Breaking Past the Fear of the Unknown

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July 12, 2019. 

This post is going to be tumultuous, just the way life is supposed to be. 

Why? Well, I’ve spent the last eight months throwing myself into other people’s projects and lives (for some compensation I might add); so much that I’ve lost my love of this craft. I initially began drafting blogs and writing books because it was a way to seem interesting to women. Like any rock band, I wasn’t in it solely for the music. I wanted attention I felt was deserved and had been eluding me for too long. 

To varying degrees, my plan was successful, although it didn’t make me any happier. There is nothing wrong with being sexually active, but it always comes full circle. Not necessarily physically, but emotionally for sure. Once you break past the “it’s human nature” line that is meant to excuse reckless and immature behavior, you’ll realize a road filled with flings and hookups isn’t sustainable. It’s an investment of diminishing returns. 

“You could have had it all.”

That’s what my ex told me through tear-soaked eyes as she lambasted me for seeking fulfillment outside our relationship. Her words stung, the accuracy quite remarkable. I gave up a life of security and comfort to benefit myself. Today, my choices seem even more self-alienating. 

I had my fun, but it’s brought me little joy. That’s because I’m not sharing those successes with anyone. I’m not reliving memories with anyone besides myself. So save for the fun of those fleeting moments, I can’t showcase anything that made any of them worthwhile. Even sitting in bed at night trying to recount past escapades is exhausting. I used to think it would be fun, but instead it’s just a reminder that what I once thought was important holds little value. 

My advice, even as someone that still knows little about how this world works: find a partner and marry that person. Deal with all their bullshit and cringe-worthy habits because there will come a day when you’ll be thankful you went through a life with them. 

I haven’t met too many people that talk about their “glory days” with fondness. It almost always becomes a part of their life they’re trying to forget or hide. The road to happiness isn’t a plank designed for one. It’s a drawbridge capable of holdings tens, if not hundreds of people. 

What do I mean? Take people with you on your journey through life, and don’t discriminate. Many people are fighting a battle they are ashamed or embarrassed about. We are all human. To be flawless is impossible, and to strive for such is a futile pursuit. Love everyone as much as each individual lets you. 

I yearn for people to be more empathetic, for America to make healthcare affordable, and for people to slow down and embrace what we have going on here in America. It is by no means perfect, but like I just said, we are never going to be without faults. 

I’ve been to countries that would love America’s problems, that would love to have a horrible job and dumpy car to park in an apartment building every night because for them, every day isn’t guaranteed. For them, happiness is not a privilege. It’s a goal. 

Still, it’s easy to put all this talk into the theoretical, to tell others they should be better. But what does that look like? Sure, I can write all these pieces of advice, but people need an example of what the right thing looks like. 

I’ll give you one. It’s not breathtaking, but it’s a start. A few weeks ago, during one of my last days in Florida, I pulled over next to a man sitting underneath a small tree wedged between department stores. Like most homeless people, he had a sign, and he wanted help. Sometimes I give disenfranchised people money, mostly because I fear that if I don’t look out for them, no one will. Sometimes I don’t, rationalizing this decision by assuming most people are where they are for a reason. It’s thoughts like this one that speak to my privileged life. 

So I pulled over and drew a few bucks from my wallet. Nothing that would make him rich, but maybe he could buy a sandwich or a bottle of water. But above all that, I asked him how his day was. 

“Huh?” he asked. 

“How’s your day going?” I repeated. 

“Shit, man. Do you know of any places that are hiring?” he wanted to know. 

Two sentences, and already I could tell this man wasn’t aspiring to be a guy on the curb. I don’t share this to mean you have to give money to every homeless person, or that you even have to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. But the next time you leave your house, be aware of the opportunity to help someone, in whichever context that opportunity may present itself.

***

Let me say a quick thank you to everyone who reads this blog or bought my book a few years back. I still remember that first royalty check. $456.72. It felt like a million dollars sitting in my hand, proof that if I wanted something, and was willing to put in consistent work, it may just happen. 

This blog has about 25 consistent readers. Again, thank you, and I appreciate you. My grammar mistakes and unsolicited opinions probably rub some people the wrong way, but your consistent viewership allows me to buy a Chipotle burrito once a month.

I can’t promise supporting this blog will pay off and I’ll be a bestseller someday, but I hope readers take solace in the fact that my intentions are always good. I still don’t understand enough of what it takes to be a good writer, but trust that I’m in the process of better understanding the inner workings. 

***

Things got messy quick. I should be in China right now but I got rerouted to Florida to go work on a project I never felt invested in. The money was good and it offered ample time for me to write someone else’s book. 

I was down there for three months before being unceremoniously let go. “I want to cease our collaboration,” I was told, inciting a finality I always knew was coming but neglected to prepare for. 

Truthfully, I didn’t even care I was let go. The only thing that sucked was leaving behind a guy who turned out to be one of those rare people who inspired me to think beyond myself and recognize the world isn’t as peachy as those of us trapped inside the middle-class see it as. 

Being asked to leave Florida and never return was a chance to go home and see my mother, allowing time to refocus. But it’s been two weeks and my mom won’t stop pestering me with small chores. Even now, she still thinks I won’t brush my teeth whenever I leave her house. 

“Do you have a toothbrush?” she crows, and part of me wishes she would go away, leave me alone so I can cry in my room and wonder how my life got so wayward. For years I was destined to be an average dude, read the sports section of the newspaper every morning and complain about how ordinary my life is to friends in the same position. That all seems so glamorous now. 

It’s thoughts like these that make me hate how ugly the mind can be. I know that when the day comes and my mom passes I’ll uncontrollably sob and wish for just one more day with her. I’ll wish for those days when she would make the green Jello with mandarin oranges in it. I never had a dessert that tasted so sweet. I’ll miss our email exchanges, the ones where she tries to enlighten me on the psychology of women and I brush her off because I feel more cultured and informed. 

When she’s gone, I’ll wish “Mom” or “Home” would appear on my cell phone just one more time, even though we might not have anything to talk about. I’ll also wish she would try to get me take a pen before leaving the house. 

“You never know when you’re going to need a writing utensil,” she always says, like going outside without one would prove cataclysmic. 

My thoughts are gross. The human condition is ugly. 

Tomorrow I hop on a plane bound for London. It feels like my last chance to go. I guess that’s what happens when you read too many horror stories of those less fortunate on the internet.

After my money runs out, I’ll be coming back to Minnesota to once again try to get my life in order. Maybe I’ll finally go back to Beijing and get that suitcase from a friend I recently told to forget about me because I’m selfish and she doesn’t deserve the heartache I put her through. Maybe I’ll get a job with health insurance and a 401k, because even though a job like that might make me miserable, it will keep me nestled in a life of consistency and security. 

But before all that, I must leave. I have to further my legacy as a guy willing to take a chance. “You can’t stop living your life while you wait for the worst possible outcome to happen,” a king once told a dejected version of myself. The road is calling. It’s a sign, one I would be foolish to ignore. 

***

Interested in buying or selling a home? RE/MAX agent James Eason can help with all your real estate needs.

Get in touch with him today by clicking on this link!

Also, pick up a copy of Quentin Super’s debut book, The Long Road North  

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