You know the feeling. You got a blog post or article to write. The ideas are in your head and you just can’t find an angle. Well, I’ve lost too many nights of sleep over this blog post. It’s time to get words on the page!
It’s been a crazy month. Ending up in Slovenia was a curious wildcard in the first place. Getting to know the locals has been an even bigger wildcard. We got the Ice-fella, with his rather skewed view of the world. Classically trained, he’s completely sure that everything is against him and nothing will ever change. Working for his father and heading for a dead end rat race-life. Armed with a self-destructive view on life. But. He says he’s moving to London. If he does, he’ll meet life head on. Life as it really is. And if he embraces that, it can be a highway to the stars.
Which could be awesome.
Then there’s Mr. White BMW, who is more of the pedantic perfectionist-engineer type. Restored an E30-BMW with the little money he has. Works his ass off to make others happy. The guy has such potential, such huge ideas. And he understands my gripes about polyamory, the suffocation under society’s rules. I think he should fuck off to greener pastures, out of this rotten country – break free of the confines bestowed upon him without his approval.
Such colourful stories. I never knew. No one told me there was adventure everywhere. Stay in Finland, it’s a winning lottery ticket to be born in Finland. Well, that may be. But if I’d cashed in on that “winning lottery ticket”, I’d be stuck in a dead end security job slowly deteriorating into an emotionless husk of a man.
-Budapest? Why the hell are you going to Budapest? You got a job there?
-Uhmm.. no. But I’m going to see the world.
-Just stay here, man. You got job security! Why risk that?
I occasionally play with the thought of driving up to Finland in a few years with some big engined Mercedes car and finding that same dude at the same service station having that same cup of coffee in his same secure job.
Yeah. Let me tell you why: I risk it for my life. Because I don’t want to survive. I WANT TO LIVE. Sure, right now I’m working for scraps in a Mariborian cellar apartment with spiders for company. But I’m free to do as I wish, and nothing is preventing me from taking off to the next country. Which I probably will, soon.
Because Croatia seems like a nice place.
See, no one told me, that I’d meet a lovely little Croatian girl with polyamorous ideals and the quirkiest sense of humour. No one told me that those people exist. See, for many years .. for over a decade, I was under the impression that it’s my fault for not meeting anyone interesting. “You’re just too picky.” “What’s wrong with you, why don’t you have a girlfriend?” I never saw the point in getting someone and then being completely chained off any sort of social contact. Because polyamory or anything like that was condemned by society, I ended up just not meeting anyone. Yeah I took the train down there and we spent a lovely little evening together.
And before you ask, no. I don’t chase girls to different countries. Normally. But this girl was worth it. Not like I’d travel hundreds of miles to just have sex.
But it helps.
Too many times recently I’ve heard people challenge polyamory with that condescending tone of “oh, but I want to get to know people and not just have flings with everyone.” And while I appreciate the patronizing attitude, it pisses me off. Because while I like to talk to girls with beautiful figures and bottoms and boobies, it’s not only about meeting someone for kicks. It’s about making friends. Getting to KNOW people. Finding out about their sense of humour, finding out what makes them tick. What their worries are, and what their dreams are. I’m not out here to fuck anything with a pair of tits (although right now I’m pretty close), I’m out here to meet people. And find friends. Find soulmates.
It pisses me off when people say that. Judge me all you want, I don’t give a shit. But the point is, when people confuse polyamory with some random pickup artist going out and predatoring women for one-night stands, it’s insulting. Not to me, but to the concept of friendship. As if friendship, love, warm feelings, connections would be devalued the more you have them!
Sorry guys, it’s completely the opposite: the more you love, the more you love.
Someone asked me if I believe in soulmates. Because I don’t. I think that’s bullshit. Just a marketing term created by, probably some religious nutter, to make people feel happier about wasting their lives with one person. Having said that though, I’m sure that there’s a huge amount of people out there who are compatible with you. An enormous amount of people with whom you’ll have stuff to talk about, laugh about, cry about and create a unique connection that no one else understands. Because only in the last few weeks I’ve found three. And I’m picky, remember? I can’t imagine what I’ll find in the future.
