Everyone Is A Critic…

Rob SaysLeave a comment

active ash cloud ashes blaze

Everyone is a critic, and when you are doing your thing, being you, they will eventually come out of the shadows and strike. Usually when you least expect it. Little snide remarks in most cases. Sometimes a back-handed compliment. Once in a great while, they will give it straight to you, something along the lines of, “I don’t like you and what you are saying or doing, you suck.” It’s rare, but it does happen.

Honestly I have more respect for a critic, or naysayer, that comes straight at me and pulls no punches. It’s the weasley back-handed, passive-aggressive one’s that I can’t stand. The one’s that say shit to others, but don’t have the balls to say it to you. The one’s who “joke” with you while handing out their dose of venom. The one’s that when you confront them, they say, “I was just kidding, it was just a joke.” The one’s that could “do it better” than you are doing it.

For you guys that could “do it better than me,” instead of talking shit to other’s, why don’t you just shut your fucking mouths and do it then? Write your own goddamn blog posts and make your own videos. Do your own shows. If you don’t like it, don’t read it, don’t watch it, move on, and do your own?

I’d let you get to me, but I’ve got shit to do. While you are talking shit to other’s, I’m busy doing my thing. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade my life for yours. Keep on talking shit, it’s all you’re good at anyways. Keep consuming instead of producing. Keep on reading my shit and watching my videos, you’re just adding to my traffic count and my analytics. You’re actually not a “hater,” you’re a fan.

Critics will show up the more you do your thing and live your life, and they don’t matter. Critics don’t matter at all, except one:

The Inner Critic. The critic that resides deep inside each and every one of us. That’s the only one that matters, and it’s your job to listen to that critic, because every once in awhile, that critic actually offers some insight and some good advice. Most of the time though, your job is to either ignore that fucker, just like you would ignore the critics of the world, or it’s your job to shut that fucker up.

Prove that critic wrong. Show him that yes, you can. And you will. Push beyond the doubt and the fear and do it anyway. Do it out of spite if you have to. Do it, whatever it takes.

Here’s something I’ve realized while running my mouth, I’ve got way more guys who are thanking me for what I’m doing than dipshits who “could do it better.” Mostly I do what I do for myself, it’s me making mental notes and figuring my own shit out as I go, but I also do this for those of you that find it, to let you know you are not alone out there in the dark. I’m leaving “bread crumbs” in the forest. I’m holding a torch. I’m letting you know you aren’t crazy, it’s the world that is crazy, and you’ve known that for a long time. Welcome to sanity.

So for you that have found this and found me, I’m glad you’re here. Honestly you were never lost in the first place, you just had to burn for awhile. I get it, I’ve been there and done that too. And I’m positive I’ll be setting myself on fire again in short order, because that’s part of what I do.

Here’s what I would like you to do though, should you choose to accept it:

Boost the signal.

You were wandering around, setting yourself on fire with your head up your ass, and yet you started unfucking yourself by whatever means were necessary. Help the next guy out. I’m not saying embrace him while he’s burning, that’s not your job. You’re not here to save him. Just boost the signal. Start your own blog of your own journey of unfucking yourself. Talk about the stupid shit you have done to yourself. Start your own video channel. Boost the signal. Leave your own bread crumbs around for other’s to find. Light your own torch in the dark for other’s to see their way.

I don’t want to be too cliched, but “build it and they will come.” It’s what has been showing up in my life. Maybe you’ll say something that I haven’t heard before. Maybe you’ll say something in a different way than I do. Maybe you’ll say it better than I ever could. And all of that is necessary and needed.

To my Inner Critic, I’m listening and I’m summarily ignoring you in most cases, and in others, I’m choosing to do something just to spite you.

To all of my other critic’s, thank you for being my fans. You make me laugh and smile. When I hear from you, whether you come straight at me or you play sneaky bastard behind my back, I know I’m doing it right because I’m irritating you.

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Insomnia

Rob Says1 Comment

man in blue and brown plaid dress shirt touching his hair

It’s 1am in the morning as I write this. I went to bed early, around 9pm, promptly fell asleep, and then woke up at 11pm.

