All the good stories never seem to make sense. It’s weird because it’s like I’m the only one responsible for it all.
Life is simple, man.
And I just make it complicated. I can’t control what everybody else does, and I can’t hold people to expectations that I can’t hold myself accountable for. Everyone is on their own path, and that’s okay. I don’t need to control anything.
Maybe that’s what I have been missing my entire life: the reality that I can’t control much of the stuff happening.
What I can control is the way I react to things. I think maybe that’s the secret to happiness. Shit happens, and when shit happens, I have a choice to either be sad about it or look at it like the chance to pull back and learn from it. Some lessons suck more than others. Some lessons make us act a lot more differently than others.
I’ve lived my entire life thinking that I could always make the right decisions and that making the right decisions would make me happy.
Surprise, surprise, my dude.
That’s not how it works.
Playing it safe has been pretty lame.
Looking like an idiot. Laughing at myself and not taking life as seriously. Those are the moments I remember the most.
That’s when life gets fun. Those are the moments I can’t wait to tell my kids about—or at least my future dogs about, you know?
And you know another thing?
I could choose to be mad at myself for acting like I don’t know any better, but what’s the point of that? I want to be out there all the time. I want to be the person who figures out shit when nobody else could. Or the person someone looks at and is like… how is he still pushing through?
Because even though that shit ain’t easy, that’s all I fucking do. I persevere, and that’s a fucking guarantee.