Six weeks ago, I promised to take you along for the journey of writing the happy ending of this stage of life, otherwise known as my love story. Or so I thought. Since then, a few of you have asked why I want to write a book. More than likely, I rushed to tell you that it’s my last remaining childhood dream, and continued to explain that the writing process is intended to serve as the bridge from the corporate world to the Unicorn world -- Professionally speaking. Whether or not you understand or agree with this approach, I bet you’re satisfied with this line of questioning. You’re asking to be nice and to make conversation, like any normal person does. Depending on how well we know each other, though, I continue to explain that my purpose in writing is to prove to myself and mainly, to my family, that I’m capable of delivering such an ambitious, lengthy project. If you do find yourself in this scenario, I recommend cutting me off here. If I detect the even the slightest hint of sustained interest in this topic, my expression transforms. You realize that asking the question was a mistake, but it’s too late. You’ve mobilized my cerebral cortex and limbic system, activating passion mode. Once we go down this rabbit hole, there’s no going back.
In reality, no one asks why I need to prove that I’m capable of delivering “such an ambitious, lengthy project.” You don’t need to, based on how I’ve acted recently. It’s okay though, you have the built-in, valid excuse that you don’t want to the unnecessary risk of touching family conflict. Did I mention that until May 25th, 2023, when I started dreaming about a magic kingdom of Unicorns, this was my only unfulfilled childhood dream?
I’m pretty sure that I want kids, but I’d rather not learn how to build a company and how to parent at the same time. That doesn’t seem fair to anyone, and it definitely ruins the fun of both. It’s unavoidable, at this rate. Here I go, unconsciously stalling again. Actually, this phenomenon is widely known in behavioral psychology as the substitution effect; It’s the practice of responding to closely related, easier problems to avoid the challenge at hand.
Substitution is a mechanism to avoid divulging how scared I am for what’s at the end of the And, it’s a Love Story bridge. I have everything and more in my career. I’m confident that I’d continue find more incredible opportunities on this path. The economist in me recognizes that this imposes a high opportunity cost as a potential path not taken. This opportunity cost, as well as my taxes, have each increased over the last few months, despite the promotion clock reset. Initially, this notion of increasing opportunity cost had me confused beyond belief – To the point of debilitating resentment and frustration. Of course, I recognized how ungrateful this made me appear, which only served to amplify the emotions that I needed to re-frame instead of control.
Today, I whole-hardheartedly appreciate that this isn’t a predicament. It’s an absolute best-case scenario. It’s been that way all along. By definition, a high opportunity cost means that in order to pursue an alternative path, I must derive greater utility from that path compared to my current path. This will only increase my confidence in any decisions that do or don’t take. It’s important to explicitly state that I recognize that I must also focus and perform in the current opportunity. Even though I do, there are no guarantees in life, and it doesn’t always go according to the “Life Plan.” In short, I have countless number of reasons as to why I’m writing, but ultimately, writing is my substitution mechanism of choice to prolong any potential leap of faith. Besides, if I manage to simultaneously perform and create under these conditions, I can do anything.
. . .
Six weeks ago, I promised to take you along for the journey of writing my love story. I’m supposed to protect myself by labeling myself as foolishly ambitious, or perhaps delusional for the idea in the first place. That’s what the basic principles of negotiation taught me: Disarm the argument by proactively calling it out. Works wonders, with emotions too. Especially if you use a false label to encourage your counterpart to correct you, but this feels disingenuous to me.
Anyway, if you combine the crazy ideas with everything else that’s happened, proactive labeling is the only defense mechanism to soften the blow when people don’t believe in me or tell me that it’s my fault. The good news is, I’ve learned to embrace the vulnerability enough to share these intimate details on the internet. Doesn’t mean I won’t lose my words if you ask me what the book is about in person, though. If I knew how the story ends, I could almost tell you in person.
That aside, I shared the last post with many of the people whom I care about, each for unique reasons. Moreover, I asked a select group to tell me how crazy I sound, on a scale of 1-10. I didn’t want to overburden anyone by directly asking for detailed thoughts about such personal topics. I received a range of responses, with six as the highest. One person, who happens to be a symbolic character, said that I’m “not crazy at all.” He said that I don’t need to be in a relationship or have writing experience for this endeavor. His response has three possible interpretations. I’d venture that the statement wasn’t intended for interpretation, nor is it worth analysis at all. Each lead to the conclusion that I should write the silly book.
The truth is that six weeks ago, I convinced myself that I was ready for my grand finale love story. I built momentum in my new role, began re-discovering my passion for the gym, catching up with old friends… My ducks were in a row, you know? I told myself that the sooner I put life back together, the sooner I’d get to the fun part. Moose saw straight through it. I insisted that I was ready, thinking that the damage would heal itself when there was an opportunity worth diving into head-first. I didn’t want to admit the damage, because I didn’t want to cast myself as a victim. In reality, my avoidance of the damage ultimately just a poor substitution to avoid accepting and repairing the damage. While I kept it together on the outside as best as I could, I kept asking myself, “Will I be ready once I fix my morning routine?” “Will I be ready after I learn the laws of physics?” “Will I be ready once I reflect on learning to trust myself?” If I’m thinking these questions, there’s no denying that there’s work to be done. I don’t yet have the words to communicate how I did the work, but I did. The best I can offer is that you have to lose a LOT of battles to win the war. Especially, when it’s you vs you, with Moose as the referee.
. . .
Like I said, I don’t know where I’m going with this. I don’t even know if I believe in Unicorns anymore. In the mean-time, here’s a bit of what I do know.
Sometimes, you have to change everything about yourself. Well, sometimes, you get your heart broken so many times that you think that the solution is to change everything about yourself. When you finally do, you realize that the way you found people who were the broken heart all along was by being yourself in the first place. Or maybe that’s just me.
It’s heartbreaks that remind you who you were all along. It's the losses that make you realize what's important and appreciate what we do have. It's the moments where you just can't focus, so you ask yourself where else in the entire universe I would rather be. Yeah, it hurts even more when the answer is nowhere, but that’s how you know you’re on the right track. Then again, maybe that’s just me.
Until one day you wake up to the realization that although you may not trust yourself yet completely, you're headed in the right direction. You’re a pro at silver linings, and you’re gaining confidence. No matter how many first dates you’ve been on -- or haven’t, no matter how many times you’ve had your heart shattered into a million pieces, you keep fighting, trusting the process, and having fun along the way. What other choice is there?
And, I’m really tired of pretending that I’m crazy just to protect egos. I’m not crazy. I just fell in love with the impossible.
Comments