I should really put more effort into these posts instead of just treating them like emotional tampons. Resting on your laurels can get addictive.
But to be honest, I barely even remember the Thailand days. That’s the curse in disguise of frequent traveling: you’re able to fully immerse yourself in wherever you are, but can’t for the life of you remember how things used to be in the places you’ve been.
And now I find myself here in New York City, wondering what the fuck I’m doing here freezing my ass off when I could be chilling on a beach somewhere.
I say that kind of tongue in cheek. The city has a lot to offer and I happen to be blessed to be friends with one of the most connected underachievers in the young Jewish community. I’d like to think that I’m doubling down and trying to make shit happen by taking advantage of it. But am I really?
I won’t get into specifics because I want to start making shorter posts. But the point is that every time I get one of these crazy Hail Mary ideas, I feel a welling up of emotion rise inside of me and lock me from doing what I know I should do. So I go back to the safe bet, the sure thing.
Posting on Steemit. Selling social media services. Or god forbid – selling hair straighteners.
Is it so delusional to think that I too could be a millionaire playboy who travels the world in private jets, rubs elbows with famous people and films Instagram models licking coarse salt off a six pack so mean it would make The Situation cry?
Maybe. But I know that without actually being able to force down that wave of emptiness that rises in my throat every time I think of doing something massive that I have no idea how I’ll actually accomplish, it’s likely not going to happen.
So here I stay, clacking away on my computer in my clothes from Walmart and my rapidly decaying computer. Sharing an apartment with other low-vibration underachievers in the Lower East Side and dreaming of the day when maybe, just maybe, someone will pull me up to the next level.
But that day won’t come. Not because I’m bad or something, but because nobody’s ever going to put you on.
I was walking down the street yesterday and saw some homeless dude begging on the street. Cardboard sign and everything. As I walked by, someone put a quarter in his cup.
I heard the homeless dude croak, “You don’t know anyone who’d give me some work, do you?”
Not gonna lie – as I walked by I couldn’t help but feel disgusted at his lack of ingenuity. “Give me some work?” Really dude?
Work is not something that people give you. That whole phrasing just shows how fucked this guy is. Even if someone gave him a $100k/year job, he’d still blow it all and end up back on the street with his shitty cardboard sign. His attitude is all wrong.
It’s easy for me to say that because it’s such an extreme example. But we are all like that. Not because we don’t know how, but because we actually don’t want to do the work involved to get what we want. We’re all sitting on the street with our cardboard signs, begging for any scraps that someone more “fortunate” than us throws us out of pity.
Every time I think of something in my life that I want to do, I always draw a parallel between that and working out. My health is the one area of my life that I’ve got locked down fucking solid and have for as long as I can remember. I train hard because I have a strong sense of identity as a fit person.
Being fit is “who I am.” Having a six pack is non-negotiable for me, especially in the summer time. I spend several hours a week in the gym, forgo pizza and other unhealthy shit food in favor of natural stuff, and take copious amounts of supplements all because I’m focused on what I want – looking good (and “being healthy”).
It’s the same with making money, getting laid, learning a language or whatever else you want to do. You need to commit on an identity level to be the type of person who has those things. Without that, it’s never going to happen.
I think deep down, I don’t see myself as a rich person. I like the freedom of being a bum, living out of a backpack and not having too much responsibility. But you can see how this conflicts with wanting to fly around the world in private jets and rub elbows with ballers. Hence the focus on automated income streams and easy money.
But is that any different than the bum on the street with his cardboard sign? Isn’t he just doing the same thing? He’d rather not get off his ass and do any work, so he sits there with his little styrofoam cup and half-heartedly asks people if they’ll “give him some work.” What a fucking joke.
If he actually got off his ass and tried looking for work, that in and of itself would be work for him. He’d probably have to hear no a few times and face rejection. And that’s no fun. There’s no guarantee that he’d get what he wanted.
It’s kind of depressing to think that on some level we’re the same. I have all these things that I want to do but am too afraid to pull the trigger. I want to sell teeth whitening kits. I want to start a clothing line. All this shit that I want to do that yeah, costs a little bit of money, but more than that it’s the perceived time commitment involved in making it happen.
But then I wonder… is it really?
I think what it really comes down to is worrying that I’ll run out of my little nest egg and have to resort to… ugh… selling hair straighteners somewhere again. Not that that would be so bad. I’ve always wanted to go to Cape Town and this would be a good excuse to go do that. And I do have a fair bit of passive income coming in, so it would take some of the pressure off from having to sell sell sell all the time.
But still… that’s too small time for me. I want the bigger goals. Where’s the bigger payoff? Maybe I should listen to some Grant Cardone again to get my mind right. 10x that shit. Set a goal that’s big enough to excite me.
I don’t know. Random musings for a Tuesday morning. I really should put more effort into these posts.