Here’s a little fun fact you may, or may not know about me:
I’m a photographer. Not professionally mind you, but I’ve spent a lot of time behind the lense. My favorite type of photography has been landscapes, but I also love taking pictures of people. “Portraits.” I don’t do it for money because then it’s work. And I definitely won’t ever do wedding photography. I’ve seen what a nightmare that can be for the photographers who do it. Nope, not for me.
Why haven’t you seen any of my photos here or on any of my other platforms? Because I realized something critical a while ago. While I love shooting photos and being behind the lens, I also realized that I wasn’t “in the moment” during those shoots. I was too busy composing shots, making sure the lighting was what I wanted, getting whatever subject I was shooting exactly where I wanted them, etc., I wasn’t “a part of it.” I was missing out. I was missing out on that particular moment and on life in general. I was observing but I wasn’t participating.
I figured out my mission a while ago, but I didn’t have the words to describe it or label it. I have that now. My mission is to fully live, enjoy my life, have a variety of experiences with the people I engage with, and suck the marrow out of life.
Yes I know that’s vague in many ways. It doesn’t have that “I will make a million dollars by October 3rd of 2020” feel that many people will encourage you to have. You know, get fucking specific and all. The thing is, life is funny. You make all sorts of plans, set all sorts of goals, and life does what its going to do whether you like it or not. “Men plan. God laughs.”
What made me bring up my photography? A friend invited me to go camping and kayaking with them this last weekend. I thought about breaking out the camera gear and taking it with me. I got everything out, charged up all the batteries, brushed up on a few things that I had forgotten about my camera, did some test shots to make sure everything was going to work as planned, packed all that gear into their respective bags, set it all out to load in the truck, and then left it all home.
I really thought about bringing all that stuff, I really did. And part of me really wanted to bring it along, but I didn’t. I decided at the very last minute to leave it all home. I used the camera built into my phone instead. Getting behind the lens puts me out of the moment, I’m not “there,” not really. I’m not in my body, but in my head. I’m not living my mission. I’m not truly living if I’m not there.
I’ll figure out a way to integrate my photography and my mission, and when I do, I’m sure I’ll bore you all to tears with photos of me doing my thing with the people that I meet and the places that I see and go to. Until then though, I’ll just have to be satisfied with sucking the marrow out of life, living it fully. And you guys will have to read or hear about it after-the-fact, here, or on one of my other platforms. Better yet, we will be able to say to one another, “You remember when we did that shit?!” “Yeah man, that was fucking awesome!” That’s alright with me. I can do that. I can live with the memories even if I don’t have the photos to go along with it.
At least I can say that I lived and was fully present in that moment. And that’s enough for me.
I’m doing this thing called “life,” for the memories, the friendships, the experiences, and the connections. That’s my mission. That’s my goal. Care to join me?
I’ve had some people reach out to me recently, asking me about Stoicism. I’m flattered and surprised that they are asking me about it, because frankly, what I am and what I do, I don’t consider “textbook” stoicism as it were. I don’t even know if I would call it stoicism at all. I’m just doing “me.”
I think I’ve got Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations somewhere. I think I have it on my Kindle. I think I’ve even read bits of it here and there. Honestly I don’t remember and I don’t really care. Beating off to dead philosphers has never really been my gig. There’s a world of experience to be had with the living that I would rather do than read philosophy.
My “brand” of stoicism would be ZFG. Zero Fucks Given. I don’t give a fuck what you think for the most part and I don’t give a fuck if you do or don’t give a fuck about that. I do me, that’s what I do.
How did I get “here” though? Maybe that’s the question that I’m being asked, even if not in those words.
Two major things happened that got me “here.”
My mother died.
A relationship that I had, that I didn’t want to end, and was terrified that it would end, ended.
Both happened within two weeks of each other. Back to back blows.
And I’m still here. I’m still walking, living, and breathing. I’m still standing. I’ve survived. I survived “it.”
