BROTHER, IT’S OKAY… IF YOU FEEL SHAME

Struggling in the job market?

That promotion pass you by for someone younger and less qualified? 

Your wife or girlfriend out earning you? 

Your creative or business ideas getting sneered at or rejected? 

Neighbors and friends doing better than you?

Good. 

Because brother, It’s okay… if you feel shame at first. 

If it doesn’t pan out. Or if you fail. I would know. I had all of those things mentioned above happen to me. I had to keep repeating this to myself, over and over again like a mantra, after getting the boot from the third job in a row.

I tried, right? Could I have tried harder? Maybe. But, through no(or some)fault of my own, my attempts were met with obstacles. Some I conquered, others got the better of me. Lately, many have been getting the better of me. Or maybe it’s just the same one, over and over again.

So I’ve decided to make a change. Take a step back and look at the tapestry as a whole. Intuit a little, on how I could get past these obstacles, and why I’ve been letting them get the better of me so often. And through this, I came to realize

Shame Is Just Ego

The first step is the shame. Feeling it. Shame at failing. At setbacks. At not meeting expectations, and by extension, feeling… left behind, as others “outpaced” me by meeting those same expectations.

Metrics, achievements, milestones, and pieces of paper we pedestalize and enshrine. I had none of these. I was ashamed of it and would sometimes lie when people asked about them. The milestones. The pieces of paper serving as proof of my matriculation. My value. My worth.

And like a cancer, the shame would spread to every part of my life. Become corrosive and damaging, until I realized that shame is just ego. And the cure to that is to

Admit You’re A Loser

Or rather. Admit that you’ve lost. An inextricable part of the human condition. For me, admitting I failed again meant admitting I was measured, and came up short again. That I didn’t try hard enough. And admitting I wasn’t trying harder, that I kept failing at everything, meant admitting I was a loser.

It was hard… admitting that- that I felt ashamed. This proved to be the hardest step because of all the pride and ego I’d built up from past successes and achievements. Recalling the taste of success kept me rooted. Stuck. Comparing that feeling… to how I felt now.

Now that I wasn’t living up to all the expectations others had of me, given my prior track record as an “intellectual” or “gifted” child. That, after all was said and done, I couldn’t be counted on…. for anything.

That one hurt the most.

As do most self-affirming falsehoods. As does

Remembering The Taste Of Success

It can be bitter after failure. I knew I wasn’t ready or able to shake the shame of failure. Of loss. But after much self-flagellation and self-loathing, and trust me when I tell you that needs to happen- I took that step back.

Remembering the taste of success would be my next step forward. I’d been gargling the flavor of failure up until now, and I was ready to savor something else. Even if it was just in a memory. 

Hey, no. Don’t look at me like that.

There’s a reason nostalgia is so powerful. Why it’s such a selling point to so many. Why it basically drives this capitalistic machine we all ride in.

People like to- no, need to feel good. But what’s more, they need to see it happening in the world. To them or to those around them. Vision is crucial.

It’s easier to envision what you’ve seen or experienced. It becomes harder and harder to envision success, much less define it, after a series of daunting obstacles or long periods between, due to what feels like a long string of bad luck. How I was characterizing the loss of control I felt in my life.

In this state, I had to be very careful. The past can be a catalyst… or it can be quicksand.

Remembering what drove me, made me ambitious, what goals pulled at me the most… it could inspire me, or keep me forever wandering the corridors of the past. That siren infested land of what-if’s, of woulda, coulda, shoulda’s. A forever victim, constantly lamenting the things that kept happening to me. Rather than seeing the tapestry of things happening, to all of us.

Bitterly, I’d paint a rosier picture of the past because I was shortsighted. I didn’t know then, that the past is something usually (and probably best)remembered in short, emotional bursts. Rather than in long, nostalgically drawn out daydreams. That’s how it starts to infect the present.

But in a rut, it’s easy to reframe the past as the “good times”, seeing them in a nostalgic light. As things we’ll never have again. As things we can’t recreate, or strive for once more.

See? Shortsighted.

And that’s in part because

Life is Short. Wait, No-

Life is long. I mean really long.

“Life is short.”

That’s just an expression.

One urging us to enjoy life whenever possible, because otherwise… It starts feeling its actual length. Which is, sometimes, unbearably, almost obnoxiously, loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong.

And that’s just 46 o’s. We’ll all probably live twice that long, and can you imagine how unbearably obnoxious that long could be?

Good times feel short because we’re not thinking about time when we’re in them. We’re too busy having a good time. Bad times… well, if you feel like you’ve been in something longer than you have, that’s uh- typically an indicator you could be in some form of toxic relationship.

