Tag Archives: motivation

Time Flies

Its just over my one year anniversary of starting this blog. I created this blog with the intention of keeping myself consistent with my writing. It didn’t happen. This is the first time I’ve logged on in over a month. I haven’t posted for months. I outgrew this blog ages ago. I also outgrew my main project, which was a semi autobiographical novel about the malaise of modern manhood (read the prologue here).

I wanted to see whether I could finally stick to something and finish it. A year later and my perspective has changed. The Autobuiography of a Modern Male was torturous to write and it served more as a conduit to get some unresolved issues onto paper then as an aspiring literary masterpiece. I am procrastinating about finishing it and this is effecting everything else I want to do. I have almost an entire novel sitting around doing nothing and I cannot bing myself to scrap it even though I cannot bring myself to finish it.

Instead I plan to edit it (a bit) and put it up here for free. I ask that you pay me what you feel it is worth and spread it as much as you can. It is raw, it is passionate, it is based in truth (in places word for word as best I can recall). I should have it up by next week.

If The Autobiography of a Modern Male meets with enough interest and positive feedback I will finish it properly and stick it on Amazon for $2.99.

I don’t intend to update this blog regularly (or at all). This blog, like many others who have come and gone within the manosphere, is but a reflection where the writer is really talking to himself. This blog was really the penultimate conglomerate of a world view shaped slowly over the course of four years as I adapted to red pill reality. I have now reached the point where I no longer need to convince myself and thus find I have no passion to drive my on. I could do as many other blogs do and make periodic and mundane posts just to sustain a readership but I find the thought of pursuing such mediocrity more than I can handle.

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Who are you, really?

We like to imagine ourselves as the hero in our little narrative. We view ourselves differently than the world views us. Every gamma/omega secretly believes he is a lone wolf, a rugged individualist outcast. I believed that was who I was. The world viewed me differently. To the world I was nothing more than a shy loser, unnoticed and unnoticeable. I was reminded of this recently when I was contacted by a man who fills the shoes I once did.

The host of Rise Of the Omega, a new blog with potential, sent me an email (and I figured what better excuse to get back to posting) thanking me for introducing him to the manosphere.* In his initial post he says:

“That was me. I wanted to deny it but that was me. After I had read TGR White’s entire archive I followed the links from his blog to the rest of the mansophere. It was terrible. A harsh wake up call. I had always believed myself the cool loner but in reality I was the loser.”

which echoed my own sentiments upon finding pick up years ago (and here I quote the prologue to my still upcoming masterpiece:

‘It hurt. For the first time I had to look at myself honestly and it hurt. I did not realize what a loser I was.’

Finding out you are not who you think you are is harsh. It destroys you. Your entire life is formulated on the foundation of how you view yourself. You are faced with a choice: either you accept the reality that your identity is false and thus destroy the foundation of your life or else you double down and dig yourself deeper, burying yourself under layers of delusion and shrinking your world to those who reaffirm your belief in your view of yourself.

The longer you fail to confront the reality that the world views you different than you view yourself the further down the path of inevitability you are. I am not suggesting that changing is impossible but that the more of you life you build upon the false view of yourself the harder it is to accept reality, and the ensuing destruction of your world, and the more likely you are to double down. Each step you take down the wrong path in life makes it that much harder to correct.

Imagine your life as an ever widening path. The far left of the path represents where you are, no matter how you view yourself. The far right of the path is who you could be (and is often similar to how you view yourself). Each step further down the left makes the right side of the path further away. With each step you take it becomes that much less likely you will correct your trajectory.

And before I wander anymore from the point of this post: Does the world see you as you see yourself? Be honest?

What can you do to improve how the world sees you, to make you truly into the person you think you, the person you could be?

Who are you really?

*. Apparently another of my posts made reddit sometime in my absence.**

** I have been fulfilling the requirements to obtain a second year visa. I am planning on resuming posting regularly now that I am back in Civilization. I also plan to do a post on how America appears from the outside.

Prologue: The Loser I was

The Autobiography of a Modern Male

By TGR White

I slumped back in my computer chair, dick in my hand as the legacy of another night of porn dripped down my bare leg. The blessedness of orgasm passes away and all that remains is the hollowness within my chest. A longing for human contact…wanting to curl up next to a woman, to hold her in my arms.

Through the thin wall I could hear the ecstatic moans as the girl of my dreams is fucked by another man. His grunts mingled with her heated cries of passion.

I was 21 and I had never had sex, never kissed a girl, never so much as held hands. In the animal kingdom I was the loser of the pack; the outcast; doomed to die alone.

