Thinking Your Way to Misery

All things are cyclical, and even the most masculine author is not immune to the lazy tendencies of society at large. In a world of virtual EVERYTHING, we often conflate the effort of analyzing a thing with the exertion of building that same thing.

Male space writers, me included at times, would rather wax poetic about the esoteric aspects of what makes a man, rather than give examples of action demonstrating the building of a man. Theory has its allure, because it can be applied in the abstract to our own personal situations. Educated guesses can be made about how people may behave with regard to whatever circumstance a man is addressing. To further buttress this “virtual testing” we simplify (intentionally or unintentionally) factors from the problem that is to be solved by the use of categorization and stereotype. (For example, X situation will react to Y in Z manner.)

Great, a man has discovered the path to Avatar Philosopher and Twitter Titan, and might even fool himself into believing he “gets it.” Knowing isn’t enough. Being smart isn’t enough. Will being good at “fantasy” sports make a man qualified to run the Minnesota Vikings? Does a man enjoy fucking or not? Is it worth the effort to be a coveted man? Why is a man frightened of what a woman will think of him? At some point analysis and procrastination from fear has to end.

Getting Out of Your Head

There are several causes of analysis paralysis and these can affect any man:

People fear making the wrong decision

Often we don’t make a decision because we fear making the wrong one. It can be impossible to work out all the many possible consequences of the choice or strategy to employ, particularly with people. It is impossible to know which decision is best, so we avoid making any decision at all. This can be woefully difficult for linear thinkers who are used to using logic to resolve problems. People are irrational, complex, and prone to rely on emotional cues.

There is too much choice

In our current society, there is a huge amount of choice available. From diets, lifting programs, the shit we buy, and the relationships we foster, our lives are made up of endless choices. Having lots of choices seems like it would be a good thing. However, having many options can actually make it more difficult to choose. It is also the case that we are never quite as happy with the choices we make, because we are always wondering if a different choice would have been better.

Every fucking guy who married his High School sweetheart ends up drunkenly confessing about not having sowed his oats. This combination of “Paradox of Choice” and “Fear of Missing Out” is common.

There is too much information

For each choice we make, there are vast amounts of information available. Take the example of eating healthily. A man will be able to find thousands of books, academic papers, websites and TV programs about this subject. It would be impossible to read or watch all of these resources. Even if we did, many of them are conflicting. Some tell us not to eat fat, some say avoid bread, while others suggest we eliminate meat or dairy.

A dude looking for relationship advice likes to find a conclusive answer before he makes ANY decision and this simply isn’t possible in the information age. Sometimes “perfect” can get in the way when “good enough” will do in a crisis.

Lack of focus

Some of you fuckers have undiagnosed adult ADHD. Added to this, the incredible amount of options for our lives can also make it more difficult to focus. We can see so many people doing so many different things with their Instagram lives and we want to do them all too. However, spreading ourselves too thin can mean that we do not do our best at any one thing. With the constant distractions of porn, social media, and other people, we can find it hard to focus on what is really important to us.

Trying to do too much at once

As a result of our lack of focus, we often try to do too much. Multitasking sucks, and study after study demonstrates that it does nothing to increase productivity or results. In addition, we only have the mental and physical energy to make a certain number of large decisions every day. As our energy is consumed, decision making becomes harder and harder. We begin to make less well-informed decisions and this can affect our productivity and creativity. This is why I implore men to initiate sex when they feel up to having sex. A man has the energy to do it right, and if rejected, can move on to do something productive with his time.

Overthinking can lead to being less productive and less creative. It can also lower cognitive function, exhaust willpower and undermine happiness. Getting stuck in one’s head will beat a man down.

Ultimately, if intelligence gets in the way of taking concrete action, it can lead to eventual failure, rather than success. This is why so many outwardly successful men are miserable. They don’t act, react poorly to the smallest of failures, and don’t persevere.

