Walk in the Woods
Vol III: #87 Normal Day
I hate thoughts like I’m a failure, I’ll never succeed, and you’re living a lie. And I often wonder if I’m full of shit, if I’m creating a world where success is always out there but never something I can achieve. And if success for a 42 year-old is defined by wealth and a family, then yes, I’m an abject failure. And early in the morning, these types of judgments hit harder and seem to sink deeper into my soul than they normally do.
I woke up in a funk this morning, what I’ll describe as a mental haze of hopelessness. And the funk wasn’t one of heightened emotion or anxiety, on the contrary it was very logical. The thoughts in my head attacked my sense of purpose and the vision I have for my life, and all this at 5 am… I assume other people wake up in a similar fashion, though hopefully not every day. And what a dreadful way to start a week.
I hate thoughts like I’m a failure, I’ll never succeed, and you’re living a lie. And I often wonder if I’m full of shit, if I’m creating a world where success is always out there but never something I can achieve. And if success for a 42 year-old is defined by wealth and a family, then yes, I’m an abject failure. And early in the morning, these types of judgments hit harder and seem to sink deeper into my soul than they normally do.
What I’m proud of is my reaction to my early morning cocktail of lies and anxiety. Instead of sleeping away my morning or rationalizing a defeated day, I went to the prayer chapel and then to the gym. And by 8 am I was sweaty and more grounded, able to focus on my work day. I don’t know why or for how long I will battle feeling like a fraud or failure. As a general concept I believe in the idea of victory over anxiety and fear, over lies and self-sabotaging notions. And I also believe victory means being free from these thoughts or emotions. Perhaps that’s not how it works. Maybe the first victory look like today, in my choice to push on with my day, in doing of what looks so normal to everyone else.
Vol III: #86 Weird Smells
My smeller feels broken.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve smelled a strange series of aromas and smells. And I have not sought this out, rather it’s random, be it at Trader Joe’s or in my apartment or at the gym with people or without. Feels as though my nose is broken. Today is a good example of what I mean as I’ve smelled a sour if slightly earthy odor all morning. And I wonder if my condition is part of my post-COVID reality.
I don’t want to claim a dysfunction- some people define their lives by their ailments and phobias, not me- but this odor/scent thing isn’t going away. Left with only a handful of choices, I choose to pray for healing. I know it’s a small ask, but I’d rather not sniff pond scum all day. So Lord, sweet Jesus, heal my nose and sense of smell. Amen.
Vol III: #85 But, Try Again
The pull to settle for comfort and normal is strong. I’m too old, too unskilled, untested, and I lack discipline. No one would blame me if I settle into my job found a basic white lady and started pumping out kids. But, that’s not me. That’s not the journey I’m living. Faith means doing things you didn’t think you could, watching the Lord flow through your heart and fingers, out into the world.
Three years ago, as the Pandemic and masks and debates began to warm, my life took a gentle but sharp turn. The Lord asked me to lay down the plans and dreams I had in the moment- as business owner and boyfriend- to embrace a new path. He asked me to step into the unknown, the unplanned, and undreamt. And so, over the summer of 2020, I prayed and cried and believed. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t put my faith in a scheme or strategy, rather I learned to be faithful and consistent.
I feel like I am still striving and learning to be faithful, allowing for results to be a result of a process rather than forced outcome. This life, my new life, is one that requires patience and grace because I fail everyday. Like, everyday. Without love, for myself, I’d give up and fall down a deep well of self-pity. And it is the Lord who whispers “I love you, Nik.” And if His words are the truest, than however I judge myself, I must be wrong. And what I learned to do over the last three years can be rendered into two words: try again.
What? Your mind isn’t melting? Yeah, I understand how underwhelming my big life lesson. But, it’s huge for yours truly. The internet and academics and my own thoughts/emotions are often stacked against me. The pull to settle for comfort and normal is strong. I’m too old, too unskilled, untested, and I lack discipline. No one would blame me if I settle into my job found a basic white lady and started pumping out kids. But, that’s not me. That’s not the journey I’m living. Faith means doing things you didn’t think you could, watching the Lord flow through your heart and fingers, out into the world.
Vol III: #84 Falling Off The Horse
The mystery of why do I fall out of good habits then have to battle anxiety and shame to get back on my horse? is a question to be answered another day. I know I’m not the only one with these types of battles. And perhaps what matters most is the doing. Who cares why? The opportunity I have shorten the timeline from falling off to getting back on. I know what I must do even if I don’t know why. That’s faith, right?
