Month: August 2020

It’s 2:3opm on a Monday.

It’s taken me almost two hours to begin this journal entry.

I’ve been telling myself that I need to get in the habit of writing down my life, of reflecting more. Why? Because I feel like I’m stuck in purgatory. It’s not a new feeling. It’s familiar. As I abstract the arch of my life and perform a linear regression on my life states a pattern emerges that feels rather cyclical.

Like the hero’s archetype, I find myself in an ordinary world and a desire for more. I scan the horizon of experience and feel a draw to explore the unknown more distant parts. But apart of me feels safe and secure, and I initially refuse the call. My mentors have historically been books. They have changed by paradigm and allowed me to behave in ways that alter my inertia and change the course of my life. Once these changes begin, I’m faced with the unique challenges of adapting to the new course, which requires confronting certain uncomfortable realities. At some point I either triumph and overcome or acquiesce and regress to the original paradigm. If I triumph and accomplish my goal, I begin a process of reintegration as I resume a new equilibrium, which in turn begins an ordinary world. A world that I eventually loath and disdain, and so the process repeats.

There are many parallels between the Hero’s Journey and Ouroboros. These two abstractions possess the same fundamental structures, of circularity, of triads, of dyads.

At any rate, this circularity embodies the insane labor illustrated in the Myth of Sisyphus.

No matter which mountain I choose to climb, the resulting fall is that much steeper, and the resulting climb back up is more challenging than ever.

Life feels repetitive, routine, with the familiar struggles that are never completely resolved, no matter how strong you become, or how many times you do them.

Upon the completion of a full circular rotation, a certain apathy begins to manifest and worm its way into my everyday existence. I know it’s there because I indulge in vices which act as coping mechanisms to escape the present moments that force me to confront the banality of existence. These vices eventually begins to be destructive, in the sense that it impedes the daily disciplines that provide structure to a productive lifestyle.

Where am I now?

Who am I?

What do I want to accomplish?

I live in this castle, this mansion, with about ten other housemates.

I work for this big company who pays me well considering the lifestyle I live.

Why do I feel empty?

Why do I feel apathetic?

I suppose it’s the lack of challenges?

What is my ultimate dream?

I need my bookshelves installed in my room. I’ll pick them up on Thursday, then need to assemble. I’ll see if I can recruit Max and Matt.

In October I’ll need to move out of my Nashville apartment. That will save me about $2500 a month, which I’ve been paying out of pocket since essentially January.

In October the company will remove the 8% salary reduction that placed at the start of COVID.

Regarding business, two of my salesman will not achieve goal this year. On the other hand, my business is expected to double its growth from last year, which is astounding. It’s likely our total group sales will end the year close to $12 million. Up from our goal of $6.5 million or so.

I’ve been wanting to do more training. I don’t have a lot of confidence that the two salesman I manage have a ton of cold calling or phone experience. I purchased the book “Power Phone Scripts”. As much as I’d like to hire a third party to train them, I realize I need to take that responsibility myself. I have no idea how to train them, but I’ve started. I believe that action will lead to some order, and some useful process or culture of excellence will emerge.

All this is fine, but I’m overall apathetic.

I haven’t been exercising, though I have been surfing! I’ve been four times in 8 days now, which is great. My goal is 3-4 times a week.

I’d like to workout too, but I can’t seem to muster the discipline or desire.

I know if I was giving someone advice I’d tell them to just make a habit of showing up to the gym at a regularly schedule time. That’s the first habit: showing up. Once that’s established you can focus on routine’s and diet and other habits that contribute to health and fitness.

At the moment, however, I’m unhealthy. My weight is close to 205lbs and my midsection is the largest its ever been. I binge drink on the weekends and pop adderall and pound coffee during the week. My sleep suffers, and then on the weekend I sleep til noon or later while I nurse my weekend hangover.

Cognitively I’d like a partner or signifiant other to enjoy life with, but I have nothing emotionally to give. When push comes to shove I have no will to cultivate a relationship, or put the energy into one.

I often think about taking testosterone again. It would provide energy, libido, improve confidence, etc etc. But I want to keep my hair, and I want kids, and after five years of injections, I’m tired of poking myself every week or more.

However, the use does promote discipline. It’s a dependency that creates habits. Perhaps it is an addiction, but it’s not entirely unhealthy. I eat better, am more active, and have much more energy to pursue sexual relationships, which are insanely satisfying on many levels.

I’m on Hinge at the moment. After I match with a girl we engage in mostly boring but sometimes witty banter. Eventually my interest wanes and the conversation slows and ceases altogether. This process repeats with the new match.

I’ve deleted all the other dating apps and websites.

I tell myself I’m “healing”. I’ve always been in a relationship, or involved in some way. This new stage of my life almost feels as if being single and refraining from dating and engaging in another relationship is the right thing to do, despite my anxiety to seek out companionship.

What do I want to accomplish?

I just don’t know. I feel so apathetic.

I ride my motorcycle around Atherton, CA and it reminds me of Palm Beach Island, FL. The grand mansions on expansive, well manicured estates inspires and invokes a longing to be more and have more.

It makes me want fuck you money. And so I ask myself, what is necessary to achieve fuck you money?

That’s the greatest question.

If I could solve that riddle, I’d devote myself entirely to that enterprise, and likely sell my soul in the process, as long as there was a timeline with some end to it all.

What is required of me to achieve fuck you money?

Do I need to study industry better? Do I need to study and educate myself more? Do I need to focus entirely on my current job and dominate that? Do I need to network more? Do I need to save more? Invest? Start a side business? Write a book?

What do I need to do? I want fuck you money. I want a castle of my own. I want an estate nestled in a forest with gardens and rolling lawns and views and grand rooms filled with art for entertaining the most sophisticated and accomplished guests.