Tips to Act

Identifying why men overthink things to the point of catatonia, I should probably provide some actionable advice, or I become part of the problem:

Prioritize your actions

We have a limited capacity to make decisions. So to be most effective, men need to prioritize the most important ones. Making a man his mental point of origin will simplify this greatly. If a decision is a needless sacrifice, it’s probably a bad decision. This is why successful people develop a routine and don’t suffer the bullshit of others. To “not give a fuck” is not a call to be callous, it is a call to prioritize what is important and disregard the rest (or find it absurd).

Take important action when you are freshest

We have a limited ability to make effective decisions, so it is worth making important ones when we have the most energy. We have all experienced the situation where we struggle through work even when we are tired. We make mistakes, and get clumsy. This is not the time to make important decisions. Most people are better at making decisions early in the day, before their limited amount of mental energy and willpower runs out. Initiate sex earlier. Take time to rest and recover.

Limit time searching for further information

When a man has a decision to make, decide how much time will be spent researching it. Choosing a toaster has fewer consequences than choosing divorce. Deciding where to go on vacation is less important than choosing a place to live. Work out the worst-case consequences of the decision and allocate a reasonable amount of time to make a choice. If a man can’t act in a meaningful way, he should minimize the damage that could be done by keeping his fucking mouth shut.

There is a plethora of information available on any subject. Choose a few reliable sources and learn on your own time. Set a time limit, do the research and then make the choice. I’ve seen men’s divorce research last many, many months. Law school only lasts six semesters, and your research won’t result in a diploma or job. Hire an expert in the event you need help. It doesn’t make you less of a man, it shows you value your time.

Some necessary action is admittedly reflexive or close to instantaneous. This is where good practice and repetition come into play. This is why there is a need for useful strategies for men having trouble expressing their wants in life. (1) Observe those around you; (2) sort and recognize emotional speech; and (3) use proactive, overt expressions of boundaries and desires (meaningful speaking used to say what a man wants and deserves). The fact that male spaces need “training wheels” to get men to talk to women as though their own lives have value, is both sad and illustrative. Men are generally poor advocates for their own sexual and vocational desires.

Be clear about your objectives

What the fuck do you want? A man can’t make an effective decision unless he is clear on his desired outcome. Also keep in mind that a man’s desired outcome might change, which requires a change in course. Before he begins any research, he needs to think about what it is he truly desires from the decision. This will help a man to focus on the most pertinent information he needs to make that decision.

The more vague a man makes his objectives, the less obtainable they will be, and also the less likely a man will be to act to achieve success.

A wish is not a plan.

Conclusion

It’s easy to retreat into the comfort of theory when life is unpredictable. In order to get the most value from his natural talents, a man needs to step away from academia and into the arena. Above all else, this requires knowing what he wants.

The Victim

I don’t know how this will be received, but I believe every once in a while, it’s worth reminding that we have to carry ourselves into a World hostile to an unplugged man’s life. Outside of our much focused and sometimes myopic quest of getting what we want out of this short existence, we forget that the self-deluded are all around us. Every rough edge to any circumstance has a tendency to appear like the head of a nail peeking out from some weather-beaten timber needing to be smashed flat.

The matter-of-fact, come along or get left behind mindset, is excellent for dealing with your spouse, kids, business associates, and friends. Men learn quickly that most people prefer to defer, and if they can follow your vision to a beneficial place, everyone is happy. Men understand that being the supplier of resources, be it time, fun, money or leadership, is a burden to be accepted. If a man is lucky, those around him provide value in return, and life is interesting.

My mother is a self-identifying victim. A Boomer hippie, she decided commune life in California was “more free” than collective life in the Midwest. I think it was the farming she grew to hate, when she really wanted drugs instead. So she and my father, the prototype soy “gentle” son of a WWII Marine, decided to leave me with “friends” at a Utopian style collective when I was three. No one from any state authorities knew my parents were gone, and a check from the government came to the residence to help the community take care of me. I went to school with the other children, and I was none the wiser until I turned six.

