I don’t know if this is inspirational – but it’s just fun! It’s perfect to get you going on a Friday. Enjoy.
Funny Video: How to Say Goodbye
There’s a whole lot of testosterone in this video but it doesn’t take away from the humor.
Doing the Thing!
I am ablaze! I figured out the final thing I have to do to get my act together!
It’s a new dawn; heaven has opened wide; the path is clear; I am complete! Just picturing it makes me so excited I can barely sit still!
But, here’s the thing about the thing. You can’t just jump into it, you know? I mean, after all, something as grandiose as this requires forethought and meticulous planning. That’s why I’ll be successful where others wouldn’t! See, I have a handle on the fact you just don’t launch willy-nilly hither and yon down the boulevard into something as pressing, essential, and life-altering as a thing like this can be. You better be primed, that’s what I have to say.
And I am! Nothing will hold me back! I’m getting my ducks in a row; putting my house in order; stepping one foot in front of the other; yes sirree Bob! I’m figuring out the flawless, exact method to ensure I do it just so. Don’t want to take my shot and blow it. You hear me, don’t ya’ bro?
In days gone by, I tended to rush without forethought into critical decisions.
Now, being wiser, I know first elicit support. It’s slowing me down somewhat because — well, I don’t mean to brag — but I’m a pretty popular guy, you know? I have friends on top of friends; want to make sure they’re all on board. I’ve called several, emailed buckets more; even posted it on Facebook. That’s the way to build consensus though. It’s time-consuming, but when you’re a forward-thinking guy like me, you appreciate that’s the price of success. Slow and steady; tortoise and hare; you know how it goes.
But after that, watch out, boy howdy! After you heed your peeps, you chart your actions. Those of us in the know value that if you write down the objectives, line ‘em out, set ‘em in motion; they’re far more likely to happen. Measure twice, cut once; right? So, I’ll take a few days for a secluded personal retreat where I compile the input, and write, write, write! [Read more…]
Finding Competition Where None Exists
At what age do men stop with the “hyper macho” routine?
I mean, really; there comes a time when women are no longer impressed, other men don’t care, and the most plausible outcome is you’re going to hurt yourself doing something dumb.
Before you think I’m talking trash about someone else, I’ll come clean; the question is rhetoric; I’m referring to myself. What makes this mystery more opaque is I’m not even a “macho” kind of guy; I’m more the “sensitive, touch-feely” type. After all, I watch Glee, I own several pair of shoes, I accessorize, eat tofu, and, truth be known, I’ve been know to shed a tear or two during “chick flicks.” (But I’ll try and hide it.)
Recently, I joined a gym so I could take Zumba classes.
(By the nature of the fact that the driving force to enroll was to attend Zumba instead of weight lifting ought to tell you a little something about my “macho score” also.) While examining the schedule, I noticed a Yoga class that fits in my day. I’m feeling a bit soft around the middle and stiff along the edges so I consider attending. (Yoga? Yikes! Yet another telltale sign of non-machismo…)
Admittedly, I was a bit put off — and intrigued — by the title of the class: Yoga for Stiff People. I mean, from a marketing point of view, it’s perfect. It sets up an image and it tells you what to expect. However, from an I’m an-aging-guy-who-lives-in-denial-and-refuses-to-admit-that-I’m-getting-older perspective, I considered it too easygoing. After all, my veins are coursing with testosterone, you know? I need a “challenge.”
“I’m freaking out! Call me please!”
One of the nicest adjectives applied to me is “avuncular,” the kindly, wise uncle-type.
Being courteous — as well as avuncular — I always shut off my phone while at the movies. Upon exiting, its screen exhibits “You have five voice mail messages.” My cell number is closely held, so that many messages unto itself is odd; even worse, they’re also all from the same young man from down south who regularly seeks my guidance. Seeing so many messages from him in a two-hour time span, I fear the worst and quickly tap the link for message one.
“Hey, it’s me, can you call me back when you get a chance? Later. Bye.”
His words say “casual” but he’s attempting to cover the dusting of nervousness sprinkling his tone.
Message two arrived 15 minutes later.
“Me again, just wondering if you got my last message. I know you’re busy, but when you have a minute, I need some advice and knew you could help… Okay, thanks.”
Anxiety is increasing but is still reigned in.
Twenty minutes later,
“I guess your cell is turned off. But, as soon as you turn it on, I really need you to call. It’s important. Please. I need your help.”
He’s pleading, abandoning the illusion of being off-the-cuff.
I would have phoned right then, but two messages remained, with what could be additional essential information. I listen to the next dispatch, which arrived 30 minutes ago. His frantic voice explodes from the speaker:
“I’m freaking out! Please, please, please call me back!! It’s urgent!”
My inner parent is red-lining. I really want to call, but feel it’s important to get the last piece of data — which turns out to be 180 degrees different in attitude; tranquil, peaceful, and calm like a placid lake:
“Never mind the previous calls. Sorry to bother you.”