Address it or run.

Because remember, Roby. Hell is repetition.

Shit has to end. Things don’t last forever and they shouldn’t. You know what’s so beautiful about life? It’s not that it’s short, it’s that it ends.

Sometimes over a period of decades. Sometimes suddenly and abruptly.

My best friend died this year. Suicide. I won’t get anymore time with them.

Ever.

Because always, poof… The fat lady sings. The curtain comes down. The story concludes. And typically when something ends, it is often… that’s right, say it with me…. 

Lost.

And loss is inextricable, part of being human- despite how nostalgic we are, humans don’t get sequels. Unless you count children, and some do. 

I don’t.

I am truly an ()-American when it comes to my stance on this one.

Fuck them kids.

But me, the mopey schmuck alive right now, I get one go at this. Good news is, in that one go, I get as many attempts as I want, provided none threaten my human rights and freedoms, or those of others. 

African still comes before American on that dash. 

Be smart out there, my brothers. Oh, and-

Try Things

Try soooo many things. Risk as much as you’re reasonably willing and able to. But properly communicate it beforehand, so that those closest to you can either brace themselves, or gain a safe distance in case your failure is especially spectacular. 

I have a higher risk threshold than most- if the many fucks written, but not given, hadn’t yet given it away. Some mistakenly call this “courage” or “confidence”, when in reality I think I’ve just always had less to lose. More to gain. By virtue of having less, or often nothing at all, most things seem like gain, and as a result, a man can get accustomed to loss.

I’m thinking of calling my podcast, The Poor Man’s Diaries.

Available now on Apple Music, Spotify, Kindle, or any e-book shops near you.

Either way, I don’t fall into the sunken cost trap. Which has kept more men rooted than I care to count. Lost and stagnant, full of justifications, enshrined paper form about why they are unhappy with their lives, but feeling too old or in too deep to make a change. Doing the same thing, day in and day out, over and over again, but getting no true satisfaction from it. It feels like… hell.

Speaking of- Repetition. The good kind. Engage in it.

I repeat more of what brings me joy. It remains a struggle. I’ve never been a creature of routine, more one of habit. And habits are unconscious. Either born from our need to cope or the brain looking for efficiency. 

Routine is mindful repetition. 

Hell is bad habits. Mindless repetition.

I’m on a more mindful repetition kick now. I read a great deal. I write a lot. And I see noticeable progress in myself. Go figure. But before that, I had to get annihilated a few times, and while we’re on the subject, guys-

Learn To Gargle Failure

Get annihilated. And learn to gargle. Because you will. Fail. A lot. But then spit and move on. The world is and will forever be, chalk full of people who don’t give a shit about you, pretend to, or actively seek to put you down simply because they can, and it makes them feel good to do so.

Fuck ’em. 

Small minds abound. Don’t be small minded. Be bold and fearless. It’s the only way.

Ambition is good.

Drive is important.

Because it gets you off your ass and out into the world. To try things and stockpile mistakes(or as you’ll learn to see them, lessons.) You have to encounter opposition. Butt heads. Get into conflicts. Lose some of those conflicts. Seek help. Obtain counsel. Make friends. Gain enemies. By the way,

Enemies are Good.

No, like most guys named Tony, they’re great.

Because enemies can serve as your foil. Almost always, they’ll stand in direct contrast and opposition to your core beliefs. They will help you get to know yourself. For better or worse. Choosing competent adversaries shines a light on your own inadequacies.

Why?

Because an enemy will remind you of them. Every. Chance. They. Get. Often with unspoken proof through their actions, or in smaller, more innocuous ways.

Want to know your friends from your enemies? Look at who in your life constantly highlights your failings, even if only to help you “better yourself”(sometimes it’s even genuine). 

Then dropkick them on the way to your real friends, who will never(or only in the rare event of an intervention) tell you that you drink too much, or that you can be a self-absorbed, kinda snobbish prick sometimes, or that you should stop chasing women/men you know you have no business chasing.

Them’s your homies. You need them.

You can’t do it on your own. No one can. 

So if, even after all that, you still fail, and certain obstacles get the better of you, or you get made fun of, or given the boot, excluded, looked at askance…

Refer to the first step. Feel ashamed. It’s okay to lose things. I’ve found it’s the best(if not the only) way, to gauge what you truly value.

Then rinse and repeat until you get it.

Because remember, Roby…

Now go outside and butt heads. Gain enemies. 

Make friends.

Preferably ones gargling, spiting, and getting annihilated.