New regulations were passed as I was entering first grade, and every kid had to have vaccinations, or a religious reason to decline. Regardless, physical parents needed to be available to sign documents and appear at school to answer any questions. Needless to say, this was too much of an administrative burden on the group, and a number of us kids immediately became wards of the state.

I was in a group home until nine, when I was adopted. My adopted parents worked hard, gave me a very stable foundation, and I succeeded in their care. I thought that would be the end of any family revelations, but 40 years later, things changed.

Victims don’t understand burdens or value. Victims only understand pain. “Victim” has been allowed to become an identity for far too many people, including many of those into whom men pour vast resources. Our own desire to make things smooth just to solve the goddamn problem makes men forget nuance, and become the hammer.

With this in mind, my biological mother reappeared needing something. I came to find out at 43 years old that I am her only child and she has cancer. She has adult leukemia, with complications from Hepatitis C. My mom is a dirty whore with a blown immune system and failing liver. Of course science has come to the rescue of the Boomers with a Hep C cure, so all she needs is bone marrow from me to hopefully make her strong enough to put the cancer in remission to save her liver.

At first, my mother asked if I would donate a portion of my liver. I told her to fuck off.

Here is where nuance and setting an example for others came into play. If I would have cast myself as a victim, and focused on the numerous times some predator tried to grab my dick as a child in that group home, or getting beat up weekly for being “Orphan Boy,” I would have let the selfish cunt die a jaundiced emaciated death.

What I did, instead of focusing on this one person from my past, was register on a national marrow system, so hopefully she will be but one of multiple people I help, because it’s what I choose to do. It’s altruism from my mental point of origin.

Of course, I was the bad person and aggressor in the end anyway. I don’t talk with my mother for obvious reasons, but from her long-winded Facebook postings, she is heartbroken, I’m ungrateful, she did the best she could, I should be more supportive, a mother’s love is forever, I ignore her financial problems, I deny her the “right” to see her grandchildren, etc. . . .

As surprising as her tone-deafness, are the responses to her posts in support of her nonsense. She has a complete support system of old, dried out, Caucasian whores (and thirsty old men) that tell each other every minute of every day that they are the victims of society. I literally saved this woman’s life, so that she may libel me.

The silver lining in all of this is that I don’t have Facebook, and that I’m anonymous on Twitter. I’ve come to value my wife more through this experience, because she is the one who reads the garbage and summarizes everything for me. She’s very cute and careful about it too, which makes it fun. It also lets me know that she values my worth over the drama that could be generated for her time and attention. I let her get outraged for me, and for some reason, having a common enemy also gets her in the mood.

We choose to be victims or not, and we choose our own tribe. Don’t let your past tear down what you are continually building.

Why Can’t We Be Friends?

What is Old, is New Again.

Newsflash: Men and women aren’t the same. We don’t value platonic relationships the same.

Ah, the old, “Can Men and Women Be Friends” quest is back on the map again. Apparently a whole new generation of people have been watching “When Harry Met Sally.”

Spoiler Alert: They can’t.

Well, not in the way that women want.

First, we need to come to a consensus of what “friends” actually means. I think women define “friends” differently than men do. I know my definition of a friend is someone that I can call on, day or night. They will help me solve problems (like burying a body or fixing a computer issue) and they will usually do stuff with me.

From my experience with women, they (the women) don’t usually want you (the man) to solve their problems. They want you to listen. They want to vent, they want to be heard. They may also want you to do something, like help them move, or kill a spider or something. And when I say they want you to listen, I’m not kidding.

My ex-wife didn’t “have an unspoken thought in her head.” That quote is directly from her. She wasn’t kidding. The woman could talk and talk and talk and talk and then talk some more. The only time she would shut up was when she was sleeping, which was rarely because she had a major case of insomnia; when I was sleeping, which I “played possum” all the time in order to get a few moments of peace, or when one of her favorite TV shows was on. Then she would shut up. Any other time, oh boy. At least at the time, I was fucking her. Until I wasn’t.