And now I’m wide awake. After tossing and turning for 2 hours, I decided to hell with it, I’m getting up and doing something. Maybe after I write this, I’ll be able to go back to bed and get back to sleep. If not, the rest of this day is going to be a long day.

I’ve got so many things on my mind right now, it’s a tornado inside my head. The crazy thing is, I can’t seem to really pin any of these thoughts down for very long, if at all. I’m gonna try and pin a couple of them down though. Forgive my “stream of consciousness.”

I’ve got some concerns over finances. The registration on the car is coming up by the end of the month, and of course property taxes are just around the corner. I’ve got excitement for my upcoming trip to visit with Vince, TJ, Aaron, and anyone else who decides to show up. I want to get the motorcycle out and do some rides before the weather turns to shit. I’m excited for an event that’s coming up in late October.

And then there’s my Mom. It’s been almost a year since she died. September 17th will be one whole year. Where has the time gone? In some ways, it feels like it was only yesterday that she died. In other ways, it feels like it’s been an eternity. Some days I can still hear her voice very clearly, almost like she is in the next room. Other days, like right now, I barely remember what she sounded like. As of right now, I still haven’t been to the cemetary to visit her grave.

My Dad asked me about that a little while ago. He’s been up to the cemetary to visit her grave and make sure that it looks nice. You know, make sure there isn’t garbage on her spot. Make sure there isn’t any weeds or other nonsense going on around her grave. He told me it’s been well taken care of and it looks nice. I guess the guys who carved the headstone did a really good job.

But I haven’t been there yet. And honestly I have no desire to go there. I’m sure I’m avoiding something here. I know she’s gone and I’m as good with that as I’ll ever be. Maybe seeing her grave will “break something loose.” Maybe not. Maybe it will be no big deal. Just another headstone in another cemetary.

In my current state, you’ll have to pardon me if I don’t remember if I posted about what I’m about to say or not:

People who dwell in the past tend towards depression. People who dwell in the future tend towards anxiety. This isn’t a medical or psychological diagnosis I’m making here, just an observation. Most of the people that I’ve encountered throughout my life that either dwelled on the past or the future ended up either depressed or anxious most of the time.

When I think about how I do “my thing,” I tend to focus pretty much on the present with some jumps into the future. I’ve never been one to dwell on the past. The past is the past right? You can’t change it and you can’t go back to it, so why dwell on it? I think a lot of sentimentality is created from dwelling on the past, for better or for worse. I guess that’s why I’m not much of a sentimental guy. I guess that’s why I’m not too bothered about things like old family photos or the lack of them.

I’ve started a couple of “relationships” with a couple different women at the moment. These relationships have a shelf life, they have an expiration date. I don’t know when they will expire, but I’m sure they will. I’m not seeking anything long term and my expectations are low. In fact, I don’t have any expectations of these women except that if they are going to show up, we’ll enjoy each other’s company until it’s time for one of us to go home. Maybe we’ll see each other for several days, weeks, months, or even years. I highly doubt it, but hey, stranger things have happened. If they walk tomorrow, that’s okay. I have enjoyed myself fully while I was with them and while I was around them. I accept them for who and what they are. I don’t dig deep into their going’s on, other than scheduling the next time that we will get together. Their lives are their own. Their circuses and their monkeys are theirs, not mine.

That’s living in the present to me. Come and be around me, but if you do, leave your drama at home. Don’t bring it to my doorstep please.

Have you guys ever had insomnia? You still dealing with it? What has worked for you? Tell me in the comments, or shoot me an email.

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Observations From A Saturday Night

Rob SaysLeave a comment

photo of glass overflowing with beer

It’s Labor Day again. By the time you guys read this, it will be past Labor Day, but yeah I’m writing this then.

I did what I didn’t think was possible. I’m actually burned out on drinking. I’m writing this sober and even the idea of having a beer just doesn’t sound good right now. I’m not hung over, I’m just….Done. At least for today, maybe longer, who knows? We’ll see.