I was in a groove by late April: in bed by 9 pm, up by 5 am, good diet, daily trips to the gym, all of it. And then, I traveled a bit and fell off my horse, And I feel like I’m chasing that bastard, and he keeps running from me, one day into the next. I can’t quiet grip the reins, of feeling good about how I spend my time. Too much time playing video games, not enough reading or writing. It’s an odd pattern to live, and not one I want to continue. And yet, this moment has to be part of the progress.
The mystery of why do I fall out of good habits then have to battle anxiety and shame to get back on my horse? is a question to be answered another day. I know I’m not the only one with these types of battles. And perhaps what matters most is the doing. Who cares why? The opportunity I have shorten the timeline from falling off to getting back on. I know what I must do even if I don’t know why. That’s faith, right?
Vol III: #83 To Defend or Turn Cheek?
After the initial shock wore off, I closed my eyes and sank into my seat. I wondered how someone could be so bold and a few questions came to mind, mostly how I ought to handle this type of situation in the future. My aim is to shoot my clients straight and create a healthy expectation for their project with us. My inclination is to ignore the noise and keep my head down. I know myself and our business. And yet, a small rage still burns in my mind as I type. What a bunch of f#ckers?
This work week was a good week. Our business grew by 20% in five days. And now a new anxiety has replaced the old as more than once I wondered can our fulfillment team keep pace with the sales team? Of all the problems to have, that’s the one any business wants. And I trust our leadership. This isn’t their first rodeo.
On the disturbing side of life, I encountered my first personal/professional attack from a competitor. I was made aware of the attack by a would-be client and my head spun as I read the email. A competing sales person stated that she’d worked with me and I was known liar, and that our business was built on lies. How ironic. The modern term for this behavior is gaslighting- when a person accuses another of the thing(being a liar) they are doing(lying). I’ve never met Alise and she’s never met me. Still, I could feel my jaw tighten and I thought of ways to make her life hell.
After the initial shock wore off, I closed my eyes and sank into my seat. I wondered how someone could be so bold and a few questions came to mind, mostly how I ought to handle this type of situation in the future. My aim is to shoot my clients straight and create a healthy expectation for their project with us. My inclination is to ignore the noise and keep my head down. I know myself and our business. And yet, a small rage still burns in my mind as I type. What a bunch of f#ckers?
Silence is not a respected tactic in 2023, not in the era of offense and outrage. But, it is Biblical. Jesus remained quiet as his accusers yelled and screamed, as did Stephen. And while I’d love to see myself as saintly in this moment, I find more direction in the words of Mark Twain:
“Never argue with stupid(lying) people, they will drag you down to their level and then beat you with experience.”
Vol III: #82 Two Weeks Ago
Two weeks ago, I was mired in a long losing streak. It was terrible. And as I wrote in my previous post, I hated feeling like a failure, but instead of running, instead of cutting my losses for safer ground, I dug in and went to work.
Two weeks ago, I was mired in a long losing streak. It was terrible. And as I wrote in my previous post, I hated feeling like a failure, but instead of running, instead of cutting my losses for safer ground, I dug in and went to work. After 43 years of life, I’d finally learned to run toward my flaws, not away from them. And yesterday, I closed my first sale. I texted a handful of my faithful supporters, and went out for noodles and ice cream to celebrate.
And then today, I received two more verbals commitments, meaning I’m signed paperwork away from closing two more sales. That’s makes three in two days. My hope is this new streak- a winning streak- is the beginning of something special, for me and our company. But mostly, I want to let myself enjoy the accomplishment, of fighting through fear and failure to do something I didn’t believe I could.
Vol III: #81 Not A Loser
I’ve been a loser. I’ve run from many fights and battles because I didn’t believe I could win. So, I shrunk and hid behind rationalizations like sales isn’t my thing or that’s not my skill set. In truth, it’s about the winning and losing. And I hate losing. I hate that feeling of not good enough. And now, the Lord has given me the opportunity to laugh at those lies, everyday of my working life.
Back in January, when my friend Jay texted me about a job, he pitched me on the idea of being a customer success rep. I’d manage marketing projects and engage clients. The idea was sound and I was excited to take the position. I’d spent the previous three years my skills in project management and client relations. Then, a few weeks after my conversation with Jay, I say down with his partner Tim. And he pitched me a completely different job. After a few moments, my head began to spin as I realized this is a sales gig.
I hated sales. mostly because I was convinced I’d never be good at it. When I was 20, I was roped into selling second-hand telephone services door-to-door. That illustrious career ended after two days. More than a decade later, I tried sell fresh fish and walked out, mid day, a few months later. Not long after, I found myself hocking thin clients via phone to poor school districts, and then rapid app development to huge corporations like GE and Whirlpool. And at each stop, I felt like a loser, always at the bottom of the rankings, always struggling to keep up. And there I sat across from Tim, after months of prayer, listening to him describe a new sales role to me. And deep in my chest I knew this is the opportunity I wanted. Don’t run. Don’t self-sabotage.
