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This week, I hit a fucking wall
Not just any wall--a wall so high and so thick, it'd make ancient fortress masons bow in respect. Wednesday was that wall. It was a day that tested not just the limits of my patience but the very depths of my primal soul.
It started bad, turned worse, and ended in a way that had me questioning the cosmos for just throwing everything it had at me.
This is my confessional, and it's as real as it gets.
The day kicked off with me dragging my corpse across each hour.
Everything felt like a Herculean effort - from lifting a damn pen to simply existing.
My bicep injury, a constant reminder of my mortality, decided to become even more of a monumental fuck-up, dialing up the pain and discomfort. Seeing LK Chef struggle, barely able to string together coherent thoughts due to his sleep deprivation, was like watching a brother in arms taking hits on the battlefield. Hurts like hell.
Then, my best friend got slapped with a lesson that was as hard as it was painful--shared suffering by proxy. My Tribe member shed tears, and let me tell you, there's nothing quite like witnessing a warrior crumble; it claws at your very spirit. Balls dropped everywhere, and in that moment, I felt utterly alone--the kind of loneliness that makes you scream into the void, wondering if anyone would even hear.
At my lowest, I became the asshole, the jerk demanding presence and support when everyone had already given their all.
"What the fuck am I paying you for? To be here for ME," I bellowed, immediately hating the sound and the sentiment of my own voice. A C-Level leader, someone I hold in high regard, thought it was over for him. Our bond, "Loyalty above all," was tested and, thankfully, proved unbreakable.
In the midst of this chaos, my Creative Director ends up with a primal injury of his own, burning his hands while making steak. Then there was the surgeon's appointment for my bicep. Turns out I’m pretty fucking far from okay, sporting an injury that could bench the might of Liver King himself.
Adding insult to injury, for the first time ever, I didn't post a reel.
Might seem trivial to some, but it’s a testament to the unraveling of my day. And Reggie, my man, he’s fighting his demons too. His struggle pierced through my already battered armor. It's gut-wrenching, seeing someone you respect grappling in the dark, especially when you're stumbling through your own abyss.
Protecting myself has always been my modus operandi.
I've been shackled by the notion of perfection, by the relentless drive to demand excellence not just from myself but from everyone in my orbit. But here's the rub--it's isolating.
The pursuit of the impossible can drive away those you hold dear, leaving you standing alone atop a fortress of your own design.
Yet, in the eye of this hurricane, I had an epiphany--you, my Tribe, you're already fucking perfect. We all are, in our struggles, our flaws, our relentless push against the grain. It's okay to take a knee, to rest, to give yourself a moment of reprieve.
Everything is perfect, in its chaos, in its uncertainty, in its raw, unfiltered truth.
Closing
We are Barbarians, not because we don't bear scars, but precisely because we do. And we march on, bloodied yet unbowed. We have battles to win, wars to wage, not just against the world, but against ourselves, against the ease that dares to soften our hardened edges.
So yes, I hit a wall. But walls are meant to be climbed, to be demolished, to be made into stepping stones towards our next battle. My confession isn't just one of struggles; it's a declaration of my imperfection, of my humanity.
To be more than the sum of our parts, to bleed for a cause greater than ourselves, to embrace every trial with the ferocity of a thousand warriors--this is what it means to be truly alive.
Everything is perfect because we choose to make it so, in the forge of our resolve, in the crucible of our will.
Read Moooar!
This week, I hit a fucking wall
Not just any wall--a wall so high and so thick, it'd make ancient fortress masons bow in respect. Wednesday was that wall. It was a day that tested not just the limits of my patience but the very depths of my primal soul.
It started bad, turned worse, and ended in a way that had me questioning the cosmos for just throwing everything it had at me.
This is my confessional, and it's as real as it gets.
Read Moooar!
The day kicked off with me dragging my corpse across each hour.
Everything felt like a Herculean effort - from lifting a damn pen to simply existing.
My bicep injury, a constant reminder of my mortality, decided to become even more of a monumental fuck-up, dialing up the pain and discomfort. Seeing LK Chef struggle, barely able to string together coherent thoughts due to his sleep deprivation, was like watching a brother in arms taking hits on the battlefield. Hurts like hell.
Then, my best friend got slapped with a lesson that was as hard as it was painful--shared suffering by proxy. My Tribe member shed tears, and let me tell you, there's nothing quite like witnessing a warrior crumble; it claws at your very spirit. Balls dropped everywhere, and in that moment, I felt utterly alone--the kind of loneliness that makes you scream into the void, wondering if anyone would even hear.
At my lowest, I became the asshole, the jerk demanding presence and support when everyone had already given their all.
"What the fuck am I paying you for? To be here for ME," I bellowed, immediately hating the sound and the sentiment of my own voice. A C-Level leader, someone I hold in high regard, thought it was over for him. Our bond, "Loyalty above all," was tested and, thankfully, proved unbreakable.
In the midst of this chaos, my Creative Director ends up with a primal injury of his own, burning his hands while making steak. Then there was the surgeon's appointment for my bicep. Turns out I’m pretty fucking far from okay, sporting an injury that could bench the might of Liver King himself.
Read Moooar!
Adding insult to injury, for the first time ever, I didn't post a reel.
Might seem trivial to some, but it’s a testament to the unraveling of my day. And Reggie, my man, he’s fighting his demons too. His struggle pierced through my already battered armor. It's gut-wrenching, seeing someone you respect grappling in the dark, especially when you're stumbling through your own abyss.
Read Moooar!
Protecting myself has always been my modus operandi.
I've been shackled by the notion of perfection, by the relentless drive to demand excellence not just from myself but from everyone in my orbit. But here's the rub--it's isolating.
The pursuit of the impossible can drive away those you hold dear, leaving you standing alone atop a fortress of your own design.
Yet, in the eye of this hurricane, I had an epiphany--you, my Tribe, you're already fucking perfect. We all are, in our struggles, our flaws, our relentless push against the grain. It's okay to take a knee, to rest, to give yourself a moment of reprieve.
Everything is perfect, in its chaos, in its uncertainty, in its raw, unfiltered truth.
Read Moooar!
Closing
We are Barbarians, not because we don't bear scars, but precisely because we do. And we march on, bloodied yet unbowed. We have battles to win, wars to wage, not just against the world, but against ourselves, against the ease that dares to soften our hardened edges.
So yes, I hit a wall. But walls are meant to be climbed, to be demolished, to be made into stepping stones towards our next battle. My confession isn't just one of struggles; it's a declaration of my imperfection, of my humanity.
To be more than the sum of our parts, to bleed for a cause greater than ourselves, to embrace every trial with the ferocity of a thousand warriors--this is what it means to be truly alive.
Everything is perfect because we choose to make it so, in the forge of our resolve, in the crucible of our will.
Read Moooar!
Read Moooar!
Read Moooar!
Read Moooar!
Read Moooar!