I’m hungry but there’s nothing in the fridge that seems appetizing and I don’t really want to cook. Raining and the tires are bald and I felt some slight hydroplaning last night, so I really don’t want to go out to get food… plus everything close is frozen convenience shitfood. So I write.

Woke up with a headache and some chapped lips, really dehydrated. I need to finally cut coffee from my daily habits by my birthday in a couple of weeks. I will turn ever-closer to 35, which puts me ever closer to 40, and then 50. Supposedly, the prime of a man’s life, when he reaches peak physical and mental and financial and overall optimal health and prowess, is around age 38. I have a mountain of work to churn through if I ever hope to achieve anything close to “peak”.

One major obstacle that has been present throughout my life is related to permission. Permissions to go after certain things that I want, on a personal level, and not done out of seeking validation from others or because others suggested it based upon their own skewed experiences. I’ve never really let myself have the chance, or just the permission to sack up and go after even some of the things that I Want. Why did you go to college? Because they all said, “that’s what you do”. Why did you never go after girls? Because they all said, “that’s bad behavior”. Why are you not fully expressive of your youness? Because they all said, “don’t make a scene”. And I listened. And listened, and listened for years and took it all to heart and never really made myself the focal point of my own reality. And the thing is, I always had a little nagging suspicion about it all, always had a tiny voice from the back of the peanut gallery asking if this was really the right thing, the best path, or what I really even wanted. Never listened to that poor bastard though. Always let him just squeak away and get lost in the drone.

I’ve started to listen.

There are some things I want out of life that I have always wanted, many things that others were shameful of, or actively shaming others over. My love of the female form, for instance. Somewhere way back in the past of my childhood, someone threw in the idea that men, specifically me, looking at girls, is oogling, is dirty, is creepy, and the girls don’t like it, so don’t do it. So now, I cast my eyes away when I’m not keeping on top of that behavior. Somewhere back there into the ages of puberty, someone got it into my head that girls are never going to find me attractive, so I should just not try. And the only ones who are going to like me are future housewives, who I, as a man and having a duty to do such, will wife up and slam a few babies into and get old and middle-aged and fat and drink crudweiser and die in my living room recliner a year after I finally retire. So obviously no attractive girl is ever going to go for a dude like me. Somewhere someone got the idea into me that I can’t ever make an adequate living doing employment of some kind that doesn’t eat my soul from the inside out. That I can’t somehow make a living, traveling the world, living out of a suitcase or a backpack or a cargo van (if I really want to get a bit materialistic). Somehow, somewhere along the way, someone and them over there and those assholes up here all found ways to get me to renounce permission, or put it off, or detour my own in favor of theirs. To add to the pile, I let myself give that permission up, in a sense never giving myself the permission to keep my boundaries and not flitter away these permissions.

I’ve started to take permission back.

I now own websites, this blog included. This is just to write and wordvomit and help instill a habit. The others are specifically for financial gain, passive income that will grow over time. After a week, one website is on track to pay its own hosting and a little more, plus bitcoin profits. The other sites should slowly be at the same level, and when I can get advertiser payouts to a weekly occurrence, things will be officially Cruisin’ then. I’m trying to use these as the backbone that I will use to launch everything else, from a comfortable position where I’m not flipping burgers 8 hours a day on the side, and trying to fit these passive ideas into the empty time slots. If I can get myself to $1500 a month from passive ventures, I figure that’s my base target for this kind of freedom. And, with a little work and some specific niche and SEO targeting, I think that number is achievable within a few months.

After that gets going, I can move on to bigger and better things, like real affiliate sites and non-porn affiliate offers. If I can get a few years savings in the bank, then I can start taking back permissions with force, and furious anger. The end goal is always Fuck You money.

Permission starts with the self. I gave those things away. It wasn’t forced upon me, even though my mind interprets a lot of things that way. Those people didn’t make me do anything, they just guided and advised and sometimes grabbed a hand or gave a nudge from the sidelines, but in reality, and in hindsight (as painful as that always fucking is), I always did those things to myself. I was the one who walked the walks and did the deeds and said the words. And its going to be Me who fixes all of the things I fucked up. Me who is going to give myself permission to keep all future permissions played close to the chest. And me who gives myself permission to attempt to live some of the lives I’ve thought I should be living.

Despite this problem seeming insurmountable to me right now, I know that working through this issue will not only help me in the long run, it might be one of the most beneficial things I ever do. As I notice this behavior in others, way way too much, and it bothers me whenever I see it. I tie it back to what I think drives the large majority of human behavior: seeking validation. Did I do this right? Did you like that? Do you like this in me? Did I do a good job? Tell me I’m a good boy. Treat me like a princess. I did right, right? I did good? Does this feel good? Do you like my fingers jammed up your ass? Did I do everything to your satisfaction and earn goodboy points I can spend in the future like tokens? and on and on and on.

This behavior is, essentially, giving up power to another. Willingly handing them your permissions, gift-wrapped in a pretty purse.

I see this supplicating behavior nearly everywhere I go, in nearly everyone I meet, and most of the time without the proper provocation for such behavior. Everyone wears it on the sleeve, baring their souls to strangers as long as they are willing to listen. I’ve noticed my distaste for this behavior years ago, and actively monitored myself for it. I’ve nipped a lot of bad behavioral habits that I’ve been able to notice, but I’m sure there’s a few I’ve yet to discover in my introspection (there always are, we all have blind spots). I think I’m a bit ahead of the herd though, even with my feeling amateur in the field.

And that’s a bit alarming to me. I’m a fuck-up, a moron, a fucking dork. And I possibly am topping the pile? That means we’re in for a world of shit, mate. A world of shit.

By giving myself permission to go after a few of the things that I’ve always denied myself, I hope to, in part, influence others around me to do the same. If they see me going after something I’ve kind of always needled around with, or mentioned in passing wanting to start up but never did, and finally they see me doing that thing, or making that stuff, or going to that place, or having that smokeshow on my arm at the premiere of that thing I worked on… I hope to inspire them to go do the things that they’ve been putting off. Or go to the places they’ve been saying they’ve wanted to go to for years, after seeing my insta and my fly guy photos with my big giant shit-eating grin. Or to stop putting up with those behaviors in yourself that you detest in others, and secretly wish you could rid yourself of.

But really, I want to do it for me. Because I’ve never given myself the permission to be selfish, and to just go fucking do the shit that I want to do, in that moment, and fuck your fucking feelings. Because way too often in my life, I dictate my actions and more importantly time to others needs, first. Because too often I find myself bearing with the herd just because its the easier way, or someone suggested it as they didn’t want to be lonely or have to work as hard.

Because it’s my fucking life. Mine. Not theirs. I’m gonna have to wear the suit in my coffin, when they light that funeral pyre.