It wasn’t until this week that I understood what truly bothered me about sales: the losing. And the losing happens a lot. The best sales people lose at least 50-60% of the time. But, they don’t back down. They cope and learn and go back out into the fray. And this is what all winners do. No champion is undefeated or unscarred. The difference between winners and losers is how they handle losing, because everyone loses. Winners use the disappointment and pain to regroup and improve. Losers lick their wounds and run from the next fight.
I’ve been a loser. I’ve run from many fights and battles because I didn’t believe I could win. So, I shrunk and hid behind rationalizations like sales isn’t my thing or that’s not my skill set. In truth, it’s about the winning and losing. And I hate losing. I hate that feeling of not good enough. And now, the Lord has given me the opportunity to laugh at those lies, everyday of my working life.
Vol III: #80 Coffee Shop Summit
The elder asks the younger a series of questions and listens to their reply, and in doing so, validates their presence. He’s talking to them as worthy peers, uninterested in the ticks or breaks in focus. He doesn’t care when they glance down at their phones or change the conversation. He flows with them rather than against them.
Four excited teenagers sit at a coffee bar made of dull corrugated siding and a formica counter top with a potted pothos spilling down over each end. Three boys and a girl, dressed like you’d expect California teenagers to be dressed, surf shoes, colorful socks and skinny jeans. From behind the counter, a curly haired man sporting a Jesus beard and a maroon t-shirt makes small talk with the quartet. The elder asks the younger a series of questions and listens to their reply, and in doing so, validates their presence. He’s talking to them as worthy peers, uninterested in the ticks or breaks in focus. He doesn’t care when they glance down at their phones or change the conversation. He flows with them rather than against them.
And now the curly Jesus is propped up on his arms across the counter, and he’s drinking a macha tea, and still in the exchange. And it’s clear the teenagers could leave. Their’s nothing in the dialogue forcing them to their seats, by obligation or expectation. And then the conversation became animated and exciting, one boy bouncing in his seat as the volume of the discussion rose. Then like thunder, one, now two, high fives echo through the shop, above the folk music and low drum of hushed conversations.
Through out the exchange, I receive over-the-shoulder glances from each member of the coffee shop summit, as I observe and type. I am the interloper, obviously. And they do not know why I sit and smile at my screen and off into the distance. They don’t know I am happy to observe their world where adults and teenagers respect each other and have joyful conversations. And I hope they keep on talking and enjoying each other, but if they don’t, I hope they latch onto these moments, where life wasn’t awful or complicated or newsworthy, but it was good.
Vol III: #79 Proud of My Work
He looked off camera and signed. “Nothing you do is special and the field is highly competitive. I could just hire someone off UpWork.” Oh? I wondered and then began to boil. Why don’t you “just hire someone from Upwork?” Do us all a favor. But I said nothing. This man named Leif was blithely unaware of the faux pas he’d committed as he continued to belittle my company and the value we provide for our customers. Poor bastard.
He looked off camera and signed. “Nothing you do is special and the field is highly competitive. I could just hire someone off UpWork.” Oh? I wondered and then began to boil. Why don’t you “just hire someone from Upwork?” Do us all a favor. But I said nothing. This man named Leif was blithely unaware of the faux pas he’d committed as he continued to belittle my company and the value we provide for our customers. Poor bastard. He didn’t know he was drawing dead after his expression of contempt for our services, like a fool adding chips to the pot when he’s already beat. And out of habit or professional duty I managed to answer a few of remaining questions as we discussed the next step in the sales process.
After the call ended I went for a walk, a long walk on an unusually hot spring afternoon. Half way through the forest, I began to argue with an imaginary version of that sonofabitch, to justify my perspective. And then, I began to worry about what how to explain the situation to my boss. Tim is a gentle man and kind to the extreme. I envisioned Tim finding a way to work with that douche bag even though everything inside me screamed nope, not today dickbag. And then, as I do, I questioned myself. Was I being the asshole? Was I being too sensitive? Leif’s careless disregard for my profession felt like a personal attack, though he was likely a douche being a douche.
And now, in the safety of my cool apartment, I still feel a bit ashamed by Leif’s words and weary of the looming conversation with Tim. But, I did what I thought was right. Leif is a dick with selfish intentions. He would’ve been a nightmare as a client. Emotion aside, I did my job and I’m proud of the work I did today.
