I had a really interesting conversation with a young man a few days ago. This young man identifies with the “Black Pill Community.” He’s highly intelligent, not bad looking from what I can tell, and he’s short, like me. He’s my height to be exact, which is 5’4.
We had a couple of conversations that lasted well over 4 hours total and it was educating and interesting to me to listen to his take on how things are and why they are the way they are.
Now granted, I’m not this young man. I don’t have his life experiences. I don’t live where he lives. My culture and society is slightly different from his if I had to guess. He brought up a lot of statistics and numbers about a lot of different things.
Are taller men more desirable to women? I would say yes. Are there certain genetic features and traits that women find more desirable than others? Sure, why not? I know I’m no different when it comes to finding certain traits and features more desirable than others.
Honestly though, I don’t care.
I don’t care that women in general may find taller men more attractive and more desirable than a short guy like me. That just means that I have to work at it more. Yeah it sucks, but that’s life. I can’t do anything about being short, it’s totally out of my control, so I’m not going to worry about it and I’m not going to make an issue out of it.
I don’t care that some women are attracted to younger men than me. I don’t care if she happens to like guys with a full head of hair and I’m bald. That’s another thing that I can’t do much about, so I shave my head and roll with that instead.
If I had to be honest with myself on the “Attractiveness Scale,” I’m a 5. On a good day. Maybe I’m even lower when you factor my height, my baldness, and even my age in.
I don’t care.
Never tell me the odds. – Han Solo
I don’t care what your statistics say. I don’t care if the odds are against me. I’m going to do it anyway. I will succeed. It might take more time, more approaches, more work, more whatever, but I will succeed. Failure and giving up is just not an option for me. The only way that anyone will stop me is they are going to have to kill me.
Statistically, I shouldn’t be successful with women. My height, my looks, my baldness, and even my age statistically should be working against me. I shouldn’t have had all of the sex and relationships that I have had. But I’ve had them and I’m going to have many more before I die.
It’s because I don’t care about statistics, genetics, and the odds. And you’re going to have to kill me to stop me.
The woman you approached shot you down? That sucks. Try again. And again. And again. Keep going, keep at it. Look at what you said and did and try something else, do something a little differently. I believe the term is called “calibration.”
One thing I’ve learned about approaching women is that it’s a numbers game a lot of the time. Many times I’ve simply been the “right guy at the right place at the right time.” I don’t delude myself into thinking I’m some sort of Mr. Suave pickup artist because I’m not. To quote Rian Stone: “Don’t care, got laid.”
My “game” is very simple: I see a woman that I find attractive and I pay attention to anything she puts out there that shows me that she may in fact be attracted to me. If she makes eye contact, looks away, looks back again, smiles, giggles, and plays with her hair or her clothes? I’m going to talk to her.
What am I going to say? Other than “Hi, you look like you’re fun! What’s your name?” I have no idea. Whatever falls out of my mouth is where I go from there. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I make an ass out of myself. I don’t care. It was fun while it lasted and there’s always another woman to talk to.
More often my boldness and willingness to walk up and talk pays off more than not.
I’ve had several women over the course of my life tell me, “You have balls.” Apparently that was what it took to pull them to me. So that’s my “game.”
Statistically many guys and women for that matter, shouldn’t be walking the earth. And yet they are. Why is that?
Shut up, I don’t care.
I’m short, I’m bald, I’m not wealthy, and I’m not jacked. I’m a 5. Oh boo hoo, woe is me. I might as well give up because the odds are against me and the competition is just too much and is too fierce. Might as well just pack it in and go home.
Except I don’t care about any of that. I approach because that’s what I want to do. Why? Because women are more fun than using my hand. Because women add value to my life and I enjoy their company. Because women smell and look nice. And there’s nothing like seeing the look on a woman’s face when she will do anything for you. That, and they’re just plain fun.
You can tell me that the odds are against me, and you’ll probably be right. But I don’t care. I don’t care about the odds or your stats and graphs. I’m going to do what I want to do and I’ll succeed.
If I can do it once, I can do it again. And so I do. So can you.
While genetics and looks play a part, I truly believe it is your attitude or your “will” that matters more. Your “mindset.” This applies to any endeavor in life, whether it’s a job, making money, attracting women, having relationships, making friends, or anything else.
When the young man and I finished our conversations I realized something:
He hates being “Black Pilled.” He hates being a part of that “community.” And yet, he’s invested himself in it. It’s become a part of his identity. He wants a way out, but not really.
I find it sad that he takes bitter comfort in statistics and odds and numbers, because I don’t. But then again, like I told him, “I’m not here to save you from yourself. You can listen to what I say and do with it what you will. All of your statistics may in fact be ‘true,’ but are you good with that? Does that bring you any happiness or joy? Does it make your life better for you? Or do you want to do something else?”
Either way, he gets to burn.
Never tell me the odds, I don’t care.
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4 thoughts on “Never Tell Me The Odds..”
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