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No Passion

I love failure. When it occurs, I'm pretty indifferent to it, but as a concept I love it. Failure lets you know that you're doing something wrong. It shines a light on a personality trait that needs to be fixed,one that probably would go unchanged if it weren't for failure.

People who fail and get angry are missing the point. Failure is opportunity. It's like getting angry that your car tells you you're low on gas. The indicator light isn't the problem,the level of fuel is. Further, hiding the failure doesn't solve the underlying problem. Disconnecting the indicator light won't fill up your gas tank, but filling up your gas tank will turn off the light.

During my tenure as a pickup artist, I never took failure personally. It never mattered to me. Each time I failed, I felt as though the girl had revealed a secret to me. No attractive girl is chaste her whole life, no girl is a bitch to every guy. If she didn't want me to call her, that meant that there was something unattractive about me that I had to change. Compliments and success stroke my ego, but honest critical feedback leaves me thinking for months.
I have failed financially so far. It's not that I'm poor, or anywhere close to it. I'm sure my income, net worth, or lifestyle are impressive or even enviable to a lot of people. I'm so immeasurably grateful for everything I have that I feel a tinge of guilt on a daily basis for not spending the entire day thanking everyone who has made my life so great. However, despite whatever success I have, I am not where I want to be. I will be a billionaire, I will own my own submarine and airplane, and I will spend the majority of my life traveling and seeking adventure. I'm not nearly as close as I should be to these goals, and I'm not exactly on the express train there.

Beyond Pickup - Have Your Cake and Eat it Too?

On The Tiny Octopus

What started out as my exploration of an age-old question: whether total nerds have a chance at snagging highly desired women ripples into a topic that permeates into a thorough exploration of everything regarding the enigma we call 'love' and how it may not be as magical as we first deem it to be.

Reupdate: 3/14/13 Didn't really mean to update on Valentine's Day but there we go. I rescind my 51/49 soul/body split I mentioned in the 3/13 update after responding to Zach's post on Sebastian Marshall's blog http://sebastianmarshall.com/dont-underestimate-biochemistry. I now believe it is a dynamic split that changes based on situation.

Update: 3/13/13 In yet another update of this post's evolution the original question has been staked in the heart by Tynan's latest post Not that kind of person. I am now more convinced than ever that there are no 'pre-sets' in life and the only barriers we put up are the ones of our own making. Not everyone starts on even-footing and some have advantages over others but in the long run for most things we are self-defined. For the longest time I've tackled a deeper philosophical question - is the body a victim of biological processes or are biological processes controlled by the body? (ie can we use willpower alone to induce biological change) Are human personalities just a sum of biochemical reactions or is the human persona a product of the 'soul'? I now believe that we have a lot more power than we give ourselves credit for and even though our bodies and higher aspects (mind/soul) may often conflict with one another ultimately the higher aspects are in control.

Admittedly hormones and such play a big role in our day to day feel/function and have enough weight to throw us off course . Starting out I think we may be a 51/49 split of mind over matter but with self discipline and proper care of the human vessel in my experience that ratio only goes up to pass more control to the higher self.

Update: 9/6/12 Figure I'd clean this up and add in a shortcut to help anyone trapped in the loop of pining for women - most of what is considered "love" doesn't exist just sex. Read the end of this post for the explanation why. Otherwise original post below...

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