I never knew.
There was the Miami trip, which changed my world. I’ve been writing more than I ever thought possible. Freewriting, it’s called. And it’s opened my mind to completely new ways of thinking. Curiously, it’s also made my daygame approaches much easier. I have no issues approaching women I see as attractive. The approach anxiety, it’s there. Frankly I’m scared as hell, but my feet move before I get to think of an excuse! It’s a wonderful thing.
She was right there! All I needed to do was pull the car over. The air was thick with a sexual tension I’d never experienced before. We wouldn’t tell anyone. No one would know.
Only days before I’d met this person and noted a strangely alluring energy around her. At the time I simply disregarded it as random swooning over a hot older woman. But we had so much to talk about. So much common wavelength. So many common frustrations. And yet, I chickened out. I said nothing.
Sure, she was married and nothing needed to happen. But I said nothing. And that’s the gutless solution. At least tell her how you feel and avoid the frustration and what ifs afterwards!
These last few days though, it’s been a writer’s block of the ages. But not because I didn’t want to write. I had a ton of stories to tell. But it’s all turning into a jumble of private stories belonging to different people. And suddenly I find myself responsible of other people’s stories. Stories they’ve entrusted me to hold. What do I do in that situation? I’m completely overwhelmed by suddenly finding all of these awesome connections with people, and yet, I have no one to share it with. And I’m supposed to be the leader here. Show the way for fuck’s sake? How do I show the way if I’m completely clueless myself?
Those glances she slipped. When no one was looking. Did I imagine those? No, there it is again. Stay cool, man.
That smile though.. I’ve seen it many times before. On the faces of many women, who wished I’d done something when I failed to do shit.
Maybe this time I’ll act. No wait nope, stay cool, dude. Stay cool.
But I wasn’t wrong. It was the smile of someone seeing a glimpse of light. She saw the non-judgmental person in me. Someone completely outside her social circle, the rules in her life, her self-imposed prison. Someone she could confide in. We spoke later in private about things I won’t divulge here or anywhere else.
I hope she finds a way out.
Looking back at all the bullets I’ve dodged by staying out of committed relationships all those years gives me a strange feeling of relief. For not giving into society’s pressure of just “getting it over with”. And it’s definitely worth a pat on the back, for staying true to my own feelings in that sense. But it’s still been my own little secluded world far from the general public’s view on life.
Yet, here I was, witnessing an “ideal couple’s” life, a real life shakespeare in the park, where the underlying frustration would never show without closer examination. Plunging into the middle of that is quite a hefty dose of reality.
I was quite angry at the world that night.
This whole charade roots from having to appear proper in the surrounding community, to avoid being ostracized. Best part is, these two and most other people as well, have no idea why they feel trapped. After all, by society’s standards, everything should be totally fine, right? It’s funny how the human brain is completely sure about things to be true, while the human body feels sick because it’s actually bullshit. Now how’s that for a sick fucking society?
Reminds me of home, now that I think about it.
Yeah, we had a rag tag team of dudes. A restless motorcyclist, a pedantic BMW-driver, an older aged tv-journalist to be-person, and the angriest home video director ever. And myself, a delusional wannabe writer with spiders in his apartment.
I never knew.
I never knew how far I’ve come. At this stage I can pretty much go strike a conversation with a girl on the street if it’s someone who actually interests me. See, there’s two scales I personally go by. A scale of external beauty: most girls are quite pretty, some even gorgeous. But then there’s the more important scale. The scale of attractiveness. It’s perhaps every 30th girl or so that honestly turns my head. They’re the ones with that alluring energy eminating from them, like a glowing aura. Or blinking fog light. When I see these rather rare cases, I move. Especially in cities like Maribor, they don’t come along that often. Then it’s a point of hopping over and ..
-Hi! Don’t worry, I’m not crazy!
And telling them why I bounced over. And then I want to find out about them. Who they are and why they’re so awesome. That’s it. If I get to deliver my compliment, I’m happy.