I cleaned myself up; a nightly ritual. Shame and disgust shoved away the emptiness in my chest as I looked at the last movie clip still playing on my screen, searing its way into my subconscious. A middle aged woman, comely but not attractive, her face twisted in agony as her ass was mercilessly flogged by a fat dominatrix.

Next door my love screamed in orgasm as her latest bad boy pounded away. It should have been me in there. How did it come to this?

My obsession, nay addiction, with porn began in high school. When I was fourteen my parents bought our family’s first computer. My parents were not very computer literate and I had no trouble getting around their net filter. It began with photos of hot, naked women back when kilobytes were a big deal. By the time I was sixteen I had stumbled onto bondage photos. It was edgier, novel, degrading; alluring.

Every spare moment I had without anyone else in the house I would be on the computer, dick in hand, straining for sounds of a vehicle coming up the drive. My grades did not suffer but my social life did. I did not bother trying to chase girls with the zeal of my classmates. While other guys were losing their virginity I was beating off the kinky and the twisted. While others thought about prom I thought about tit torture. I had never been a social person and I became a complete loner and loser.

In college I rented the room of a house and spent my time alone, jerking it to porn. By now I was onto movies.

The worst of it was that I thought this made me part of the bondage community. I thought I knew the bondage models; thought that I belonged. I was not some vanilla; I was part of the scene. I was hardcore.

Porn does not kiss you, cuddle you or whisper secrets in your ear; porn doesn’t make you feel human; not yet anyway…

That is how, at the age of nineteen, I found myself a porn addicted anti social asexual loser. As far as life went, I sucked at it.

At the time I thought I loved her. In truth it was a childish infatuation. Her name was Sophie. She was nothing but the woman whom I elevated to the place of goddess and upon whom I placed all my desires, insecurities and neurotic hang ups. I believed that through her I could find Salvation; escape myself. How typical is that of the modern male? So uneasy within himself that he desires to lose himself in a woman? The first time I saw her I thought she was beautiful because she looked so sad, so broken, so in need of saving.

Sophie came into my life just when the agony of porn induced loneliness was making me think of changing my life. She was naturally vibrant and gregarious; as stark contrast to me. I decided she was the One. The special girl I would lose my virginity. I had no idea how to approach a girl, how to ask her out. A million ridiculous, pathetic and absolutely cringe-worthy ideas ran through my head. I still believed that magic just spontaneously happens, that somehow our first kiss would be accompanied by fireworks to a background Disney track.

I was a twenty year old guy and I still believed in fairytales.

Instead of making a move I hesitated. If I ever had any chance I wasted it away due to my fear. Fear of being rejected, of being laughed at. If I was not already there I crashed head first into the friend zone. She needed a new housemate and I jumped at the idea. I imagined domestic bliss and sex.

 There was not domestic bliss. There was sex. The first weekend after I moved in she bought some big guy back from the club. He could probably not spell his own name. It didn’t matter. He got to fuck her, to taste the sweat on her breast, to stare into her eyes at the moment of climax; I jacked off in my room. I was nearly twenty one.

There was no great moment of inspiration, no heart warming music, no great speeches or defining event; this is real life and life changing moments are seldom recognized at the time. Often they are only recognizable so far in the future that when you look back your memory is clouded. It was one too many nights of loneliness. Maybe my loneliness finally outweighed my fears. Maybe I was sick of hearing some other guy fucking the woman who should have been mine.

 All I can remember is that my life changed the night I found the pick up forum. Losers like me who discussed the best ways to get laid; who practised and practised until they found themselves swimming in a sea of pussy.

It hurt. For the first time I had to look at myself honestly and it hurt. I did not realize what a loser I was. I honestly don’t remember how I found the forum; all I know is that once I found it I couldn’t stop reading. The same stories over and over again from the same sort of guys. My story over and over again.

I was a loser in high school…I’ve never had sex…never had girlfriend….how do I get her to fall in love with me…want sex…want a girlfriend…scared to talk to girls…

And the advice came. I saved pages of tales, tips and tricks from aspiring and novice pick up artists. Make eye contact. Be cocky and funny. Neg to lower her Bitch Shield. Don’t be like every other Average Frustrated Chump. Use a canned opener to begin with. If you can, use a situational opener. Comment on something about her. Agree and Amplify. Get her in a sexual state. Mirror Her Body Language. Improve yourself. Workout. Dress Better. Get a Haircut. Walk like you have a pair.

The sun was rising when I finally stopped reading. I didn’t want to change who I was. I liked who I was. The hollow feeling in my chest said otherwise. Tomorrow I would begin. Tomorrow I begin my journey to becoming an alpha male pick up artist.

