Consider this an alcohol-induced addendum to my previous piece, “Your Mate is a Reflection of You. http://wp.me/p1UA3K-n” I was thinking (and drinking) about my 26th birthday on July 8, and how far I’ve come and how far I want to go in life. I set as a goal the task of finding people who have keys to doors I want to enter. My network is amazing right now, and they are one of the main reasons that I’ve come this far. But I’ve noticed that life is filled with gatekeepers whose judgment decides whether or not you can unlock certain portions of the world. It is imperative, then, to identify them, learn what moves them, and ultimately BECOME one of them, with the keys to the kingdom.
But in the way that thoughts often meander into related but dissimilar thoughts, I drifted into a slightly different inner dialog about the types of women that I pursue, and the type I am seeking. I notice that I go for real lionesses: spiritually in tune, socially aware, professionally inclined, the whole nine. Not perfect, but like Perfect’s step-child. It surprised me because I’m nowhere near that. I’m a square but with rough edges, credit is ehh, business acumen is growing but not there yet (by my standards). So why do I subject myself to the harsh task of catching and keeping a Marlin when I could fish for guppies? The answer, was a pleasant one.
I look at myself as greater than or equal to > them! Now I’m going to try to be very clear here: this is not an exercise in one-upmanship, an intellectual pissing contest of sorts. No, when I look at them, I see ME, with tits. Because I expect great things from myself, I am automatically attracted to the giants of women. To be the best, you have to play with and against the best. Sure, I could be LeBron playing in Italy or Kobe playing in college, but the pros are where I see myself landing. I never feel inferior in their company; they’re more like a jigsaw puzzle, assembled but with the center piece missing: me.
It is hard to write this without sounding arrogant. And anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a very humble guy. I’ve fallen, gotten back up, and fallen again. I have my hangups and my vices like everyone else. But I’ve also shaken hands with the President, taken pictures with political and entertainment celebrities, and seen/done things that only a select few have. So in my alternate logic, I DESERVE that supawoman. I deserve that precisely because I am NOT that. I am like Perfect’s step-child’s foster-brother. I know something of life’s underbelly, things that would add years and lines to the face of an Empress. Things that everyone should know but no one should have to experience. And yet my forecast on life is always sunny, even when it rains.
I will try to wrap this up because I am sobering up and I don’t want to second-guess what I wrote. Your mate is your mirror, and I want the best image I can find. she has to be better than me in all the ways that I want to be better for myself. And in turn, I will show her that there is beauty in having a little bit of dirt on you. I won’t compromise on that, even if it means that I subject myself to a life of pizza-hut and porn, serial-dating and serial-mating. One day I am going to have Perfect’s step-child’s foster-brother’s out-of-wedlock son, and name him Almost Perfect.
I deserve that. I deserve YOU.
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Me shaking hands with President Obama
Me with Angela Davis
Me with M.C. Hammer
Me with you.