I went through a period of grief and mourning for both deaths, and then I got on with living. As if there’s another alternative. If I survived that, I believe I can survive anything.
I gave up my fear. (For more on that, you should have signed up for the Masculine Geek newsletter, I talked about it there) I gave up my expectations of outcomes and was willing to see what would show up. I let go of disappointment for the most part. I made a choice to enjoy my life and I know that “good” times and “bad” times happen. I know that women will walk into my life and that they will also walk out of it too. Or I’ll walk out of theirs. Either way, there will always be another.
I realized that nobody gives a shit what I do or what I think. And that’s one of the most liberating things that happened to me. Since nobody gives a shit, I can do pretty much whatever I want. I know I’m not for everybody, I’m not everybody’s “cup of tea.” Nor are they mine. And that’s totally okay.
I don’t try and keep people in my life, I don’t try and hold them back from whatever it is that they seek. They are welcome to be around me for as long as they like or as long as I like. When they go, that’s okay, others will show up to take their place eventually. I’ll remember them and I choose to enjoy their company for the time that we share our lives in whatever form. I learn from them and I imagine they learn from me too. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. That part, that’s on them.
I gave up arguing with people, especially random motherfuckers on the internet. What a total waste of time and air. They get to burn. Just like I got to burn. Just like I’m positive that I’ll set myself on fire and burn again.
I learned to vote with my attention as well as my wallet. I only give attention and money to those things and people that I happen to care about, otherwise, fuck ’em. I’m okay with being the villain.
I know for a fact that I’ve covered all of this before in other posts and even in videos. So why am I going over it again? Because people asked and I’m trying the best way I can to describe my mental and emotional state I guess.
In some ways, all of how I got “here” took many experiences and a lot of time, and at the same time, it literally feels like one day I woke up, and here I was. Poof! Just like that.
I really have to thank Rian Stone. That Man popped my outrage bubble for me. I can’t control the bullshit that is against Men, even though Men aren’t the target audience. At least not my demographic. That was a huge vote with your attention moment for me. Huge. Rian, if you read this, thank you. And if you ever get to Salt Lake City, Utah, the drinks are on me.
I’m going to sound like I’m going off topic here, but bear with me, I promise I’m not.
Why do we lie to ourselves and each other? Rhetorical question. I believe at least one answer is because we are afraid of losing something. We lie to women because we don’t want to lose them as an “option.” We lie to them in order to get the pussy, to get laid. We lie because we get lonely. And women lie to us for similar reasons. We lie to ourselves because we put expectations on ourselves that we haven’t met. We don’t want to be losers. We don’t want to be seen as losers. We still care what other people think of us. We still give a fuck.
When you stop giving a fuck, you can be honest with yourself and with others. I’m not advocating intentional rudeness and being a douche or a sadistic prick. But when you are honest you become a breath of fresh air for yourself and for others, that’s the only way I can describe it. You let down your guard and they let theirs down too. That’s been my experience anyways. Don’t be naive and don’t eat paint (as Rian would say) but you get the idea. At least I hope you do.
I’m honest with the women that I meet and interact with. I know what I want, the question is, is it something that they want? If yes, great! Let’s do this! If not, no big deal. Thank you for your time, I enjoyed our moment, and it was a pleasure meeting you. And then move on.
Guys, I’m here to LIVE. I don’t have time for your morality crusade if that’s what you’re on. I don’t give a fuck about it. I want to live every moment to the hilt. I live in the present and I don’t dwell on the past. The past is the past. You can’t change it, undo it, or rewrite it, so fuck it, let it go. I don’t worry too much about the future either. “Men plan and God laughs.” I have ideas of where I want to go, what I want to see, and what I want to do, but I’m flexible enough to adapt as the situation warrants. And if it doesn’t work out the way that I envisioned? Fuck it. There’s always another opportunity. Or maybe, just maybe, it worked out even better than I had thought it would? Wrap your heads around that one.
