Millennials have a reputation as a lazy and unmotivated generation. They’re right. A lot of us are lazy and without direction. Although there are many lazy millennials, our generation has a lot hard workers, more than we get credit for. And, old people, try this on for taste: aren’t you intellectually lazy if you work a job you hate your entire life? I’m not trying to bash on anyone — I understand people need to work certain jobs as a provider, but the thing is, a lot of millennials are not lazy. There are more hard working millennials than we get credit for, which is fine, but don’t be surprised world that hard working millennials who don’t accept miserable jobs as the “norm” are the world’s new innovators. We are the ones making cool shit happen that will shape the world over the next fifty years, at least
I work for a startup called FUDU and part of my job is to get restaurant owners to list their restaurant in our app.
I’ve met many different restaurant characters through my mostly failed pitch attempts.
My favorite is the bro manager on duty who acts wildly enthusiastic before I’ve even pitched the whole idea. I say “app” and it’s like flipping a switch – the guy bros down and is all in on our service, which is cool, but irrelevant because I don’t give a fuck what he thinks, I care what his boss who makes the decisions thinks.
I walk into the store and greet the front person and ask for the manager to come out and then wait for them and then shoot my shot.
“Hey I’m Connor with Fudu, we’re a corporate ordering app that I think you guys will be inter”
“Dude! What?! That sounds great man we’re super interested, yeah I’ll definitely pass this along to the owner dude. He’s pretty old and ornery since he can’t get boners anymore, but you know I think this is a great idea bro and I’ll pass it along”.
The owner shits on it every time.
Is music the best thing?
I don’t know anything that makes me feel, actually feel like music makes me feel. The intense emotions triggered through music are remarkable.
But nothing can make me feel like sex can either, so you could make the same argument for sex because it’s a totally original experience.
I love music. I love sex.
This is something I wrote after a hot yoga class earlier this month that I think is an important realization.
I had a comforting thought today during practice. I think the thought hatched early on and grew throughout. I thought to myself — “The physical hurt I feel is very much the same as the hurt I feel when I’m depressed.” In my head, I saw the real connection between physical pain and emotional pain, which pushed my thought further — “if they’re connected, they can both be conquered the same way”. I think the connection I realized came to me because both physical and mental struggle result in pushback and we can respond to that pushback by either enduring and moving forward or giving up.
You either stay in your warrior 2 after a minute you come out of it. You either stay interested, engaged, and wanting to learn, or you can drift without purpose & energy, and waste away.
I felt purpose in my yoga practice — I realized giving up physically is the same as giving up mentally — they’re the same thing. They’re the same. They’re the same. They’re the same.
My mood then touched on the verge of excitement, because I realized I can push through physical hurt. I can stay in my squat or lunge or hold or whatever. Yes, it hurts real bad but also, yes, I can push through it. Fuck the hurt. The physical hurt is less worse than giving up. Pain is a temporary bitch, but it’s not permanent.
It’s not permenent. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not.
I think I’ve spent too much time afraid of being sad. But now, I realize it’s the same as physical pain. Emotional pain and physical pain are the same, they just feel different.
Like physical pain during exercise, if you’re pushing yourself to be a successful person, whatever that means to you, you’re going to feel emotional pain because that’s life.
Emotional pain is just part of the journey. Don’t be afraid of it — don’t be afraid of mental illness . . . KNOW you can endure it and work through it just like you can with a brutal workout.
It’s comforting to know that physical pain and emotional pain are so similar. Because I know that when I’m working through some emotional pain, all I have to tell myself is this — stay present, work through, feel & acknowledge the pain, and work through it, because if I can endure this pain, there’s no pain I can’t endure.
So if you’re ever thinking to yourself, God this fucking sucks why am I even here working out, there’s no point, remember that. Think of what else you can accomplish if you can endure intense physical pain through exercise.
And whenever you’re going through a sad patch, remember, you can endure emotional pain just like you can endure physical pain.
My mom wouldn’t be happy with our dog right now, but making her walk even with me isn’t one of my priorities. As long as she’s not causing me any trouble, she can explore the range of her leash.
