|September 19th into 20th, 2016
It's amazing how you know certain things with certainty. As sure as running your bare
hands across the wall of your inner confidence, you feel it. It's there. A rock. A
foundation. Not yet seen with your eyes and not yet seen to the world and yet so very
presently true inside you that there's no way it's not going to come true.
And then, in walks Doubt.
Tall, slender, sexy and older than you by just the right years. Wise beyond compare yet
embodying all those things you know are superficial but you still willingly give value.
You look at the news, you look at your friends, you look at new things and you look at
your bills. Doubt bends over, arches her lower back and moons you with such fullness
you're likelier to wolf your empty fist before a syllable of resistance howls from your
So you wake up in the morning, having clearly gone to bed swearing to seize
tomorrow, swearing to better captain your Ship, embarrassingly wrecked ashore the
shallow rocks of what you always end up labeling as your pitiful plans; plastered,
defeated, flattened across the beach of your pirated soul lost on some bloody island like
the reddish drool stains on your pillow. You reach for your cellphone to check for the
time and decide eight freaking thirty is too early to do anything but give up.
"Temporarily", of course, is what you'd tell yourself until it's half past noon and there's
only time left to get ready for work.
Here's the thing, it's not like you've not tried to end your affair with Doubt. You have.
Believe you me you have bro. The problem is you've been trying to end your
relationship the wrong way. You think to yourself, after every indiscretion, if only you
could anticipate her curves. If only you knew her moves right before she made them,
the way she comes at you and pretends she has or not at all. If only you were familiar
with her body of work as she seems to be with your pathetic track record then maybe
you wouldn't be so gullible. You even almost raise your head in accusatory protest
towards God Almighty for your very own damnéd & foolishly spineless fault.
You wanna end it with Doubt. I get it. Here's how you do it.
Jump! Leap! You already know this man!!
Escape that sad motel of your Ego and just go. For real. Pick up whatever's left of
your dignity along the way and hitch a ride to Hopeville. Open a Trust with Self Bank
and trade your inequities for applied business. Practice discipline and serve charity.
Make a profit out of your every weakness and your weakness' weaknesses by
embracing their strengths. And NEVER. LOOK. BACK.
When you get calls from unknown numbers, don't pick up. If it's important, they'll
leave a V-mail. Don't even do double takes on anyone that might look & act like her or
has her energy. Just pursue You in service of others, in service of your strong choices
as opposed to your incessant need to validate your self-pity by serving your self-
indulgence for over-excusing your self-regard.
Just. Go. Home. And forget you were ever as naïve as pharaohs to believe in
immortality; the plunder of desire for the eternal flesh. Instead lock yourself in the
pyramid of your Focus, Compassion, & Gratitude and walk mindfully through the
maze of each day with your eyes closed, letting your intent light the way.
Then when one day, on Main Street of a rural downtown, you run into Doubt you can
finally say hello to her like a true gentleman. You, transformed inside out, and her,
looking even more seductive than ever having gracefully aged with class that won't
quit. You each exchange fond memories and go on your way, no judgments.
The sound of her heels though will follow you, of course, along with the song of her
dress dancing against the wind; softly chanting your name like the iconic flag of a
forgotten era of which, for all intents and depraved purposes, you were once the
prominent member. Her perfume will tap you by the shoulder to whisper secret dessert
nothings to your sweet tooth of former glory with such tyrannical scent that you taste
the roar of emotions swelling with a vengeance deep inside the arena of your guts on
the tip of your tongue.
For the slightest of seconds - for the fraction of the tiniest moral infractions -
imperceptible to the naked eye but still very much felt, even if distantly so like a mirage
of memory past treading on your boring present with falling time-traveling pillow
feathers, you wince. And falter. Goose bumps rise against you like the undead soldiers
of her imperial caress marshaled to guard her not-so-guilty pleasure that was once not-
so-specially you. All of a sudden, your right foot disobeys and drags a bit behind,
heavy with second-thoughts for the first time since kicking the habit. THE habit.
Where you housed all your shortcomings. Her.
But ultimately, you don't turn. You smile and keep walking. No late night texts to come.
No maybes to be pondered. No sarcophagi to be philosophized over mummy issues.
Because what you will have discovered from your years of ego-exile is that there is a
much greater power and a far more richer entertainment to be had than one promised
by Doubt. And that is the power of owning the fight. Not winning it. There's no
winning, the fight is to the death. Doubt is as timeless as morning breath - if you don't
brush her off, she'll keep you soft, warm and flushed like fresh poop. So, by default,
you are, and always will be, the "loser" in this particular game.
You can never out-live doubt. You must out-love it.
If you own the fight. If it's your ring. Your ref. Your crowd. Your bet. If you own the
punches that blindside you no matter how much you see them coming. If you welcome
your fight with open arms and bare knuckles...
Then maybe, just maybe, on your very final round, when you've given it your all and
nothing is left in you but age and the mercy of collapse, when your eyes are pummeled
shut even though your vision is still very clear and your inner wellspring sober & clean,
when even Death is ringside chanting your very name he’s waiting to scratch off his
Maybe then can your rookie heart break your fall a champ.