“The Autobiography of a Modern Male” copyright (c) 2013 by TGR White. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced for any commercial use without prior written approval from the author.
 

Do Something

Always default to action. Doing the wrong thing is better than nothing; doing nothing is itself a choice with consequences; those consequences are rarely good. Doing nothing means you don’t change, you stagnate, while the world around you moves forward; you are left behind.

Action does not have to be great. A small step leads to its own reward; reinforcement. Internal validation; that sense of accomplishment however small.

Take whatever action you can, even if it seems wrong. If it is wrong then you have gained experience from it. You have learned how not to act in the future.

Next time the action will not seem so daunting because you’ve tried it once.

The best motivation is, of course, success. It does not have to be great success. One more rep than last time means you have become stronger.

Blowing out after you get her number rather than failing at the approach means you are making progress.

Publishing a work, however rough, means you have stayed with something long enough to finish it.

Making a single dollar of your dreams helps you realize that what you want is, however hard, at least possible.

I let this blog linger too long in silence while I majored in the minors, caught up in every day drama, illness, burn out and other excuses.

Consider this post as a small action to get me back on the path.

Tomorrow I shall have an announcement

 

It Is Never The Right Time

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Waiting for the right time is a trap. It is a way of justifying your cowardice. Days of ‘it not being the right time now’ easily turn into years of lost opportunity. If you see a girl who takes your breath away but are afraid to approach her because your life is not in order then you are a coward. Your life will never be in order. You will always find some little problem to hide behind.

Perfection is another word we all hide behind. Waiting for the perfect moment. There is no perfect moment; the perfect moment is one we make. Guys hide out in the gym, waiting for just another half inch on the bicep before they go for girls. Years later they are still waiting for that magic half inch that will solve all their problems.

There is a simple way to know if it is the right time to do something; if you want it and don’t have it then its the right time to try and get it. Lonely and want a girlfriend then today is the best day to get one. When you finally have the made crib, with the large bank roll that will be sure to get the bitches you also have many more lonely nights under your belt, each adding their own stamp of bitterness on your heart.

Realizing its never the right time is nowhere more important than when it comes to chasing your dreams. I have learned this the painful way and I have eight years worth of lost time and regret; eight years of waiting for the perfect moment that never came. I have always wanted to be a writer and now I near the end of my first novel (with others in progress); my life is not in order, I do not have the perfect writer’s set up, a waiting audience, a nice little back up fund to cover my expenses…all I have is the pain that you feel when you finally take action you have been putting off and realize how many years you squandered waiting for the right time. The more you put something off the bigger that eventual regret will be and when you finally get to it and find how easy it is, all those wasted years will haunt you.

So what are you putting off for the right time that you could today? Be honest and I’ll think you’ll find there is nothing holding you back except your own fear.

It ain’t about how hard you hit…

My thanks to M3 for referencing one of my posts and giving me the spur I needed to resume posting.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” – Teddy Roosevelt.

This blog has been silent since November 22nd. That week I took an insane risk. I bet my time, ambition and fortune on bold action; to risk all on one toss of fate’s dice…and I lost. I moved halfway across the country to grasp at a new opportunity, to shake my foundations, to test myself; and I failed. I almost hit rock bottom and I lost all my savings.

I spent nights sleeping in my car. I was literally counting the days until my money ran out. Cause and effect being incestuous, I can’t say whether my fear of looming destitution added to my ill health or I my ill health increased my fear…all I know is that life gave me a beating.

The moment I needed all my strength and determination I ended up with a raging infection. Life really likes to boot a man when he’s down. No money, no job and at one point I had barely the energy to walk downstairs. When I began to hit the depths of self pity I knew I was circling the drain.

Just as success compounds so does failure. As one part of your life falls away so does the rest. Finally I am making a comeback. I am still recovering health wise and financially I am in bad shape, and will be for a while. I am back in the fight though.

I realized that my failures are my own doing, subconsciously. I never really wanted to succeed. I was chasing someone else’s dream. Maybe it was the dream of my old self. It was not my dream; I did not desire it enough to put in the required effort.

Yet I am now focused more clearly than ever on what I do want. In fact, I was purposefully distracting myself from what I really wanted because I fear it. I fear finding out I am not good enough. I fear being judged. I fear being vulnerable. To see a man’s dream is to see into his soul.

My dream is to be a writer. One day a great writer. Today I will settle for accomplished mediocrity. With that in mind I intend to post a short story here next week. I also intend to update regularly again. Being extensively quoted by a blog as widely read as 3rd Millenium Men, and feeling awe at my own words viewed afresh, is a taste of my dream realised; nothing is as sweet or as encouraging.