It puts things into perspective then, hanging around in company with one person completely socially constipated and another with a constant need to show off. The amount of ego and lack of humility is just mind-boggling, when self-esteem is low. Every tiny problem becomes a huge issue, and taking responsibility for a mistake is replaced with defenses, excuses and accusations. So fucking draining. But I didn’t care, I needed a glass of wine.
So we headed up to Rijeka’s nightlife. Rijeka, this small town on Croatia’s coastline, is a beautiful little place, with some fine looking women as well! We sat down at a local boulevard to enjoy some refreshments and check out the local crowd. After a few glasses of wine, and after hearing too many comments about passing people, I couldn’t take it anymore. So I bounced off to say hi to this beautiful brunette. I thought I’d get a laugh out of it and maybe some conversation with some cute Croatian girl.
I expected the guys to follow suit and maybe go chat up some chicks at the bar. But instead of joining me for meeting people, my comrades understood my initiative as a challenge of egos. The first one, being socially constipated, stayed put and grumbled something about getting rejected anyway. The second one, rather than going up to meet people, took my hopping approach to a completely new level and used it to scare people. He was looking for reactions because he felt he was being an entertaining clown. “See, I can do this too!” I remember him saying. Maybe not the best starting point, I thought, but at least we’d be able to have some fun. And to be fair, we ended up sitting with a few girls outside a local bar.
Albeit three girls who absolutely were not looking for company, who I had no interest in, and who were sitting in a horrible spot logistics-wise. But at least they were girls, so that’s something. Now being girls, they immediately saw my non-interest and the relative over-interest of my fellow ape-men. Even so, they valued my transparency and even warmed up to me a bit. Which made the contrast even sharper towards these guys’s socially clueless reaction seeking ego-driven high school style approach.
Was I disappointed in my company? Nah. It was to be expected. Was I disappointed in myself? Perhaps. After Miami and after listening to all these stories about being trapped in the wrong lives, there was a growing thought in the back of my mind about spending too much time with the wrong kind of company. Which means my time in Maribor must come to an end. The atmosphere is too dulling. It’s time for new adventures.
Curiously though, my whole life I’ve been taught that every decent Finn should suffer a horrible winter with awful weather and life should be dull and grey, and everything above that requires millions and billions of moneys. Now it seems, that only with barely minimum Finnish wage, you could easily afford to live in a beach apartment in Rijeka.
I never knew..
You have it all laid out in your mind. Planned out every minute detail. Your luggage, documents, schedule, transport.. everything is ready and all you need to do is enjoy the ride.
It’s a 32 hour journey to Miami, which is formidable, sure. But it’s not the lengthy trip that’s making you quiver in your socks. No, it’s America. See, you need to get into some serious trouble in Europe before losing all your lifelines of help. Friends, family, even the random acquaintance along the way, all provide a safety net. But on the other side of the pond, you’re alone.
America has spent the last 20 years becoming more and more hostile to immigrants and foreigners: building walls to the east and the west, not unlike 21st century Russia, trying to revive a consumer paradise that should’ve died a long time ago. Coming from a tiny European country, America and America’s monster capitalism presents itself as not much more than a pub joke. Something you laugh at over a pint of beers.
.. but it’s much less funny, when you’re the butt of the joke.
You hardly get out of the country before American bureaucracy starts kicking in.
“ESTA documents please?” inquired the deeply antagonistic, slightly hung over Italo-Spanish check-in attendant.
“What?” you quip, biting into your apple.
“ESTA documents. You have electronic?” continued the increasingly displeased service clerk.
“Sorry, I don’t understand,” you reply, slightly puzzled, slowly putting the apple down.
“You are going to US, si? You need VISA, otherwise you not enter country!” advised the attendant, with that look of displeased security professionality in his eyes.
“Wait, what? I didn’t know about this. I thought you can do that when you enter the country.” you explain, to no avail.
“Everybody know this. No VISA, no enter country.” commanded the clerk.
“Well, that’s not a good thing. Can I do anything? Can I call someone?” you suggest, remaining in a constructive stance, even though worry was filling your mind.
“You call anyone! I don’t care. Maybe you go ask service desk over there.” the Italian attendant boomed, with a tone of bitterness and scorn over his menial job.