I mostly want to visualize a blueprint for this vision and know that it will be accomplished with the right discipline and focus.

I feel like a lost sheep, when I should feel like a lion.

I want to pave my way. I want to carve out a legacy. I don’t want to be apathetic and lazy. I don’t want to carry around a despondent depression that crushes my hopes and paralyzes my dreams.

I want to be more. I want to be something great. Something truly phenomenal. I want the world to be different because I have lived.

But I feel like a nothing, like smoke and mirrors. I feel as if my life is insignificant and remote in the scheme of things.

How do I make myself great? How do I change the course of my life forever?

What sacrifices must I make? What pain must I endure?

It cannot be any greater than the pain and suffering that currently plagues my waking life. The pain pulsates like an electric shock, shooting through my chest and into my extremities. It feels as if I am being seared with hot irons from the inside out. All the while my mind struggles to look beyond the present. It is consumed with minutia. It does not fly, but remains perched with its head in the ground. And all the while my life remains dark and cold and lifeless.

How does one change these circumstances?

The power is within me. The power is within my mind, my heart, my soul. The power resides in thoughts, in choices, in decisions, in actions, in commitments that are no more than dedicates of worshipping one over another.

What must I worship?

The answers are within me. They are within my mind, within my heart, within my soul. The books populating my bookcases contain traces of these answers.

“Nothing can bring you peace but yourself. Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

I know in my heart that all my answers lie within me, if I should look. But I distract. I give in to distractions. I do not pray and meditate with the required intensity to peel away the layers of repressed discomfort and address the obstacles that lie in the way of my progression, and the realization of the highest form of consciousness available to me. I neglect myself, and run in circles.

This must cease. I must seek wisdom and clarity and peace with a greater blind fervor that I use to mask them.

I long for a beautiful life, with harmony and cohesion. This ideal is just that. But it’s the story I want to live.

I want a life of luxury. More than anything I want a lot of space, and I want to fill that space with people and symbols. That is the realm I dream of.

I am desperate for a change, for some clarify and direction. Everyday feels like a chore, like an inescapable purgatory.

Please, show me a way.

Math is a way to describe the world precisely.

Geometry is a way to measure world.

Algebra is a way to measure change.

Calculus is a way to measure rate of change.

There is magic in your sight.

It is not found

But created by the light

Shining from your eyes

Falling from your lips

To gaze upon the world

While making beauty out of it

I gaze out onto my life and observe a rippling reflection, a still pool that barely stirs. It is shallow, from the surface, but goes deep into the earth.

In June I went to Nashville for the first time in over 18 months. I then went to florida to vacation with the family, where I contracted COVID, and convalesced the week I returned home. The following week I moved into a 17,000 sq ft castle to join about a dozen other housemates.

Then, ten days later, I went to Nashville again with my two best friends and college roommates, where I stayed for a week before traveling to Ocean City Maryland, where I met up with my two childhood friends. We mucked for clams, we ate crabs, we grilled venison. I need to write them both a letter, telling them how much I appreciated their friendship, and his wife.

In this new castle I find myself living in, there are a variety of professions and personalities.

I am working to maintain a life for myself. I am working to maintain a level of professional excellence.

I wish I reflected more. I wish I journaled more.

There is lots of self loathing as I drink heavily and eat liberally, all without the discipline to work out. I just fantasize about it.

I did take up surfing, however. Tomorrow I’d like to go, even though it won’t be very good surf. Just 0.3 to 0.9. Wednesday will be better. Up to 2 meter.

It’s about a 20-30 min drive to the nearest beach. And I have about four surf spots within that range from my new home.

G still calls and texts me.

I have zero libido. And I’m fearful to become entangled in G again, though she tells me she misses me, and how much I’ve helped her grow as a person. Tempting words.

I am emotionally dead inside. I am an empty shell.

I need movement in my life.

Money drives me, and therefore work. But work is a necessary distraction from my otherwise depressing life.

I am happy. But I am empty.

I long for a permanent escape.

Drugs, obsessions, love, relationships, competition, and the like provide temporary escapes.

I am motivated, sometimes. I undulate, like a pendulum.

My brain is muted. My self is dumb. No words, no words. Just a human log in a fog.

I am living in a castle. The looks of which surprise me. It is magnificent. I will elaborate more later.

I need to write more. I just feel so dead. I drink and, now that I have some housemates, socialize. I refrain from emotional intimacy. I am drawn to the presence of others. I am repulsed by drama, in myself and others. I have an aversion to obligation. I am my own self governing person.

I long for companionship, but I am completely empty. I have nothing to give, and no one seems worth the energy to give anything I don’t have.

Good night. I plan to write much much more. This has been therapeutic.

I’m feeling suicidal. The existential depression is bearing down on my body and soul with its full force. I can barely breath. My attention span is reduced to fleeting scratches of stimuli. I loath the next breath.

I contemplate my death, and the sweetness it will bring, the ultimate finality of this slow agony that defines the shortness of life.

I’m sitting on my couch in Nashville, contemplating this existence, attempting to feel the weight of the unrelenting pain that I squeeze into the periphery as often and intensely as possible.

Everything about my life is horrifying. On some level I believe that all that I loathe can be resolved with the right attitude, but what I can’t get over is it’s eternal return.

Waking life is an abyss that consumes all that is thrown in, a sink hole that swallows all the earth, never allowing for sure footing and stable ground.

If only I could forget. How sublime the forgetful must live.

death, freedom, isolation, and meaninglessness

Wrestling any one of these brings brings me to my knees, but most often I feel them all at once, holding my appendages, while I am left gasping in a cold darkness, with no one around.