I keep moving ever forward. I keep on keeping on. I learned to get out of my head and into my body. I stopped over-analyzing every little thing. I stopped overthinking things. Sometimes there is no hidden meaning there for you to discover. Sometimes the only meaning for something is whatever meaning you choose to give it. Sometimes things are only important because you give a fuck and make them important. The rest of the world doesn’t give a shit, so keep that in mind.
It’s kind of difficult for me to write about this subject because it requires me to give it a lot of thought and I’m used to just “doing” it. I guess I’ve “internalized” it or whatever.
I’m tired of rambling, so I’ll wrap it up with this:
Good times and bad times come and go. Women come and go. Nobody gives a shit, so neither should you. (Hey that rhymes! Sort of.) Stop being afraid of yourself and others. Start pushing the envelope and see what happens, you’ll find out more often than not, that people will go along with whatever it is you are doing or wanting to do. Be honest with yourself about what you want. Ideally, be honest with others about it too. They can’t actually use it against you as a weapon if you do. And if they do? You’ll survive. You’ll still find yourself standing. If you do fall on your ass though, or get put on your ass? Get back up and keep going.
Guys, for the record, this isn’t despair or nihilism. This is life. It is what it is. You can choose to enjoy it or you can be miserable in it. It’s up to you.
Go back and read the last year of my blog. Besides my love affair with women, and a few rants, all of what I’ve been talking about here is in there in one form or another.
So I’m waking up to the sound of singing birds. Birdsong. It’s nice really. I hear them outside the open window, it’s not quite dawn. There’s barely any purple in the sky at this time of morning. The birds are awake and they are singing. Always singing. It’s reassuring to hear them sing. Let’s you know that all is right in the world. At least for awhile. At least for now.
But what is it exactly that they are singing about? Are they singing a song of joy and happiness? Are they singing for their upcoming meal? Are they telling me, “Hey Rob! Wake up buddy! Rise and shine! It’s going to be a beautiful day!” Maybe. I’d like to think that that is what they are singing to me. As if they were actually singing to me. But they aren’t. No, as a matter of fact, I know what they are singing about:
That’s what they are singing about. That’s what they are saying. And we, the stupid humans that we are, think it’s about something else.
Birds aren’t the only animals that sing a song of lust and sex. We do it too. Oh sure, we might be a little more coy about it, but stop and think for just a moment.
Why do you get out of bed every morning? Because I have to go to work, Rob. Duh.
But why do you have to go to work? Because I’ve got bills to pay, Rob. Duh.
And why do you have bills to pay? Because I bought X (a bunch of shit that I actually don’t need) Rob. Duh.
And why did you buy it? ……….
Do you really need that expensive suit/watch/car?
No. You don’t. But in your eyes, in your head, you need those things to “get da gurlz.”
And maybe you do need those things in order to “get da gurlz.” I don’t know, I’m not you.
Think about it:
Why do you live in your own house/condo/apartment? Freedom and independence, right? Sure. The freedom and independence so you can bang uninhibited and uninterrupted. It can be a bit challenging to have your hunny come over while Mom and Dad are right in the next room. And motels/hotels? Shit, those things get expensive over time. Doing it in the back of your piece of shit car? Riiight… She might do it once or twice, but not all the time, everytime. She’s going to want some privacy and something more comfortable than your backseat eventually.
I’ll be totally honest here, if I had NO sex drive whatsoever, I would have never moved out of my parent’s house. Why should have I? The rent was low (I’m not a total freeloader), Mom was there to fix the meals when she wanted to cook, and they both left me alone most of the time, so I could play video games, watch TV, and read a book in peace. But that ol’ pesky sex drive kept getting in the way…
It was difficult to date, never mind getting to the sex. Difficult to date because once she found out I was living at home with good ol’ Mom and Dad, she would raise an eyebrow and give me “The Look.” You guys know the look I’m talking about. She might as well have had a digital neon sign that said “LOSER” scrolling across it. Most dates ended shortly after that. Never mind getting to the sex, that wasn’t happening.