With two hours time, you grab your bag and head over to the service desk, ambiguously rumoured to be in that direction. Your smile fades into a stern look of concern. Your apple fades into a nearby garbage can.
This lead into a 45 minute interrogation and having to pay for a quick ESTA-application. Plus commission. Plus credit card charges. Yeah, this could’ve been avoided by doing some research about VISA-requirements. Live and learn, you think..
.. and secretly cross your fingers, hoping this will be the last of your troubles on this trip.
But you’ve been to dangerous countries before. Why would this be any different? What’s that thing nagging at the back of your head like an itch you can’t quite scratch? It’s becoming all too clear that this is no vacation. Granted, hopefully there’s time to sit on the beach and check out some babes, but you’re on a mission. This conference, this writers’ workshop, is bound to make an impact on your ultimate goal of becoming a blogger and a coach. Whatever happens, it’ll change the course of your immediate life.. and it’s giving you the shivers.
You know when you feel like your feet are frozen, your palms are sweaty and knees like Eminem’s spaghetti? Yes, we’re talking about the exact same feeling that creeps up when you walk past an amazingly gorgeous woman on the street. You want to approach her. You’re interested. Your mind feels like there’s something at stake, so it makes an effort to try and prepare you for a fight. This, guys btw is why you sound like a bumbling idiot when talking to the ladies.
You obviously have a financial stake in this blog business, but it runs deeper than that.
Your whole life has been a stream of unfinished projects, people you’ve lost interest in, projects dismantled by lack of motivation and procrastination. But now you have a burning desire in getting this coaching business of the ground.
You flick down a few gears on the Mustang’s gearbox. That sweet V6 bellow turns into a mighty roar as you accelerate out of the bend.
Suddenly the financial toll of this trip takes a backseat. It’s all worth it. The conference is full of stunningly brilliant people, all with their own creative approach to the blog profession. You feel like .. you belong. The type of people you’ve been searching for, they’re here: entrepreneurs, writers, and coaches. People who enjoy traversing outside their comfort zone. Suddenly it all makes sense. This blog business, which only moments ago was just a game, is now frighteningly real. It’s actually attainable.
You now have a direction. A path. And there’s a group of amazing people who are going the same way!
“And how would you like to pay for your hotel room, sir?” asked the hotel clerk, in a polite proper manner.
“Sorry? I thought it’s paid for.” you quaver. A déjà vu of an airport episode 30 hours before runs through your mind. You shake it off and focus.
“No, this is just the reservation, sir. We’re going to need to charge the full amount now for security.” explained the hotel clerk. From his expression, you understand that he’s on your side. He’s here to make your stay pleasurable. You give him your credit card, and sure enough it redlines immediately.
Thankfully, internet banking helps and two days of headache later your hotel is paid for.
It’s been four months since you left beautiful Finland, and you’ve achieved more than in the last ten years combined. This can all be traced back to that fateful weekend in September. The Sasha Daygame bootcamp in London. But what was it exactly, that instigated this chain reaction of changes? Beneath everything else, what changed?
They always told you to go out there and apply yourself. What does that even mean? What good could it do to just jump out there with no plan and just start “applying yourself”? It’s completely useless to explain, because, ironically, unless you go out there and try it, you won’t understand.
But I’ll try. See, our minds learn by doing. We may logically understand something, but our minds won’t subconsciously believe it unless we put it into action. You leave home without a plan. Without a destination. Even this simple act of hopping onto a flight is enough to spark a belief. A belief that defying convention is possible.
The bootcamp showed you how to take action, and not just run your mouth. Because at the end of the day, even the tiniest bit of action towards a goal is worth a thousand words. A small bit of action sends you overseas to meet an astonishing group of people. A small bit of action ends up in talking polyamory with the cutest little brunette from Zagreb.
At the end of the day you realize the world isn’t going to stop you. Social validation is worth nothing.
The only thing stopping you..
Spending 3 nights on creating a landing page for your business? That’s rough work. Not to mention draining.
But I got it done. Fucking finished something. That’s awesome. I’m patting myself on the back!
