time.

And with fewer distractions. For now, I don’t want anyone else. For now.

What i'm listening to:

Out the Window
Kehlani
Out the Window

For the last decade, I’ve watched less and less television.

Honestly, real life is far more interesting.

Seeing someone who isn’t quite on the same journey… adjusts that slightly.

One thing she enjoys is watching Grey’s Anatomy together in bed.

I get it. It’s an interesting show. At least it was in the beginning. Before it got more and more dramatic. But I digress.

Typical formula. You love a character. Character becomes a dumbass. You hate a character. Character grows. You love a character again. Everyone is sleeping with everyone. Everyone is talking about everyone. Drama. More drama.

Except one. One character on this program has stood out to me. Because he doesn’t talk about others. It’s a boundary of his. If we all had this boundary, the world would be a better place. And more interesting, albeit in different ways. He still goes in and out of becoming a dumbass, but this quality redeems him.

“It’s not my story to tell.”

There is value in being able to trust someone. Even if it is only one person.

I know this is part of her fascination with me. I am her McDreamy.

She can remove her masks. She can rest easy with me. She can share with me. Anything.

And she knows it.