Vol III: #78 A Failing Memory
My memory is fickle and a poor friend when it remembers moments I’d rather forget. Today, it was a Facebook post by an old girlfriend. Even after she left me, the woman made posts belittling me, to justify her decision. And I remembered seeing the post and the condemnation I felt, and then new shame soaked me to the bone. And I cried as if I’d just read what she wrote and again my heart grieved.
My memory is fickle and a poor friend when it remembers moments I’d rather forget. Today, it was a Facebook post by an old girlfriend. Even after she left me, the woman made posts belittling me, to justify her decision. And I remembered seeing the post and the condemnation I felt, and then new shame soaked me to the bone. And I cried as if I’d just read what she wrote and again my heart grieved. How foolish I’d been to believe in her, in us together. Why had I given her my best? And now I was suffering the same judgement all these years after her final verdict.
And I want to defend myself and respond the loveless, lonely woman. I want to destroy her with my words and crush her fragile spirit. And I know this is a wrong and sinful desire, so I stop to focus on my breathing, long deep breaths, in and out, one after another, until my mind settled and my heart is calm. Then I prayed and wept to the Lord, ashamed of being haunted by old memories. And He reminded me “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” And there is no statute of limitation on His promises of mercy, hope, and grace. And I will be comforted, and I will process this moment as I must, and then I will continue forward with a life greater than I imagined, even when I dated her.
Thank you, Lord.
Vol III: #77 A Blur, A Woo-hoo
The higher and more relevant truth is I don’t want to be a salesman with hobbies. I want my hobbies to become my job, and the only way to get there is to grind until I make it. And, it sucks when I have weeks like last week when I’m drained and frustrated, when I’ve given all my energy and talents to a job and a business that only asks for more. But, this marketing/sales job is the opportunity I was given. And it’s a good opportunity, with good people and good product.
Of the last six days, I can’t remember Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday. Though when I woke up, I recall the thought Tuesday was Friday. And with a few exceptions, I didn’t have the mental and emotional capacity to engage any of my favorite/life-giving habits. I didn’t write (except in my physical journal) didn’t practice German, and I didn’t read. My new job sucked my will to live right out of my brain. And I spent most of my evenings on the couch, trying to relax.
The problem with the couch is it isn’t a place to relax, not when I want to be productive. Instead of feeling satisfied with my day or work, I stew. I steep. I mire into my thoughts and feelings, and then I try to go to sleep. Ironically, more work- in the form of my passion projects- is more relaxing than doing nothing.
The higher and more relevant truth is I don’t want to be a salesman with hobbies. I want my hobbies to become my job, and the only way to get there is to grind until I make it. And, it sucks when I have weeks like last week when I’m drained and frustrated, when I’ve given all my energy and talents to a job and a business that only asks for more. But, this marketing/sales job is the opportunity I was given. And it’s a good opportunity, with good people and good product.
The choices are in front me. I can bitch and moan, and find reasons to fail. Or, I can demand more from myself, and push myself further than ever before. Plenty of people have faced similar circumstances and completed the journey.
That’s gonna be me.
Vol III: #76 Have Fun
Fun for an adult is often a four letter word. Sure, we’re allowed to have fun, but only scheduled fun or briefly between adulty duties. And any adult who has too much fun isn’t consider much of one. No. We adults must get on with the serious business of living and working and dying. And we must encourage other adults to live and work and die because that’s what we are doing.
Fun for an adult is often a four letter word. Sure, we’re allowed to have fun, but only scheduled fun or briefly between adulty duties. And any adult who has too much fun isn’t consider much of one. No. We adults must get on with the serious business of living and working and dying. And we must encourage other adults to live and work and die because that’s what we are doing.
If I may, please indulge me for a moment. What if we didn’t have to sacrifice the fun and joy of living for the sake of life? Yes, we must be responsible. Without question, pay the bills, hug your spouse, blah blah, etc. Yes.d But, why do waste so much life on shit that doesn’t produce good fruit in our lives? Hiding behind our fears and the expectations of others? And make no mistakes, the expectations of others are a crutch, a rationale to self-sabotage and walk away from greatness. To this point, I say show me a people pleasers and I’ll show you someone who hates themself. As my dad would say, ask me how I know.
Today I was reminded of what it was like to play in the dirt or scribble on paper as a boy, when I didn’t give a shit about being a man. It was glorious, and I’m glad my parents let me do it. And I can’t say when or where those things stopped being fun, when I let my “work” be compared to others, and when I internalized the feeling of inferiority. At some moment, I stopped enjoying the process and was discouraged by the paintings and drawings of others. So, it was good to remember being a child and being content to experiment and to enjoy the process. In fact, it’s my hearts cry for the rest of the year, to get lost in the process like a boy still playing in the dirt as the sun slides down.