It all started Friday afternoon and continued well into the wee hours of Monday morning. So that’s what, two and a half days of constant consumption of alcohol? 2 and a half days of being in some sort of buzzed state, if not straight up drunk? Yeah something like that. I think a few of my guys would be proud. (Carl and BullRush come to mind.) Or maybe they would be a little nervous. (Jesus, do we really want to go out drinking with Rob? The guy might actually put us in the grave.) Be afraid Jack, be very afraid.

Not bad for a short, skinny guy.

Skinny. That’s a funny word to me. It’s funny to me because I’ve never been able to see myself as skinny. I’ve always been the overweight guy. Even now when I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t necessarily see myself as thin. There’s residual “love handles” that are still there. And yet when I touch them, I realize that the protrusion I’m seeing and feeling is more hip bone than anything.

I’ve had people online on Twitter call me skinny or thin and it makes me pause. Again, because that’s not how I see myself. But these people have never seen the younger, fatter version of me, they never grew up with that. All they know about me is what they see now and I guess they see a skinny guy. A “bundle of stix.” I take that comment as a compliment. I’m okay with that. In today’s world of obesity, it’s been my personal experience that it is better to be a bundle of sticks than to be fat. Especially if you are a Man.

Which brings me to the next observation:

On Saturday afternoon and well into the night, I got the pleasure of meeting up with a fellow Man by the name of Elton Skelton. He’s a great guy. He’s recently “unplugged” and is figuring out what he wants out of his life and is truly starting to live his life on his own terms. I couldn’t be happier for him.

Mr Skelton and I went out Saturday night to a local club here in Salt Lake and listened to the house band, which was phenomenal by the way, had a few drinks, and had a great time. It’s been over 15 years since I’ve been in a “club.” Oh I’ve been to many bars since those 15 years ago, but not a club. Clubs to me are usually too loud, too chaotic, and now that I’m getting older, I could be easily seen as the “creepy old dude at the club.”

One thing I’ve learned about women is that they are conformists and herd animals. They typically travel in packs, and whatever the group does or believes, the individual tends to tow the party line. What that means to me is, I know there are young women that would be totally into an older guy like me, but because the group as a whole may frown on “the old guy,” she will go along with her peers and not be open to being approached by said “old guy.” I’ve come to realize that while I’m sure I could take a much younger woman to a club and we would be just fine and have a good time, trying to approach and meet a much younger woman at the club is going to be very difficult to say the least.

I want to approach and “pick up” women with ease. I don’t need to summit mountains to get the phone number. I think that’s an ego thing for the guys who do that, and that’s okay for them, you do you. I’m more concerned about my success with approaching than I am about the degree of difficulty. In fact, the less difficulty, the better. Maybe that makes me lazy in some people’s eyes, but I don’t really care. That degree of difficulty or the lack of it may be all the difference between you getting blown out of the water, and me going home with someone that I can enjoy. I’m rambling, let’s move on…

Another observation that showed up for me while I was at the club with Mr Skelton was that he, myself, and one other guy were the best dressed guys in there. 3 guys. That was it. The rest of the guys were seriously doing the ill fitting t-shirts and cargo shorts thing. Clones of each other. It was really sad and a bit pathetic.

Also, I found myself, at least for a little bit, going into “security mode.” I used to do armed security for a couple of bars back in the day and I guess that training and mentality dies hard. I was finding myself scanning the room, looking for any threats. Looking for the big, aggressive drunk dudes who may decide to pop off and throw down. Looking for anything that could show up for me as something to avoid or to keep an eye on. There was none of that on Saturday night. Not a single one. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want there to be trouble, I don’t want to avoid people in order to avoid ending up in a fight, but there was none of that there.

The guys that were there were all so “soft.” Soft in their bodies and in their actions, which tells me, they are soft in their minds. Not an assertive one among them. Not one “predator.” Just soft, lost doughboys. Pillows wearing ratty oversized t-shirts and cargo shorts.

Guys, that’s your competition. That’s what’s out there. I don’t know if the bar could fall any lower. I found it really sad that here I am, 47 years old, and I’m in better shape than 99% of the club, and I’m not even trying. I’m no paragon of healthy eating and living. I’m in better shape than all the guys that were in their early to mid twenties. It still blows my mind when I think about it.

Guys, you don’t have to work hard to be in the “upper tiers” today. Just do a little work. Seriously.

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