For my mom, making Pebbles walk well is on her list of priorities. I’m not sure what else is on it since all of her kids have gone off to college and graduate school — probably checking up on them, or at least it seems so.
So Pebbles was walking well ahead of me, sniffing around, doing her thing, having her range of the rope, squatting down every now and then on her hind legs for just a split second to pee a bit and mark her territory and then moving on.
The sun was out and it felt warm on my skin. I thought, “what a nice day”, and it was a nice day. It was sunday afternoon and I wasn’t worried about work or class, which was easier since I wasn’t in the city. So I thought to myself earlier in the day, I’ll take Pebbles on a nice long walk, and here we are.
Pebbles started sniffing around the yard next to the sidewalk, which accompanied a house with a beautiful speed boat in the driveway in front of the home’s open garage doors, as I half payed attention to her and half listened to Brian Anderson color commentating the Brewer’s half of the fifth.
It all happened so fast, when behind the boat in the garage a terrier about 25 pounds smaller than Pebbles, but with an absolute menace towards other dogs, especially ones that wandered in its territory, darted towards her.
Before Pebbles had the chance to drop her bit of pee, she was affronted violently by the terrier not far from the sidewalk, swirling and jerking back and forth like the Looney Tunes tasmanian devil.
My first reaction was to jerk back on the leash to pull Pebbles away from the other dog, but there was too much slack in the rope, so I ran to the confrontation to split them apart myself. I reached over Pebbles’s shoulders and across her chest to pull her away from the terrier, who was on her back under Pebbles. It seemed like Pebbles wasn’t fighting back as much as she was keeping the situation under control.
I tugged once and they remained attached to one another. I tugged again harder this time and in one motion detached Pebbles, swooped her into my arms and across the street where I ended, legs tangled in leash & headphones holding my dog who was acting like nothing had happened.
As my heart thumped fast, I evaluated the situation and quickly saw dark splotches of blood on the sidewalk. I immediately checked Pebbles who wasn’t cut anywhere and then looked at the terrier, who stood at the edge of her invisible fence standing still after barking for a short time, but she was fine too.
I finally realized it was me who was bleeding. I must’ve been bit when I grabbed Pebbles, because on the front of my hand I had a deep narrow gash under my ring finger knuckle and on my palm a superficial cut under my pinky.
To make things more interesting, a few moments after I started untangling my headphones and the leash from my legs, the terrier’s owner backed into the driveway. He looked up and we made eye contact for a second before I went back to untangling.
But after a few seconds, it registered that the man in the truck was my 11th grade English teacher, and one of the few I remember at that. John Gundrum, a big burly bearded man who preached originality with examples like Dead Poets Society & writers like Henry David Thoreau and explored romanticism through writers like Dalton Trumbo.
I kept walking because his dog just bit me.
I went to the doctor next week, because my hand was pretty swollen. The next weekend I went up north and spent a lot of time swimming, which made the scab fall off and opened up the deep would. For thirty minutes I sat and squeezed around my wound and watched thick, whitish yellow push ooze out of the cavity.
The swelling went down after that.
I woke up this morning at about 5, then went back to sleep until 1130. Man, I love Saturdays. Saturdays are great because I can sleep in as late as I want and not worry about being anywhere, and I know that, which really gets rid of my stress from the week, which lets me have superrrrrr productive Saturdays, if I want too.
There’s something about stress that limits productivity. I definitely think I make my best work when I feel stress free, relaxed, and not under a tough deadline or ultimatum. It’s ironic, because we’re stressed about jobs we need to do, and that stress actually probably makes us perform our jobs less well.
So, I guess treat every work day like Saturday? Sleep in until 1130 M-F and work until 11 at night?
Sounds better to me . . .
I seriously can’t stop thinking about that jeweler.
“Nope, I’m good”, was all he said. He wasn’t interested in our value proposition one bit. That’s the thing — we need to hook him from the get go in some other way because we can’t expect everyone to hear out our value proposition.
Maybe I should wear an animal head mask and go back to the jeweler and ask him again, just to see if he says “nope, I’m good” again.