I met a woman back in late June and we went out for drinks one night for our first meet up. She verbally vomited all over me. The only way I could get her to shut up was to kiss her. Which worked as long as I was kissing her, but the moment I would pull back, she would start talking again.

We went out one more time where she finally got around to asking me what I was looking for. I told her what I tell all women I meet: “I’m a Lover. I’m not looking for friends.”

Long story short with her: She texted me the next day wishing me well, but she wasn’t into me, at least not sexually, and since I was clear that I wasn’t looking for friends, she wished me the best.

She did me a favor.

I said quite some time ago that I like women, and I do.

But I also like and value my time. I can and I have spent many countless hours and days in the distant past being “that guy” who listened. Who let women verbally vomit on me. Who let them cry on my shoulder. Lesson learned. I won’t ever do that again. While I like women, I don’t consider them my friends, with the exception of one.

I do have one woman that I consider a friend. I met her back in high school, so I have known her, at the time of this writing, for over 32 years. “Back in the day,” she was hot. “Back in the day,” we had a moment in time between us, where yes, I slept with her. So yes, she’s a friend, and she is also someone that I fucked a long time ago.

Would I sleep with her again today if given the chance? No. She’s far from the young, slim, good looking woman that she used to be. My desire for her sexually went away a long time ago. That and I find her mostly insufferable. Her bitching, ranting, and venting is too taxing to do for extended periods of time. So I only talk to her a couple of times a year. We’ll text each other, like on our birthdays, and we’ll get together and “catch up” over breakfast or something. But that’s about it. She’s a friend because I have known her most of my life, and she was one of the few people that showed up for me when my Mom died. I won’t forget that any time soon.

Nick Spitting Facts
Compliments of…Me

Sorry to break it to you babe, but the great majority of women aren’t “worth my time unless I get to be inside her.”

That female friend of mine that I just mentioned? Yeah, she used to say that same type of shit a long time ago. “Men are pigs. You only want one thing and it’s disgusting.” I won’t lie, it fucked with my head back then. Now? Nah. “I already did the time, I might as well commit the crime.”

The only time that I can think where men and women can be friends is where both parties are gay. That’s probably it. Any time one party is attracted to the other, but the other “isn’t feeling it,” you have “unrequited love.” And that’s a bitch.

I don’t think men and women can “just be friends,” until we have an agreed upon definition of what “friends” is. From my experience, women throw the word “friend” around like it is going out of style. Guys on the other hand, use the term “friend” with a little more discernment and reverence. If I call you a friend, you can reach out to me any time, day or night, and I’m there for you. I’ll help you solve your problems. I’ll do stuff with you. I’ll keep in regular contact with you to make sure you are doing okay. That’s what friends are for, that’s what they do. I have never heard a guy say, “That guy over there? I just barely met him, he’s my friend.”

My time is my most valuable commodity. I can never get it back. There are no “do-overs.” I can’t get more time. So I want to spend my time wisely. Would I choose to spend it with someone who wants to verbally vomit all over me, with nothing given in return? Or would I rather spend it with someone who wants me to “go up inside her?”

For the ladies who might be reading this, let me ask you a sincere question:

“What am I getting in exchange for my time? What are you willing to give to me or do for me? Are you willing to come to my house and fix me dinner or bring dinner with you, out of the kindness of your heart? Are you willing and able to help me solve some of my problems? Are you willing to keep your mouth shut and help me bury a body if that time and need should ever arise?”

You want me to listen to your woes and not offer advice or judge. You want to have a shoulder to cry on, I understand that. You want me to do the “heavy lifting” if and when it should arise. What are you willing to offer to me in exchange? Sorry if it sounds so “conditional,” but it is conditional. The only person in the world who may love and care for you unconditionally is your mother, if you are lucky. Other than that, you are going to have to provide some value. Something worth my time.

I have had some of the most amazing conversations, and done some amazing things with women over the years. But…

I slept with every one of them first.