The ones that did get to the sex? Backseat of my car. Or when I was feeling extra spendy, a motel or hotel. But that shit was expensive, and that was a long time ago. I can’t even begin to imagine what they are running these days. Sure you could have sex outdoors/in public, that’s some good shit right there. But finding a woman adventurous enough to do it, and do it every time all the time when you have sex? That can be a tall order. Nothing wrong with outdoor/public sex, it’s one of my favorites, but not every woman I have been with felt the same way about it.
Okay, so we’ve established that you get up to go to work to finance your current fuck shack. Same with your snazzy car and all the other trappings that you buy and/or wear. Same with getting fit. Sure, there are health benefits to working out and eating right, but we are inherently lazy by nature. Don’t believe me? Go to a Walmart and look around. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.
What’s the point in working out and eating healthy so that you can live forever but not have sex? Let’s be honest here, we do it so we can “get da gurlz.” That includes married guys too. Whether it’s to woo your wife, or in a worst case scenario, it’s so you have options (i.e. other pussy) for when you press the button, nuke the marriage and file for divorce.
What else do we do for sex? In my opinion, everything.
Why do White Knights, white knight? In hopes that some random girl somewhere will read his virtue signalling post/tweet/page and will be so overcome by his virtuousness that she will seek him out, track him down, and fuck him.
Why do guys show off their bods on dating apps and instagram? In hopes that it attracts the Holy Vagina. And let’s not even talk about dick pics…
The list goes on and on. Why do Men create anything? Why did we build society? Why did we create and build widgets for women? Our big head thought up the ideas, but it was the little head that ultimately did the driving.
Why have a blog? Sure you can share ideas about whatever, but why share ideas if it doesn’t ultimately lead to sex at some point? Even if it is down the road and far in the future? Why build better technology and widgets if it doesn’t ultimately lead to the idea of potential sex? Other than to survive and live yet another day, why do anything at all? And if you are going to survive for yet another day, and there is absolutely positively no way you are going to have sex, not now, and not ever, then why bother?
What is romance? Sex. What is dancing? What is having a nice meal at a nice restaurant, other than survival? Sex.
Just had a completely random thought show up for me. What is Twitter? More specifically, what is a tweet? Refer back to the picture above.
Why do we express ourselves whether via text, video, or audio for that matter if it doesn’t lead to the possibility of sex down the road? Why even bother saying anything at all?
Women may do it (get online and whatnot) for the sex from time to time. Extremely rare, I know. I can tell you though, that it happens. Many of my short term relationships, one night stands, and even my marriage started out with us meeting online. Now mind you, I know that probably 99% of the time, they (women) are just seeking attention and validation. They want to know that they are still desireable. That they still have it going on. That 40 is the new 20. I get it. It’s that dopamine hit, that rush. And you thirsty orbiters keep falling for the bait. Every. Fucking. Time.
But then again, I’ve also been to the bars at last call, and the women who are still there and alone? Do the math.
When a woman wants to fuck you, she’ll let you know. She’ll make it real easy for you. All you need to do is not fuck up too much. Close your mouth before you stick your foot in it.
You haven’t had that happen to you? Are you sure? If you are sure you haven’t had that happen to you, I’m sorry. You’re missing out. I’m not trying to add salt to the wound or insult to injury here, but maybe you need to look in the mirror. Maybe it’s you.
The point is, we all get up and get out of bed and do the shit we do, so that we can ultimately have sex once in awhile. Yes, even the women. Sure, they may not want it as much, or need it as much as the guys, but they still want it. Let’s be honest ladies, would you rather go to work and slave over a spreadsheet/phone call/asshole customer/etc ad nauseum, or would you rather get fucked silly?
Rob Says 
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