Here’s the page, in case you’re interested in becoming a Rat Race Maverick!
I’m gonna order some business cards to spread out the message. It seems Iike I’m running into more and more interesting people on my odyssey.
So there’s this dude, nicjasno. I’ve always thought he’s a bit strange. A pedantic car geek with a radical view on the world. But there was always a good vibe about him. I’m not sure what it was, but my instincts said it’d be a +ev proposition to spend some time in Slovenia. Oh, and it offered me a way out of Italy, which helped the decision.
So here we are, two weeks later. Nicjasno has introduced me to the local internet marketers, who churn out money like hot butter by selling tons of t-shirts with clever marketing. As a marketer of a slightly different field, I found this fascinating. We also visited the local American Car Show, where he introduced me to a local nightclub-DJ with a similar maverick-view on life. We ended up spending a lovely afternoon at this DJ’s home vineyard, discussing the higher values of life and the universe, women and marketing.
And cars! This man had been longing after his dream car, a certain military spec luxury offroader, for 30 odd years before finally having the means and resources to acquire one. And you could tell. That look, that expression of pure joy on his face, when we took it up and down the steep hills of his wine farm? Priceless! Some true happiness there! Incredible machine by itself, sure, but the story gave it a personality that just doesn’t exist in a car that you buy down at your local Volvo dealer for credit.
Adventures happen when you listen to instinct.
Lesson learned – listen to your damn instincts.
So this nightclub-DJ was playing at a local club, which he advertised was a hot spot for Serbians, because of the music. Having a hot spot for Serbians, I needed to visit this club! Also Mr. Dude from before was in the company, and I wanted him to meet someone, and would damn well do my best to make it happen.
And ‘lo. There were women. And Mr. nightclub-DJ was playing some weirdly excellent music with an enthusiasm I rarely see. The place was on fire. I had a good feeling of not giving a shit about anything, so I gently took a passing girl’s arm because she had cute glasses. And incredible boobies. Told them that Mr. Dude wanted to say hi. He was a bit flabbergasted, but got some words out after a bit of coaxing. Here’s the funny part – I kinda was infatuated by the other girl talking to Mr. Dude. But this was a simple passing though. Not even a sidenote in my mind. Besides, Ms. Glasses was funny enough, so we danced a bit and hung out. Had some fun, I thought.
Some 20 minutes later, she asked me which one do I like, because I clearly want the other woman. The amount of empathy and perceptiveness of this woman, (and women in general) never ceases to astound me. I replied,
-Choose? I can’t choose between you! I think you’re both sexy, and I want to get to know you both.
Which wasn’t the answer she was looking for, so I became an asshole in her eyes.
An honest asshole, mind. She smiled at me under that angry face.
You could see she respected the honesty.
So then I got to know the other woman. This dark haired half Slovenian half Serbian marketing math wiz girl. Holy hell, she had this awesome energy about her. And she was so confident that it was almost cute. Apparently offputting to many men, because most men fear the strong woman. So we ended up outside, making out. I wanted to take her home and fuck her brains out. That’s what my instincts said I should do. But I didn’t. ‘cos I’m a moron.
Also, to add insult to injury, two days later my memory pulls a gag and reminds me of what she said when we were sitting outside.
-So uhh.. Where do you live?
I start spelling out the street name of my building, but can’t do it because I’m drunk and really have no idea.
-Uhh somewhere up there.
-Oh. Kiss me!
Then proceeded to do squat to actually take her to that address though. Didn’t even ask. Which lead to instant auto-rejection*. And not surprisingly, she’s quite cold the next day. I’ve been kicking myself for the last half hour for being such a knucklehead.
But, at least I realized my fucking mistake. Discovering life – one glorious failure at a time, right?
Oh, and it did give me some social momentum. I did my first street approach in weeks!
I hope I see her again. =(
Listen to your damn instincts, kids. Be part of the story, not a cog in the machine.
*auto-rejection = This is her shutting down to protect herself from a guy she thinks isn’t going to give her what she wants and needs. The causes of auto-rejection can be tied to at least one of the factors that can demote people status-wise: