Standing Up For Yourself (A Lesson From Frederick Douglas)

I’ve let people walk all over me my entire life. I wasn’t born with a mean bone in my body, and standing up for myself has always been a struggle. Whether the disrespect was verbal or physical, I’ve consistently backed down in situations where I should’ve spoken up and made it clear they were crossing the line. Of course, being passive like this only resulted in more abuse, since some people viewed me as easy prey. Someone they could use to boost their ego because they knew I wouldn’t fight back if push came to shove.

My origin story of passivity can be traced to the time I got sucker punched in sixth grade. School had just ended, and I was walking out of the back entrance with my friends. It was crowded, and some kid I’d never seen before walked up and punched me square in the face. Completely unprovoked. Just like that. Everyone gathered around us and began egging me on to fight back. I was shocked by what happened. I froze and didn’t hit him back. This wasn’t some intimidating kid who was bigger than me, either. Had we fought, I could’ve held my own.

He didn’t hit me again, and the mayhem died down. My friends and I took our usual walk to a nearby Carl’s Jr., but we were all in a somber mood. My homies asked why I hadn’t swung back, but I couldn’t come up with an answer. We were almost there when the kid who hit me emerged from an alley on the same side of the street. He was completely alone. You could see the worry on his face. He knew he’d just attacked me, and now he was surrounded by my crew. I could’ve gotten revenge, and my friends would’ve helped me jump him, but I gave him a pass and let him escape. He fled the scene, knowing he would’ve been in a world of trouble if he’d pulled that on someone tougher than me at the time.

The next day at school, my best friend kicked me out of our crew for not fighting back.

You might hear this story and assume it was a major turning point for me. That I went home, looked at myself in the mirror, and vowed never to back down from anyone again. That the next time someone tried to punk me, I would stand on business and check them for disrespecting me. But nope. That’s not what happened. I continued avoiding conflict for many years. I had a chronic case of nice guy syndrome, and people sensed it and took advantage of me.

It wasn’t until later in life that I got into a nasty clash with someone who forced me to examine my tendency to shrink during conflict. I got into it with a film director who snaked me harder than anyone I’d ever encountered. The dispute escalated fast, and he sent his bodyguard to intimidate me. Of course, he sent his camera crew to film the encounter so he’d have footage he could hold over my head and threaten to release online. It was an ugly scene, and if there were a TV series where each episode showed a different time I failed to stand up for myself, this would be the season finale.

After this guy finished disrespecting me, I felt disappointed that I hadn’t done more to stand up for myself. I needed to toughen up and assert myself, especially since it was being recorded. But my “Standing Up For Myself” muscle was so weak from never being used that I couldn’t tap into the energy needed to fight back. I just defaulted to my old habit of submitting to the aggressor.

Even if I get Alzheimer’s disease, I’ll never forget how that guy made me feel that day. The pain forced me to address my lifelong issue of folding under pressure. The change wasn’t instantaneous, because I was still timid for a while after, but I gradually started defending myself when situations called for it.

The first person to test my new resolve was a smug customer I used to deliver weed to when I worked at a dispensary. He lived in an affluent neighborhood and never gave me friendly vibes or tipped me for delivering his weed.

I arrived at his house one evening for his routine delivery, but he wasn’t there. No text letting me know what was going on or anything. I was irritated, but the protocol was to give customers a 10-minute grace period before leaving. Right before his grace period expired, he pulled up in front of his house. He parked his truck and walked past my car without acknowledging me.

I figured he must’ve rushed inside to grab some cash, so I waited patiently. After a few minutes, he still hadn’t come out, so I looked through the window and saw him in the kitchen laughing with someone. Taking his sweet time and making me wait like I was his bitch.

I sped off, and my phone started ringing before I even turned the corner. I answered, and he begged me to come back. He apologized profusely, but I let him have it. I told him he was always rude to me and made it clear that if he ever disrespected me like that again, I’d stop delivering to him.

When I got back to his house, I gave him his weed, and he tipped me for the first time. He probably felt like a huge dick and knew he was wrong. That exchange established a new level of respect between us, and we never had any problems again. He even started tipping me more frequently. More important than the money, though, I stood my ground and felt stronger for speaking up.

The old me would’ve never said anything to this guy. I would’ve let him finish his conversation inside and said nothing when he finally got to my car. You would’ve heard crickets chirping before you heard a word out of my mouth.

In life, we teach people what we’re willing to tolerate. Letting disrespect slide may keep the peace in the moment, but it can invite worse treatment later. Bullies usually target people they perceive as unlikely to defend themselves. The best way to throw a bully off is to stand up for yourself. They’re not expecting you to fight back.

Have some self-respect and let people know it’s not okay to mess with you. They’ll often retreat once they realize you won’t put up with their bullshit. If you’re naturally friendly, being assertive won’t come easy, but your life will get easier once you learn to handle confrontation. Yes, you’ll have to deal with unpleasant emotions when you speak up for yourself, but doing so can save you from the prolonged misery of allowing disrespect to go unchecked.

It’s important to distinguish which battles are worth fighting. You don’t have to respond to every perceived slight. Sometimes it’s better to stay silent and ignore people who are only trying to get a reaction. If it’s somebody you’ll have to deal with regularly, you should speak up before they get comfortable disrespecting you. Strangers you encounter out in the wild and will probably never see again aren’t worth the energy it takes to defend yourself.

Dealing with toxic people is an unavoidable part of life, but as you build your resilience, you’ll get better at recognizing which situations deserve your energy.

In The 33 Strategies of War, Robert Greene shares an empowering story about the famous abolitionist Frederick Douglass. While enslaved, Douglass was sent to Edward Covey, a notorious “slave breaker” known for beating enslaved people into submission. After months of abuse, Douglass finally fought back during a vicious two-hour struggle, risking severe punishment or even death. Covey never laid a hand on him again for the remainder of his time there. Douglass’s fight is a testament to the power of standing up for yourself, and I hope it inspires the same courage in you.

Excerpt from “The 33 Strategies of War” by Robert Greene

“In 1833, Mr. Thomas Auld, the slaveholding owner of a plantation on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, summoned back his slave Frederick Douglass, fifteen years old at the time, from Baltimore, where Douglass had just spent seven years serving Auld’s brother. Now he was needed to work the fields of the plantation. But life in the city had changed Douglass in many ways, and to his chagrin he found it quite hard to disguise this from Auld. In Baltimore he had secretly managed to teach himself how to read and write, something no slave was allowed to do, for that would stimulate dangerous thoughts. On the plantation Douglass tried to teach as many slaves as possible to read; these efforts were quickly squashed. But what was worse for him was that he had developed a rather defiant attitude, what the slaveholder called impudence. He talked back to Auld, questioned some of his orders, and played all kinds of tricks to get more food. (Auld was notorious for keeping his slaves near starvation.) 

One day Auld informed Douglass that he was hiring him out for a year to Mr. Edward Covey, a nearby farm renter who had earned a reputation as a consummate “breaker of young Negroes.” Slaveholders would send him their most difficult slaves, and in exchange for their free labor Covey would beat every last ounce of rebellion out of them. Covey worked Douglass especially hard, and after a few months he was broken in body and spirit. He no longer desired to read books or engage in discussions with his fellow slaves. On his days off, he would crawl under the shade of a tree and sleep off his exhaustion and despair. 

One especially hot day in August 1834, Douglass became ill and fainted. The next thing he knew, Covey was hovering over him, hickory slab in hand, ordering him back to work. But Douglass was too weak. Covey hit him on the head, opening a deep wound. He kicked him a few times, but Douglass could not move. Covey finally left, intending to deal with him later.

Douglass managed to get to his feet, staggered to the woods, and somehow made his way back to Auld’s plantation. There he begged with Master Auld to keep him there, explaining Covey’s cruelty. Auld was unmoved. Douglass could spend the night but then must return to Covey’s farm. 

Making his way back to the farm, Douglass feared the worst. He told himself that he would do his best to obey Covey and somehow survive the weeks ahead. Arriving at the stables where he was supposed to work that day, he began his chores, when out of nowhere, like a snake, Covey slithered in, rope in hand. He lunged at Douglass, trying to get a slipknot on his leg and tie him up. He was clearly intending the thrashing to end all thrashings. 

Risking an even more intense beating, Douglass pushed Covey away and, without hitting him, kept him from getting the rope around his leg. At that moment something clicked in Douglass’s head. Every defiant thought that had been suffocated by his months of brutal labor came back to him. He was not afraid. Covey could kill him, but it was better to go down fighting for his life. 

Suddenly a cousin came to Covey’s aid, and, finding himself surrounded, Douglass did the unthinkable: he swung hard at the man and knocked him to the ground. Hitting a white man would most likely lead to his hanging. A “fighting madness” came over Douglass. He returned Covey’s blows. The struggle went on for two hours until, bloodied, exhausted, and gasping for breath, Covey gave up and slowly staggered back to his house. 

Douglass could only assume that Covey would now come after him with a gun or find some other way to kill him. It never happened. Slowly it dawned on Douglass: to kill him, or punish him in some powerful way, posed too great a risk. Word would get out that Covey had failed to break a Negro this one time, had had to resort to a gun when his terror tactics did not work. The mere hint of that would ruin his reputation far and wide, and his job depended on his perfect reputation. Better to leave the wild sixteen-year-old slave alone than risk the kind of crazy or unpredictable response Douglass had showed himself capable of. Better to let him calm down and go quietly away when his time of service there was over. 

For the rest of Douglass’s stay with Covey, the white man did not lay a hand on him. Douglass had noticed that slaveholders often “prefer to whip those who are most easily whipped.” Now he had learned the lesson for himself: never again would he be submissive. Such weakness only encouraged the tyrants to go further. He would rather risk death, returning blow for blow with his fists or his wits.”

Link to buy “The 33 Strategies Of War” by Robert Greene on Amazon

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How Duke Valentino Killed The Generals Who Conspired Against Him

Excerpt from “The Essential Writings Of Machiavelli”

“By the early 1500s, Cesare Borgia had become one of the most powerful men in Italy. Since his father had been elected to the pontificate in 1492 as Pope Alexander VI, Cesare Borgia had been made archbishop (at sixteen), cardinal (at seventeen), and finally Captain General of the Papal Armies. Although young Borgia was a lackadaisical archbishop and cardinal, he filled the army post with spectacular dexterity, fast expanding the papal territories. By late 1502, however, a number of his generals came together in a plot against him. Borgia was caught entirely unawares, suddenly finding himself stripped of most of his troops and having to fight defensively within his own territories. But as Machiavelli shows in the following piece, Borgia handled the matter with careful and ruthless strategy.“

“Duke Valentino had just returned from Lombardy where he had gone to justify himself before King Louis XII of France against the many accusations the Florentines had leveled against him concerning the revolt of Arezzo and other towns in the Valdichiana. He had arrived in Imola, where he intended to stop with his troops while he prepared a campaign against the tyrant of Bologna, Giovanni Bentivoglio, as Duke Valentino wanted to bring Bologna under his rule and make it the capital of his Duchy of Romagna. When the Vitelli and the Orsini and their followers heard of his plan, they began to worry that he was becoming too powerful. They feared that once he occupied Bologna, he would destroy them so that he would be the only leader with a powerful army in Italy.

They called a meeting in Perugia—the Diet of Magione. Present were Cardinal Giambattista Orsini, Signor Paolo Orsini, Duke Francesco Orsini of Gravina, Vitellozzo Vitelli, Liverotto da Fermo, Giampaolo Baglioni, the tyrant of Perugia, and Antonio da Venafro, who had been sent by Pandolfo Petrucci, the ruler of Siena. They discussed Duke Valentino’s power and spirit, and how vital it was for them to check his hunger for supremacy before he ruined them all. They decided to stand by the Bolognese tyrant, Giovanni Bentivoglio, against Duke Valentino, and to seek to win over the Florentines. They sent emissaries to both Bologna and Florence, promising to help Bentivoglio and entreating the Florentines to join them in the fight against Duke Valentino, their common enemy. 

News of this meeting immediately spread throughout Italy, and peoples unhappy under Duke Valentino’s rule—among them the citizens of Urbino—gained hope that change was imminent. As a result, spirits grew so heated that some men of Urbino decided to seize the Castle of San Leo, which was held by the duke. The castellan was having timber brought up to strengthen the castle’s fortifications, and the conspirators lay in wait until the timber was being dragged across the drawbridge, preventing those inside from drawing it up.

Seizing the opportunity, the armed men jumped onto the bridge and stormed the castle. Word of the capture spread, and the whole state of Urbino rebelled. The former duke was restored, as the people had now taken hope, not so much from the occupation of the castle as from the Diet of Magione, which they were certain would come to their aid, and when the Diet of Magione heard of the rebellion in Urbino, its members were determined not to miss the opportunity. They set out to occupy all the towns belonging to Urbino that were still held by Duke Valentino.

The Diet once more sent emissaries to Florence to entreat the republic to join them in crushing the common foe, arguing that the cause was already as good as won and that there would not be another such opportunity. But the Florentines, because of their hatred for the Vitelli and the Orsini, not only declined an allegiance but sent their minister Niccolò Machiavelli to offer Duke Valentino shelter and aid against his new enemies.

The Duke, in Imola, was in the grip of fear, for in a single stroke and against all expectations his former generals had become his enemies, and he found himself with a war on his doorstep. But he took courage from the Florentines’ offer, and decided to forestall the war through peace negotiations, and in the meantime to marshal some help. He sent to the King of France for additional men, and hired all the cavalrymen he could find and anyone who had anything to do with horses. 

Despite Duke Valentino’s efforts his enemies advanced, reaching Fossombrone, where they encountered some of his soldiers, whom the Vitelli and the Orsini routed. As a result of this, the duke put all his resources into trying to stop this trouble through peace negotiations. As he was a great dissembler, he did not neglect to give every indication that the conspirators had taken up weapons against a man who had agreed to let them keep whatever territories they had acquired, and announced that he would be happy enough to keep the title of prince while they ruled the principality.

Duke Valentino was so successful in his persuasion that the conspirators laid down their arms and sent Signor Paolo Orsini to him to negotiate a truce. In the meantime, Duke Valentino had continued building up his army, diligently strengthening his cavalry and infantry, and he distributed his men throughout the Romagna so that these preparations would not be noticed. 

In the meantime, five hundred French lancers had also arrived, and though Duke Valentino was now strong enough to attack his enemies in open war, he nevertheless calculated that it would be safer and more useful to deceive them, so he continued his peace negotiations, orchestrating them so diligently that a truce was successfully concluded. He gave the conspirators back the old mercenary positions they had held in his army, made them a present of four thousand ducats, promised not to harm the Bentivoglio family, and even arranged an alliance through marriage with Giovanni Bentivoglio.

He also promised to order them into his presence only as often as they would allow. For their part, they promised to give him back the Duchy of Urbino and all the other territories they had occupied, to serve in all his campaigns, and not to make war on anyone or hire themselves out to anyone without his permission. 

When this accord was completed, Duke Guidobaldo of Urbino once more fled to Venice, first destroying all the fortresses in his state: for he was certain that the populace was on his side, and he did not want his undefended fortresses to be occupied by the enemy, which would impair any action his supporters might attempt on his behalf. But Duke Valentino, having devised the accord and dispersed his own men and the French men-at-arms throughout the Romagna, set out for Imola at the end of November, stopping first at Cesena. There he stayed many days to negotiate with the envoys of the Vitelli and the Orsini, who had gathered with their men in the Duchy of Urbino, as to what campaign ought to be mounted next.

Nothing was concluded, and so Liverotto da Fermo was sent to suggest that they would support a campaign against Tuscany if the duke wanted to mount one; if not, they could besiege Senigallia. To this the duke replied that as the Florentines were his allies, he did not want to wage war against Tuscany, but that he would support a march on Senigallia. The result was that within a few days news came that Senigallia had surrendered, but that the castle would not yield because the castellan refused to give it up to anyone but Duke Valentino. They therefore urged him to come in person.

The duke saw this as an excellent opportunity: He would be going to Senigallia not on his own initiative but because he was being implored to go, and thus no suspicions would be aroused. To reassure everyone even further, he dismissed all his French soldiers and sent them back to Lombardy with the exception of a hundred lancers of the Comte de Candale, his brother-in-law. He left Cesena in mid-December and went to Fano, where with all his shrewdness and sagacity he managed to persuade the Vitelli and the Orsini to wait for him in Senigallia.

He made it plain that any show of distrust on their part would jeopardize the strength and duration of their new accord, and that he was a man who wanted to make use of the arms and the counsel of his friends. Vitellozzo Vitelli remained quite reluctant, because the death of his brother had taught him that one cannot first attack a prince and then trust him, but he nevertheless allowed himself to be persuaded by Paolo Orsini, whom the duke had bribed with gifts and promises, and so agreed to wait for the duke in Senigallia. 

On the evening before his departure from Fano—the thirtieth of December 1502—Duke Valentino had revealed his secret plan to eight of his most trusted men, among them Don Michele and Monsignor d’Elna, who was later to become cardinal: The moment Vitelozzo Vitelli, Paolo Orsini, Duke Francesco Orsini of Gravina, and Liverotto da Fermo approached, he wanted one man on either side of them, so that there would be two men consigned to each of them all the way to Senigallia, not allowing any of them to escape until they arrived at his quarters, where they would be seized.

He then ordered all his soldiers, mounted and on foot—more than two thousand horsemen and ten thousand infantry—to gather at daybreak on the banks of the Metauro, a river about five miles from Fano, where they were to await his arrival. Then, finding himself there by the Metauro River with his men on the last day of December, he sent out in advance of his arrival a cavalcade of some two hundred horsemen, then all his infantry, after which he and his men-at-arms followed. 

Fano and Senigallia are cities of La Marca on the shores of the Adriatic, situated about fifteen miles from one another. Whoever approaches Senigallia has on his right the mountains, with foothills that come so close to the sea that there is often only a narrow strip of land between them and the waves. Even in those places where the foothills are further inland, the strip is never more than two miles wide. Senigallia lies a bow’s shot from these foothills, and less than a mile away from the shore. There is a little river by the city that washes the walls facing toward Fano. The road to Senigallia runs a good distance alongside the mountains, and when it reaches the river it turns left and goes along the riverbank for about a bow’s shot until it reaches a bridge that crosses the river and almost meets the Senigallia city gate at an angle. Before one reaches the city gate there is a little village with a square, one side of which is formed by the river. 

The Vitelli and the Orsini decided to wait for Duke Valentino and honor him personally, and had sent their men to a castle six miles away from Senigallia so that there would be room for the duke’s men. Inside Senigallia they had kept only Liverotto da Fermo with his thousand foot soldiers and a hundred and fifty horsemen, who were quartered in the village outside the gates that I have just mentioned. 

Duke Valentino approached Senigallia. When the vanguard of his cavalry arrived at the bridge, it did not cross, but stopped and formed two lines, one along the river, the other along the open country, leaving a path in the middle for the foot soldiers, who then marched straight into the town. Vitellozzo, Pagolo, and Duke Orsini of Gravina rode toward Duke Valentino on mules, accompanied by a handful of horsemen.

Vitellozzo, unarmed and wearing a cape lined in green, seemed quite afflicted, as if he were aware of his impending death, which, in view of the prowess of the man and his former fortune, caused some amazement. And it is said that when he parted from his soldiers to go to Senigallia to meet the duke, it was as if he were saying a final farewell. He told his generals that he left his house and its fortunes in their hands, and cautioned his nephews that they should not remember the fortunes of their house, but the prowess of their fathers and uncles.

When the three men arrived before the duke and greeted him with courtesy, they were received by him in a friendly manner and immediately escorted by the men who had been charged to keep an eye on them. The duke, however, saw that Liverotto was missing. He had remained back with his men in Senigallia and was waiting on the square in front of his quarters by the river, keeping them in order and exercising them.

The duke winked at Don Michele, whom he had entrusted with the care of Liverotto, signaling that he see to it that Liverotto did not escape, at which Don Michele rode off to Liverotto and told him that this was not the time to have his men gathered outside their quarters, as they were to be occupied by the duke’s men. He encouraged him to have them return to their quarters and come with him to meet the duke. Liverotto followed Duke Valentino’s order and rode out to meet him, and the duke, seeing him, called out to him. Liverotto made his obeisance and joined the others. 

They all rode into Senigallia and to the duke’s quarters, where he led them into a secret chamber and had them taken prisoner. He then immediately mounted his horse and ordered that the soldiers of Liverotto and the Orsini be stripped of their arms and belongings. Liverotto’s men were immediately plundered, as they were right there in Senigallia, but the men of the Orsini and the Vitelli, being at some distance and having a premonition of their masters’ fate, had enough time to gather together, and, remembering the prowess and discipline of the House of Vitelli, stood their ground against the local people and the enemy soldiers, and saved themselves. But the soldiers of Duke Valentino, not content with merely plundering Liverotto da Fermo’s men, began sacking Senigallia. And had the duke not put a stop to their audacity by putting many of them to death, they would have looted the town entirely. 

When night came and the turmoil stopped, the duke felt that the time had come to kill Vitellozzo and Liverotto. He had them taken to a place together and strangled. Neither of them uttered any words worthy of their previous life: Vitellozzo begged that he might throw himself on the pope’s mercy and plead for a full indulgence for his sins, while Liverotto, weeping, heaped all the blame for the harm done to Duke Valentino on Vitellozzo. The duke left Paolo Orsini and Duke Orsini of Gravina alive until he heard from Rome that the pope had seized Cardinal Orsino, Archbishop of Florence, and Messer Iacopo da Santa Croce.

At this news, on the eighteenth of January, 1502, they too were strangled in the same fashion at the Castle of Pieve.”

Nobody Supports Me =/

When you start a new venture, you might be surprised at the lack of support you’re getting. It’s not uncommon to feel like friends and family are ignoring your business and skipping the like button on your social media posts. It can bring feelings of anger and disappointment. You may even find that strangers show more love than people you know.

Regardless of who supports or doesn’t, you can never expect people to be as enthusiastic about your dreams as you are. They’re your goals, not theirs. You shouldn’t need people to clap for you and pat you on the back. Expecting a parade of support leads to disappointment. It’s always hard in the beginning when you’re unknown and unproven.

Cherish everyone who supports you, but be prepared to walk alone. Over time, you’ll gain supporters, but you might also lose them. You can only count on yourself to see your vision through. When you hear that voice in your head starting to chant “nobody supports me,” just tell it to be quiet. You have all the tools required to make your dreams come true, and once the world sees you putting a serious effort towards your plans, it will extend its hand.

Romance At The Office

Let’s face the facts. At one point, we’ve all had a crush on someone at work. Whether it’s big butt Brenda or 6’4 Chad, who’s rumored to have a paid-off house and a 740 Credit Score. Chances are you’ve developed feelings or had a fling with someone in your professional life.

There’s a saying that one of my bosses once told me, “Daniel, you never stick your pen in company ink” — his way of saying you never flirt, date, or have sex with anyone who works at the same company. The reason for this? Office affairs rarely have a good ending. Work wives and work husbands are common. Most companies fill their offices with the best-looking and most charismatic people they can find. There’s a 99.9% chance that somewhere in the building where you work, you’ll find another person you’re attracted to.

That person might be working in your department or somewhere else in the building. You run into them at work or spot them from a distance, and they immediately catch your eye. Soon after, you start thinking about them, keeping all your thoughts to yourself, or maybe you share your new crush with a favorite coworker.

Eventually, you run into them by chance or force an encounter.

One thing leads to another, and you start developing a relationship with them. You might begin by meeting up for lunch, and from there, it progresses to dating or sex.

You might not notice it because you’re so engulfed with your new infatuation, but everyone in the office sees exactly what’s going on between you and your new “friend.” You both start taking your lunch at the same time, someone in the office catches you two hanging out outside of work, or any other deviation from your normal behavior that stands out to your co-workers.

Since work is mundane for most people, it’s thrilling for them to have something to gossip about and break the monotony. People start spreading rumors around the office that the two of you are having sex, since that’s the first assumption people make when they see a guy and a girl hanging out together. They dramatize the situation out of excitement or envy.

You can never be sure how people in the office are interpreting your relationship. Your best office buddy might be genuinely happy for you, but another co-worker who hasn’t been asked out on a date in years might see you happy and scorch with anger inside. Maybe your boss secretly had a crush on the person you’re with, and now their main goal is finding a way to get you fired because they’re jealous.

The workplace is a social environment that’s filled with gossip, so you would be naive to think you can keep your affair a secret. The minute there’s even a hint of something going on, the chatter will begin.

Everything might start off fine between you and your lover, but at some point, something will inevitably go wrong, and the affair will end. One person falls out of love. Someone had a spouse and kids they were hiding. One party was under the impression that the two of you were heading toward a relationship, while the other just wanted sex. What seemed so promising has now come to an end, and emotions are running high. Suddenly, the person you were happy to see every day becomes public enemy number one.

When relationships end, one person is usually left bitter. In a normal breakup, you stop seeing each other, or at worst, see each other much less frequently. Either way, you’re mostly free of them.

It’s different when you have an affair with someone at work. That person you’re no longer involved with works at the same place, and you have no choice but to see them every day. Since you’re hurt, you start avoiding them, and it becomes difficult to work together if you’re both in the same department. It becomes very awkward, very fast.

Make no mistake, while this is happening, everyone at work is enjoying the free entertainment. If you’re a guy, you may get props for nailing a hot chick, but due to the double standard in society, if you’re a female, you’ll be known as the girl who gets around the office. The higher-ups also now know both of you can’t be trusted with positions of power since you couldn’t control your sexual urges.

I’m sure there are plenty of success stories about people who met their spouse at work, but they’re few and far between. More often than not, it goes from a moment of excitement to hurt and embarrassment.

I’ve learned it’s best to look at your attractive coworkers the same way you would animals at the zoo. Only look, don’t touch. Enjoy their attributes, humor, and presence, but understand that at the end of the day, you’re there to get paid.

If there’s someone at work you have a crush on, you should wait until one of you isn’t working there before making a move. If you make your intentions known before that, you’re opening Pandora’s Box. If your advance is wanted, your fling probably won’t last long and will end in disaster. If your advance is unwanted, it could be seen as sexual harassment. Either way, nothing good is likely to come from it.

Do yourself a favor and leave the romance out of the office. The only affair you should be having is with the work you need to complete during business hours. Don’t stop by big boobie Susie’s desk when you’re supposed to be finishing up that report, and there’s no reason you should be hanging out with good looking Greg when you should be calling back that client to close the deal.

Stay focused and get back to work.

“Working with persons of the opposite sex may bring mutual distrust and dislike; there is no great peril in that. But working together may bring respect, mutual confidence, and comradeship. So far, so good. Such friendships may be holy and beautiful on a brother-sister basis. But a certain reserve and distance must be preserved at all costs, and will be by men and women of disciplined character. Friendship can become affection, affection love, love lust, and the progress be shock to both. That which was begun innocently may end disastrously.”

Quote from Richard S. Taylor’s book The Disciplined Life: The Mark of Christian Maturity.


Nut House

One night when I was a teenager, I got into a huge fight with my Aunt. My Dad overheard us arguing and jumped in. I said something smart before storming off to my room. A few seconds later, he charged in behind me, threw me onto my bed, and started wailing on me. I was defenseless and got my ass whooped. Looking back on it now, I deserved it for the way I was acting.

After my Dad got off me, I walked across the house toward the kitchen while my Aunt followed me, begging me to calm down. I yanked the silverware drawer open and started digging through it, thinking I would grab a knife and stab my Dad.

As I pulled the drawer out, the logical part of my brain kicked in, and I threw the drawer on the ground, leaving silverware all over the floor. I rushed to the bathroom and locked the door. I sat with my back against the wall while dramatic thoughts went through my head. I thought about running away, convinced no one loved me, and felt every angry teenage feeling.

As I pulled the drawer out, the logical part of my brain kicked in, and I threw the drawer on the ground, leaving silverware all over the floor. I rushed to the bathroom and locked the door. I sat with my back against the wall while dramatic thoughts went through my head. I thought about running away, convinced no one loved me, and felt every angry teenage feeling.

I stayed inside for what seemed like hours. Eventually, my family knocked on the door, asking when I’d come out. I refused to open the door, so they made me an offer. I could go stay with my mom for the night, or she would come take me to the hospital. I wasn’t sure what going to the hospital meant. All I knew was I didn’t want to stay home, and staying with my mom was barely an upgrade.

I agreed to have my Mom pick me up and take me to the hospital.

Once there, I was put in a room while my Mom met with the nursing staff. Eventually, I met with my Mom, who told me I’d be going to a mental institution to get evaluated. I wondered if I should’ve humbled myself and apologized to my family or agreed to stay with my Mom.

What did I get myself into?

My Mom told me that an ambulance was coming to pick me up. It was late at night, and I just wanted to sleep. The ambulance arrived, and they escorted me outside, where two young guys were waiting for me. They strapped me onto a stretcher and locked me in place so I couldn’t move.

While driving, I asked the guys if they were taking me to a hospital in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by tumbleweeds. They laughed and said the mental institution was nothing like the ones you see on TV and movies and assured me everything would be okay.

We arrived at the institution before the sun had risen. They released me from the stretcher and escorted me to the building. Once inside, another guy took over, and we said our goodbyes. The person in charge had me fill out some paperwork. I don’t remember what the forms said, except one that stated I wouldn’t be able to buy a firearm for a couple of years after turning 18.

After that, he took me to my room, and I went straight to sleep. I woke up to a doctor asking me to sit up so he could draw blood. When he finished, my roommate walked over and introduced himself. We were both around the same age and spoke about what landed us there. After our brief conversation, we left the room, and he gave me a tour of the place.

We hung out all morning and went to the cafeteria for breakfast. After eating, we went to a group counseling session with girls from a nearby building. We started by going around in a circle and introducing ourselves. The counselor led the session, and when it ended, we went back to our respective buildings.

At nighttime, the staff gave us little white cups with two pills in them and told us to take them after dinner. After eating, we took our pills and went to the lobby to watch TV. As time passed, everyone began to fall asleep. The pills they gave us were some sort of sleeping medication like Benadryl. Once I felt the medicine kicking in, I got up and knocked out.

I woke up the next day feeling surprised that I was actually enjoying myself. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The people were cool, and the adults working there were entertaining. One surprising thing, though, was the two little boys in our section who were only around four or five years old.

One of them was a young boy who had problems at home. He was well-behaved and had a quiet disposition.

The other kid was a boy named Raymond. Raymond stood out because he dressed like a gangster. If he didn’t get his way or someone angered him, he cussed everyone out and banged his head against the wall. I learned from the nurses that his parents got into an argument at home, and his mom pulled out a gun and killed his dad, right in front of Raymond. He was there temporarily while they figured out where to place him. Even though he always drove the staff crazy, he felt like my little brother.

My days passed at the institution, but I had no timetable for my release. For all I knew, it could be days or weeks before they let me go. I decided to make the best of a bad situation and stay out of trouble until it was time to leave. At times, it got boring because we followed the same routine every day. It was fun at first, but eventually I wanted to go home.

My roommate must have felt the same way because he devised an escape plan. I laughed at his idea and reminded him we were leaving soon anyway, so escaping would’ve been pointless. On top of that, even if we did escape, the staff would call the police, and helicopters would be all over the sky looking for us. We agreed to kill our escape fantasy and ride it out.

My roommate and I got along great, which made the stay easier. Turned out he went to the school right across the street from my house. Small world.

I didn’t end up staying too long and left in about a week.

“On my last day, I said bye to everyone and gave Raymond a hug. It hurt seeing a kid like him in such a dire situation. Imagine being a child and witnessing your mom murder your dad. That’s something that will traumatize him forever. It’s been over a decade since this happened, and I still wonder how he’s doing.

Before leaving, I went to the gym to play basketball with my friends. When we arrived at the courts, it was crowded with people I’d never seen before. As I walked around, a girl approached me and started making small talk. Out of nowhere, she asked how old I was and if I was a virgin. I told her my age and said I’d never had sex before. She told me she wanted to take my virginity. The comment caught me off guard, and I let her know I was about to leave but appreciated the offer.

She told me her Dad took her virginity and raped her when she was younger. It creeped me out, and I didn’t want to talk anymore.

I went back to my room, packed my bags, and thought about everything that had happened during my stay. Overall, it wasn’t the worst experience, but toward the end, I wanted to leave. The facility was starting to fill up with strange characters, and I didn’t feel comfortable staying there anymore. When the doctor signed my release papers and gave my family the okay to pick me up, I bounced.

When my parents arrived, they surprised me by bringing my Grandma. I was happy to see her and head back home. My trip to the Nut House was complete, and I was ready to get back to my regular life.

My Worst Three Jobs

Have you ever been lying in bed, dreading getting up and driving to a job you hate? I know I have, and today, I’m going to share my experience with three different jobs that had me feeling miserable.

Job #1 – Nightmare Catalogs

I was hired as a customer service representative for a catalog company. My job was to take orders and process refunds. My company sold everything from slippers to glow-in-the-dark snowflakes you could put on your windows at Christmas. The products we sold had stunning pictures in the catalog, but were made cheaply overseas. So customers were upset when they opened their packages and found products that looked nothing like what was advertised. The moment it arrived, they called our line and demanded a full refund.

Most of the customers were senior citizens, which meant most people I spoke with were hard of hearing. It was rare to make it through a call without having to repeat myself multiple times. The most common words I heard all day were “What?” “Say that again, please,” and “I didn’t hear you.” I grew up taking care of my grandparents, so I was used to speaking loudly, but with these customers, I constantly had to raise my voice. After working there for a while, I even started talking loudly outside of work.

I’d be having a conversation with a friend, and they’d say, “Daniel, why are you yelling?” I’d lower my voice and explain that I’d spoken loudly because the clients I worked with had hearing problems. Eventually, I had to remind myself to bring my voice down when I was off the clock.

Despite the communication barrier, working with elderly people could be entertaining. Most of our customers had a great sense of humor about the crappy products we sold. One customer called to ask why his glow-in-the-dark snowflakes didn’t glow. Another client proclaimed that the slippers he’d ordered were “made of plastic.” My supervisor showed me the slippers, and I lost it when I saw how poorly they were made. In the catalog, they looked like something you’d find in Nordstrom, but the actual product looked more like something you’d see at the 99 Cent Store.

After working for a catalog company, I’d never order from one. Why’d you even want to these days, since you can order pretty much anything from Amazon faster and cheaper? Catalog companies target older people because they’re more susceptible to attractive pictures and bold product claims. If your parents or grandparents decide to order from a catalog company, make sure you research the company before placing an order. When I eventually checked out the reviews for my company, they were all terrible – shocker. People could’ve saved their time and money by doing a quick Google search, and I could’ve saved myself a year-long headache.


Job #2 – Cable Company

Next on the list was working as an inbound sales representative for a major cable company. I sold cable, internet, and home phone services.

Before I started selling, I had to complete three weeks of group training. Our class covered the company’s services, and our instructors taught us how to use the software. The services were easy to understand, but the CRM was complex. Most of my class struggled to learn it. Thankfully, when it was time to take the final, we all passed and were transferred to the call center.

The trainers told us we’d be answering live calls under supervision for the next few weeks. If we showed competence, we’d be given a seat on the sales floor. Everyone was nervous and constantly needed help, but ultimately, we all made it. By then, I realized this job would be way more difficult than I had anticipated.

When I applied for the sales position, I knew selling internet service would be easy, but I hadn’t considered that the world was moving away from cable and home phone service. Most people started the conversation by saying, ‘Hi Daniel, I’m calling in today to get internet service only and no cable or home phone.’ I could sell customers internet service on its own, but I was graded on my ability to sell bundled packages rather than standalone services. Every call was monitored to ensure I pitched all three products to customers.

Selling cable and home phone service was tough. On top of that, the company didn’t make things easy on us with their clunky systems. I’ll give you a breakdown of all the challenges I faced on the job.

Challenge #1 – Selling Cable Service

When people started using streaming services like Netflix and Hulu, they realized they could watch their favorite shows on demand for less money. They didn’t need to have a technician drill holes in the wall and deal with an expensive cable bill. When I spoke to customers and they brought up the benefits of streaming, it was hard to rebut them because, deep down, I knew they were right. They were getting a superior product that was cheaper and more convenient.

My success in selling cable usually depended on the customer’s age. If I answered the phone and the client sounded young, they usually weren’t interested in cable. More likely than not, they were tech-savvy and knew all about streaming. On the contrary, if I spoke to an adult who’d been using cable their whole life, my chances of selling it increased. They were familiar with the service and not ready to try streaming… at least not yet.

Challenge #2 – Selling Home Phone Service

I felt like a clown when I spoke with customers and brought up home phone service. It was hard to sell a product I knew most people didn’t want. Before I could finish saying “Home Phone,” customers would interrupt me and tell me they weren’t interested. You’d think I’d insulted their mother, given the way they responded.

The only thing that helped me sell the home phone service was a promotion my company offered, which let customers bundle it with internet service and get a discount. The router had a port in the back where you could plug in a landline. Most people didn’t own a home phone but wanted the discount, so they took the deal. When clients requested home phone service, it was usually for their parents, not themselves.

Challenge #3 – Phone Que

When I started answering calls, I assumed I’d only be speaking with new customers, but boy, was I wrong. Most of the calls I took were from existing clients with complaints or tech issues. The worst part? Before transferring them, I had to dig through their account looking for services they didn’t have and pitch them.

This led to frequent arguments with clients who just wanted to be transferred and didn’t want to discuss adding home phone service when their cable box wasn’t working. It was awkward, and if I didn’t convince them to add additional service, it counted against me on the sales report.

Challenge #4 – The CRM

The company’s software was terrible. Even for straightforward orders, you had to navigate multiple screens and enter a ridiculous number of codes, like you were trying to solve a calculus equation. It was also riddled with bugs that forced you to restart your computer mid-call or left you guessing which codes to enter while customers waited impatiently on hold. One time, while I was setting up service for a customer, he told me, “I had no idea getting internet took this long.”

It was so broken it felt criminal that the company was making us use it.

Before taking this job, I was unaware that consumers hated cable companies, but after working for one, I understand why. The long wait times, misleading advertising, and frequent price hikes make service providers infuriating to deal with. As a result, every day was draining because most people I spoke with were mad.

I felt like a firefighter as customers brought up a barrage of complaints. Not to mention, I had to sell them services that were on the verge of becoming extinct.

There’s no way to beat around the bush. This job sucked.

Job #3 – Telemarketing

My worst job ever was working as an appointment setter for a home improvement company.

I ended up working as a telemarketer because I quit my job one day and needed to quickly find another gig. I saw an advertisement on Craigslist for a local sales position and called to set up an interview. When I went in to speak with the sales manager, we had a great conversation, and he hired me on the spot. I showed up on the first day and walked into the main room, where there were about 40-50 people. There was clearly no dress code, and the office was a mix of young and old people. The room was filled with rows of computers, and everyone was talking on the phone. My manager was assisting someone, so I had to wait a few minutes. Once he was done, he walked me to my desk at the back of the room.

I sat down, and my manager grabbed a co-worker to train me. My colleague came over and explained that my job was to book appointments for people interested in home improvements. He gave me a script and showed me how to use the computer’s dialing system. Everything seemed easy enough, and I confidently told my trainer I was ready to start making calls.

I began dialing, and as soon as someone answered, I started my introduction.

Me: Hi, this is…

Client: Click

Before I even said my name, the person hung up on me. The dialer quickly connected me to someone else, and my next call ended the same way. As soon as the person realized I was a telemarketer and not a family member or friend, they immediately ended the call. I spent the rest of the day trying to book appointments, but I had no success. I went home that day feeling beat up and brain dead from all the rejection.

I got to work early the next day and grabbed some coffee before returning to the battlefield. I studied a few of the top performers in the room and noticed they all had charisma on the phone. One guy sounded like an actual licensed contractor, and one girl was damn near yelling at people, demanding they book a free estimate. I don’t know how she did it, but she was booking appointments all day. I wasn’t about to take her yelling approach, but I knew I needed to adjust my pitch.

I started reading my script more passionately and researched home improvement outside of work, so I was more knowledgeable. I learned over time that as long as I kept my energy high throughout the day, I would speak to at least a few people interested in booking an appointment. I never knew when they’d show up, so I answered every call enthusiastically. Even the ones that came in towards the end of the day, when I was tired from answering hundreds of calls.

It wasn’t easy spending most of the day getting hung up on, but with cool co-workers, it was bearable. Our office was like a circus, filled with all sorts of characters. There was no background check or drug test at this company, and as long as you could talk, you were eligible for hire. We had musicians, actors, drug addicts, and even felons. People threw hands in the office, and others frequently got caught getting high in the bathroom.

You never knew what to expect when you came into work.

The most memorable part of this job was the manager, who was a guy we’ll call Fred. Fred was a bulky guy who wore black sunglasses and the same outfit every day. He was an odd but funny guy, and his sales meetings were unlike anything I’d experienced before. We’d meet in the center of the room, the normal lights would go off, and a disco light would come on. Then our supervisor beat a drum while everyone stomped their feet and banged their hands on the wall. After hearing the commotion, he’d come out of his office and make the type of entrance you’d expect from a Roman emperor or celebrity.

During the meeting, Fred reviewed the company’s recent sales. Whenever one of our estimates turned into a signed contract, he’d announce the salesperson’s name along with the value of the deal. We all kept our fingers crossed, hoping to hear our names and praying the number would be a big one. My largest sale was worth around $200,000. When Fred announced it, I felt like a king. The room erupted in applause as I walked to the center, struck the gong, and exchanged daps with my coworkers as they congratulated me.

We had a blast at these meetings, and they were the best part of our day.

Compensation-wise, we got paid close to minimum wage, but they were supposed to give us a “bonus” for the deals we helped close. If the customer’s project cost under $10,000, they gave us $10; if it was over $100,000, they gave us $100. It was a pretty pathetic commission plan, and collecting our bonus was challenging due to the lengthy sales process and a shady management team. You didn’t get paid until the project was complete, which could take months, and there was no way to track the status of your deal. You had to trust management to be honest about paying your commission, which, as my co-worker Oscar explained, was a bad idea.

He told me that one time, he went to management to check on one of his commissions. They told him that one of his clients backed out of the deal, and he wouldn’t get his bonus. He had a hunch they were lying, so he called his client to verify the story. It turned out they hadn’t canceled the deal and had recently finished construction at their house. After he found out, he made a big scene and got paid, but he never trusted them again.

I had my own struggles collecting commissions during my tenure, but eventually, I stopped fighting with management over it. Every time I discussed my bonus with my manager, he got angry and pointed out the times I hadn’t met my sales quota. Then he reminded me they could fire me, but since they liked me, they let it slide. I had to accept defeat and come to terms with the fact that I could only count on them for my hourly pay, not a penny more.

Once I became a top producer, he’d constantly promise me a promotion but never follow through. One day, I overheard him talking about his employees, calling us losers when he thought no one was listening. That was the moment I realized he didn’t care about any of us. It was just a boiler room designed to make him and his friends as much money as possible.

Here’s a story that shows how much they valued us.

One day, the company had us step away from the phones for a brief meeting. The management team told us they appreciated our hard work and wanted to throw a company picnic. The plan was to work a half-day on Friday and then go to a local park to play games and eat. It sounded great. We left the meeting pleasantly surprised and couldn’t wait.

On the day of the picnic, we clocked out early and headed to the park. We hung out, ate food, and had a good time. The following Friday, our supervisor was passing out paychecks, and I overheard people complaining that their checks were short. When I got mine, I was short a few hours, exactly the length of our picnic.

The whole room started demanding answers. Our supervisor came to the center of the room as things erupted around him. He looked nervous and explained that the company had clocked everyone out when we left for the picnic and stopped paying us for the day. The money they saved was used to pay for the event. They made it seem like they were throwing the picnic out of the goodness of their hearts. The reality was that we paid for it ourselves.

People in the room started yelling — ‘I have rent due,’ ‘I needed that money for my kids.’ One of my coworkers said that if he had known his check was getting cut short, he would’ve rather worked the whole day. I was about to speak up, but I looked around and saw so many people yelling that I realized my voice wouldn’t have made a difference. Our supervisor apologized and admitted he should’ve told us we wouldn’t be paid for clocking out early. People wanted their money, and some got hostile. Everybody left furious.

The next morning, Fred was at the office, which was odd because he usually came in the afternoon. He called a meeting and told us everyone would get paid for the missing hours. Our supervisor handed him a list of people who’d yelled at him the day before, and they were sent home and suspended. We got our money back, but nobody forgot what they did.

After that, I’d had enough and started looking for another job.

I had fun the first few months, but over time, it got old. Getting hung up on hundreds of times a day wears you down. It didn’t help that I was working in a gloomy office with outdated computers, dirty carpets, and old desks. I had great co-workers, but for every quality person they brought in, they hired three weirdos. One of the guys sitting near me had been convicted of touching a minor. It was apparent that this company targeted the dregs of society.

I knew that wasn’t me, and it was time to go.

It took a couple of months, but I finally found another job and quit. Years later, I heard from a coworker that the building we worked in had burned down. I can’t say I was surprised. By the end of my time there, I felt like I was walking into hell every morning.

Blood Money

It’s 5 AM, and my alarms going off. I pop out of bed and head to the kitchen, where I gobble down a granola bar and drink a glass of water. Now that I’m hydrated and have eaten, I can start driving to my appointment. It’s time for my first of two weekly plasma donations.

My friend put me onto this. He called me one day and told me about this place that pays you to donate blood. Apparently, this corporation uses your plasma to make medicine and pays you a small fee for your donation (he mentioned he makes $100-$200 a week donating). Since I was dead broke and jobless, I went to take my physical and get started. It seemed like a good side hustle until I got back on my feet.

The donation center’s 15 minutes away from my house. I hate to admit it, but I go early, hoping I don’t run into anyone I know. I also put on my prescription glasses, which I don’t usually wear, so nobody recognizes me. Being seen donating plasma does not exude success.

When I arrive at the facility, I go to a terminal and fill out a brief questionnaire. Every time I come to donate, I have to do this. The company wants to ensure I’m still healthy, don’t have any STDs, and am aware of the risks associated with donating plasma. I answer all the questions honestly, but it’s hard to imagine people admitting something that will prevent them from making their donation. They test your blood every time, so they’d find out anyway, but it’s kinda obvious how you need to answer to move to the next step.

After I finish my questions, I take a seat in the lobby and wait to be called. A few minutes pass, and a lady yells “Daniel” across the room. I walk up to the counter, where a nurse greets me and starts my pre-screening tests (there are two of them, and I have to pass both to donate).

The first thing the nurse does is check my protein levels. She pokes my finger with a device, squeezes the blood into a tube, and feeds it into a machine that analyzes it.

While she waits for my results, she takes my blood pressure. I always dread this test because it occasionally comes back high. If it’s not in an acceptable range, they make you wait 15 minutes and retake it. If it’s still high, they send you home and make you come back another day. It ends up being a huge waste of time, and you leave without the money you desperately need.

I try to stay calm while the nurse wraps the cuff around my arm. She tells me to relax and breathe in. Less than a minute later, the cuff releases, and she tells me to head to the back. I passed both tests. Thank God.

I stroll over to the donation floor, which is filled with rows of chairs. Before getting seated, I glance at everyone mid-donation. I see a bunch of minorities who look homeless or close to it. There’s a mix of young and old people in the room. To my surprise, almost as many women as men are donating. It’s a sad sight, but poverty doesn’t discriminate against genders.

A nurse asks what arm I’d like to use for my donation. I always choose my left arm because the vein on my right arm is too small to extract blood from. One time, they tried to use it, and the process took longer than usual, leaving a gigantic bruise on my arm. It was a nightmare experience, and I never used my right arm again.

The nurse applies disinfectant to my vein. While rubbing it in, she gives me a big smile and asks how I’m doing. I respond, “Fine,” even though I’m so broke that I’m donating my blood for some chump change. It’s ironic that the employees are over-the-top cheery when what’s happening is so dark.

After cleaning my vein, the nurse pulls the lid off a sterile needle and sticks me. Most of the time, my blood flows into the plasma machine right away. Every now and then, though, nothing comes out, and they have to wiggle the needle around until they find a solid vein. Some staff members never stick me in the right location, so I always request proven nurses when they’re available.

Once I’m up and running, the waiting game begins. I make a squeezing gesture with my hand to help my blood flow faster and speed up the process. If you disconnect early for any reason, you won’t receive your full pay. While I’m waiting for my donation to finish, I watch YouTube videos or listen to music. The process is painless and requires no effort on my end.

When the machine hits 100%, the final stage of donation begins. The device returns your red blood cells and keeps your plasma in a separate bag. This part makes you feel chilly, but it’s over quickly. The nurse removes the needle from your vein, wraps a bandage around your arm, and sends you on your way. Even though I know my donation will help save someone’s life, a piece of my dignity has been lost.

I just pimped myself out and gave this billion-dollar corporation a pint of my blood for a $40 gift card.

The donation also leaves a bruise on my vein. It kinda looks like I was using heroin. I used to be a drug addict, so I hate going around with this suspicious-looking mark on my arm. Especially since I always brag about being clean. Nobody’s ever questioned me about it, but it does make me self-conscious. Having a needle mark on your vein is never a good look.

The donation center can only use your plasma if you make two donations in a week, so I’ll need to return in a few days. They give you more money for your second donation, but in reality, they’re paying you pennies for your blood and selling it for a hefty profit.

When you’re a beggar, you can’t be a chooser, so for now I have to accept what they give me. I gotta get out of this position soon, though. I don’t want to be doing this forever. Some people here look like they’ve been doing this for years and will probably donate their Plasma until they die. This place reeks of poverty and exploitation. Once I’m back working…

I’m not ever trading my blood for money again.

Grandma’s Boy

Grandma Della (Left), Great Grandma Lucille (Right)

As a child, I wasn’t able to develop a relationship with my mother. We had nothing in common and could never get along. Our relationship was toxic throughout my childhood. Thankfully, the love she couldn’t give me, I found in my two grandmothers.

Grandma Della (Left), Great Grandmother Lucille (Right)

Growing up, I’d get dropped off at my grandma’s house when my parents needed a babysitter. I had two grandmothers there: my dad’s mother, “Della,” and her mother, “Lucille,” my great-grandma. There was no greater feeling than knowing I’d be spending the day with them.

Great Grandmother Lucille & Grandma Della

I always loved both of my grandmothers, but initially formed a stronger bond with my Grandma Della.

Me and My Grandma Della

When I was a kid, my Grandma Della was the joy of my life. I clung to her, and she gave me all the love I was missing at home. We spent time together watching TV, playing board games, and just enjoying each other’s company. It was well known in the family that I was her favorite grandchild. She never had a lot of money, but she always helped when she could. When they handed out book catalogs at school, she’d give me money so I could buy a book.

Grandma Della
Me and Grandma Della

My Grandma Della died of breast cancer when I was in Middle School. I witnessed her gradually lose her life. As her cancer developed, she became unhappy, lost weight, and began losing her hair. She went through chemotherapy, but it only helped so much, and like countless other women, she lost her life. I saw her in the hospital in her final days, bald with multiple tubes connected to her body. It was devastating to lose my Grandma, and I have no doubt that if she were alive now, she’d be my best friend.

Once she passed away, all the love and attention I gave her naturally shifted to my Great-Grandma. Even though I was closer to my Grandma Della, I still had a strong relationship with my Great-Grandma Lucille since they lived together.

My Great Grandma Lucille, aka “Mom”

My Great-Grandma Lucille, aka Mom, was a blessing to our family. Her nickname was Mom because she helped raise everyone and treated kids that weren’t hers like they were her own. She grew up picking fruit in the fields and spent most of her adult life working in a factory. When she retired, she loved to relax and watch game shows like The Price Is Right and John Wayne westerns.

Me and Mom at her house

Mom was loving and caring, and helped everyone however she could. She was the rock of the family, and more than anything, she loved spending time with the people she cared about. I don’t remember ever hearing her complain about money or material things.

The funny thing about our relationship is that we never had deep conversations about my personal life. She just loved me, and I loved her. There are some people in life you like being around because they have positive energy and a calming presence, and Mom was exactly that type of person for me.

Mom in her 90’s

There were times I felt like everything was going wrong and I didn’t have any friends, but she’d always be there for me, her presence steady despite the chaos surrounding me. In life, the most common type of love is conditional (I’ll love you as long as you provide x or do y for me), but what I felt from her was unconditional. She loved me, even during times I knew I didn’t deserve to be loved.

On bad days, I’d always go to her room and find her in her chair watching TV or quietly reading a book. Sometimes I’d lie on her bed and watch a Lifetime movie with her, even though I couldn’t stand them, just to be around her.

You could always find my Grandma in her chair
Jay-Z’s best song, in my opinion

There was a time when I was a young adult and had to share a room with her. One night around 1 AM, I was lying there listening to Jay-Z’s song “Lost One.” In the third verse, Jay-Z talks about a loss in his family. For the first time, I really thought about what it would feel like to lose my grandmother. I listened to her breathing heavily in her sleep, and I started crying on the floor beside her. Until that moment, I hadn’t fully considered that she was in her 90s and that one day she’d die, and we’d be separated forever.

Tucking My Grandma in to go to bed

I developed a sense of urgency and made it a priority to check in with my Mom every day. When I got home from work, I’d go to her room and say hi, and before I went to sleep, I’d kiss her goodnight. Even if I was too exhausted to walk across the house, I’d call her and say goodnight over the phone.

I began to understand how much she meant to me. When I looked back on my life, it really sank in how much she’d done for me over the years. I have many family members who love and care about me, but she gave me the kind of motherly love that’s so important for a man to have.

Me and Mom

As Mom got older, she needed more care and attention. It got to the point where she needed help getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. I worried about her all day at work, afraid she’d fall and hurt herself or be defenseless if someone broke in. Eventually, her daughter stepped up to take care of her. It was bittersweet. She had lived with me my entire life, and now she was moving a few hours away.

Mom

I knew she needed full-time care and made peace with the decision. I felt comfortable knowing she had someone there 24/7 to assist her. My family and I agreed to visit as often as possible and call regularly to check on her.

Visiting Mom at her Daughters house

Mom recently turned 97 and is still doing well. Despite everything that went wrong in my life, I feel blessed to have enjoyed Mom’s presence this long and pray she’s with me even longer. I felt like giving up many times, but she inspired me to keep going.

2pac has a line in his song “Thugz Mansion” where he says

“So much pressure in this life of mine, I cry at times
I once contemplated suicide, and woulda tried
But when I held that 9, all I could see was mama’s eyes“

I understood exactly what he meant. There were times I felt hopeless, but knowing that Mom needed me kept me going. I’m forever grateful for my grandmothers and what they’ve done for me. Because of them, I know how important love is and how it can help someone get through life. Even though my Grandma Della passed away, I’ll always keep her in my heart, and I’ll continue loving Mom until her last day.

Me and Mom

Update

In March of 2020, I called my Grandma to let her know I was visiting soon, but her daughter answered the phone in tears. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me my Grandma wasn’t doing well. I told her to stay strong and that I’d be visiting that weekend. The conversation left me with a bad feeling, but I assumed my Grandma was just having a bad day and my aunt was being a little dramatic.

I went to work the next day. Shortly after arriving, I got a text from my family that my Grandma had been rushed to the hospital. I gathered my stuff and left. Once I got home, my family and I drove to my aunt’s house before heading to the hospital.

Once we got there, we hustled to the emergency room. It was a long walk, and every step felt like an eternity. When we walked in, the receptionist asked us questions about our health to make sure we weren’t sick. This was around the time the coronavirus was dominating the news, and hospitals were beginning to implement strict rules about who could visit.

I waited my turn and was unsure what to expect when I got to my Grandmother’s room.

Eventually, one of my family members came downstairs and told me it was my turn to go up. I walked nervously to my Grandma’s room. When I entered, she was heavily sedated and in a comatose state. Her arms were bruised, and she looked like she was in tremendous pain. Tears rolled down my face as I watched my Grandma dying in front of me. I walked over to her and told her I loved her and that she meant everything to me. She couldn’t respond, but it seemed like she could still hear me, because when I told her how much I loved her, she smiled.

I left her room and headed back to the lobby. When I got there, a nurse was meeting with my family. She told us they were moving forward with hospice care at my aunt’s house. As soon as I heard the word “hospice,” it hit me that my grandmother was going to die. I listened to the nurse talk to my family, but I couldn’t focus because I was so overwhelmed.

After meeting with the nurse, everyone decided to go home and meet at my aunt’s house the following day when they transported my Grandma out of the hospital. They asked if we wanted to see her again before we left, and most of us declined. My Grandma looked nothing like herself, and I didn’t want my final memory of her to be like that.

I did my best to relax for the rest of the evening. Close to 1 AM, I got a text from my aunt informing me that the doctors didn’t think my Grandma would make it through the night. My family and I headed to the hospital, but on the way there, I got another text saying my Grandma had passed away. As a courtesy, the hospital left her body in the room so we could see her one last time.

We got to the hospital and headed to her room. When we walked in, I saw my Grandma lying in bed with her head tilted upward, her mouth slightly open, motionless and dead. We sat in the room silently for a few moments before leaving. On the way out, I kissed my Grandma on the forehead and could feel the coldness of her lifeless body.

The first thing I noticed after my Grandma passed away was the overwhelming sense of regret that attacked my mind. I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited more. Even though I knew I was a good grandson, I kept thinking about all the missed opportunities to see her. As soon as someone dies, we immediately start focusing on where we fell short in the relationship, no matter how big or small those shortcomings were.

We were supposed to visit my Grandma a week before she passed away, but my family rescheduled for the following weekend, which ended up being too late. I always warned them that it was dangerous to postpone visits because we never knew when she might die. So when she passed, the first thing I wanted to do was yell, “I told you so! We could’ve had one more visit, but because we rescheduled, we lost our last chance to see her.”

I held my tongue because I knew my family had no way of knowing my Grandma was about to die. If they’d known she only had another week to live, they never would’ve canceled the visit. Still, it hurt knowing my Grandma was taken away from me just days before I was supposed to see her again.

Even though I’m sad she’s gone, I feel blessed she lived to be 97 years old. I can’t really complain when most people’s grandparents never make it anywhere near that age. I’m grateful we had her for that long, and I’m glad I told her how much she meant to me before she passed away. I don’t think there’s anything worse than losing someone you love while knowing deep down you never told them how you felt. Death is real and unpredictable, so it’s important to say what you need to say while you still have the chance.

For now, my angel and I have been separated. If I’m lucky enough to make it to heaven, we’ll reunite someday. Until then, I’ll cherish our memories and carry them with me forever. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I miss her dearly. There will never be another person I love as much as her. Even though she’s gone, I’ll always consider myself a Grandma’s boy.

Rest In Peace – Lucille Baragon Miller aka Mom

Childhood Clue’s

Looking back at my childhood, I was obviously meant to be an artist. So much of my time was spent writing and reading books. As I got older, I quit engaging in those activities, though. Adult life and responsibilities took over, and I became a rigid adult focused on surviving. I lost sight of who I was and became miserable as a result.

One day I decided to buy a notebook and start writing again. Before I went to sleep, I wrote about my day and how it went. It helped me learn more about myself and gave me a way to vent since I had nobody to talk to. This daily writing habit inspired me to create a blog and make music. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t returned to my childhood hobbies.

If you feel lost in life, the best thing to do is reflect on what made you happy growing up. Reconnecting with those passions can help guide you toward your purpose.

If you’re trying to figure out what you’re meant to do… your childhood contains all the clues🕵️‍♂️.

No Respect For Success via Wickedness

Excerpt from “The Prince” by Niccolò Machiavelli

Chapter VIII – Concerning those who have obtained a principality by Wickedness.

“Although a prince may rise from a private station in two ways, neither of which can be entirely attributed to fortune or genius, yet it is manifest to me that I must not be silent on them, although one could be more copiously treated when I discuss republics. These methods are when, either by some wicked or nefarious ways, one ascends to the prinicpality, or when by the favour of his fellow citizens a private person becomes the prince of his country. And speaking of the first method, it will be illustrated by two examples – one ancient, the other modern – and without entering further into the subject, I consider these two examples will suffice those who may be compelled to follow them.

Agathocles, The Sicilian

Agathocles, the Sicilian, became King of Syracuse not only from a private but from a low and abject position. This man, the son of a potter, through all the changes in his fortunes always led an infamous life. Nevertheless, he accompanied his infamies with so much ability of mind and body that, having devoted himself to the military profession, he rose through its ranks to be Praetor of Syracuse. Being established in that position, and having deliberately resolved to make himself prince and to seize by violence, without obligation to others, that which had been conceded to him by assent, he came to an understanding for this purpose with Amilcar, the Carthaginian, who, with his army, was fighting in Sicily.

One morning he assembled the people and the senate of Syracuse, as if he had to discuss with them things relating to the Republic, and at a given signal the soldiers killed all the senators and the richest of the people; these dead, he seized and held the princedom of that city without any civil commotion. And although he was twice routed by the Carthaginians, and ultimately besieged, yet not only was he able to defend his city, but leaving part of his men for its defence, with the others he attacked Africa, and in a short time raised the siege of Syracuse. The Carthaginians, reduced to extreme necessity, were compelled to come to terms with Agathocles, and, leaving Sicily to him, had to be content with the possession of Africa.

Therefore, he who considers the actions and the genius of this man will see nothing, or little, which can be attributed to fortune, inasmuch as he attained pre-eminence, as is shown above, not by the favour of any one, but step by step in the military profession, which steps were gained with a thousand troubles and perils, and were afterwards boldly held by him with many hazardous dangers. Yet it cannot be called talent to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but not glory.

Still, if the courage of Agathocles in entering into and extricating himself from dangers be considered, together with his greatness of mind in enduring and overcoming hardships, it cannot be seen why he should be esteemed less than the most notable captain. Nevertheless, his barbarous cruelty and inhumanity with infinite wickedness do not permit him to be celebrated among the most excellent men. What he achieved cannot be attributed either to fortune or genius.

Oliverotto da Fermo

In our times, during the rule of Alexander the Sixth, Oliverotto da Fermo, having been left an orphan many years before, was brought up by his maternal uncle, Giovanni Fogliani, and in the early days of his youth sent to fight under Pagolo Vitelli, that, being trained under his discipline, he might attain some high position in the military profession. After Pagolo died, he fought under his brother Vitellozzo, and in a very short time, being endowed with wit and a vigorous body and mind, he became the first man in his profession. But it appearing a paltry thing to serve under others, he resolved, with the aid of some citizens of Fermo, to whom the slavery of their country was dearer than its liberty, and with the help of the Vitelleschi, to seize Fermo.

So he wrote to Giovanni Fogliani that, having been away from home for many years, he wished to visit him and his city, and in some measure to look upon his patrimony; and although he had not laboured to acquire anything except honour, yet, in order that the citizens should see he had not spent his time in vain, he desired to come honourably, so would be accompanied by one hundred horsemen, his friends and retainers; and he entreated Giovanni to arrange that he should be received honourably by the Fermians, all of which would be not only to his honour, but also to that of Giovanni himself, who had brought him up.

Giovanni, therefore, did not fail in any attentions due to his nephew, and he caused him to be honourably received by the Fermians, and he lodged him in his own house, where, having passed some days, and having arranged what was necessary for his wicked designs, Oliverotto gave a solemn banquet to which he invited Giovanni Fogliani and the chiefs of Fermo. When the viands and all the other entertainments that are usual in such banquets were finished, Oliverotto artfully began certain grave discourses, speaking of the greatness of Pope Alexander and his son Cesare, and of their enterprises, to which discourse Giovanni and others answered; but he rose at once, saying that such matters ought to be discussed in a more private place, and he betook himself to a chamber, whither Giovanni and the rest of the citizens went in after him.

No sooner were they seated than soldiers issued from secret places and slaughtered Giovanni and the rest. After these murders Oliverotto, mounted on horseback, rode up and down the town and besieged the chief magistrate in the palace, so that in fear the people were forced to obey him, and to form a government, of which he made himself the prince. He killed all the malcontents who were able to injure him, and strengthened himself with new civil and military ordinances, in such a way that, in the year during which he held the principality, not only was he secure in the city of Fermo, but he had become formidable to all his neighbours. And his destruction would have been as difficult as that of Agathocles if he had not allowed himself to be overreached by Cesare Borgia, who took him with the Orsini and Vitelli at Sinigalia, as was stated above.

Thus one year after he had committed this parricide, he was strangled, together with Vitellozzo, whom he had made his leader in valour and wickedness.

Some may wonder how it can happen that Agathocles, and his like, after infinite treacheries and cruelties, should live for long secure in his country, and defend himself from external enemies, and never be conspired against by his own citizens; seeing that many others, by means of cruelty, have never been able even in peaceful times to hold the state, still less in the doubtful times of war. I believe that this follows from severities being badly or properly used. Those may be called properly used, if of evil it is possible to speak well, that are applied at one blow and are necessary to one’s security, and that are not persisted in afterwards unless they can be turned to the advantage of the subjects.

The badly employed are those which, notwithstanding they may be few in the commencement, multiply with time rather than decrease. Those who practise the first system are able, by aid of God or man, to mitigate in some degree their rule, as Agathocles did. It is impossible for those who follow the other to maintain themselves.

Hence it is to be remarked that, in seizing a state, the usurper ought to examine closely into all those injuries which it is necessary for him to inflict, and to do them all at one stroke so as not to have to repeat them daily; and thus by not unsettling men he will be able to reassure them, and win them to himself by benefits. He who does otherwise, either from timidity or evil advice, is always compelled to keep the knife in his hand; neither can he rely on his subjects, nor can they attach themselves to him, owing to their continued and repeated wrongs. For injuries ought to be done all at one time, so that, being tasted less, they offend less; benefits ought to be given little by little, so that the flavour of them may last longer.

And above all things, a prince ought to live amongst his people in such a way that no unexpected circumstances, whether of good or evil, shall make him change; because if the necessity for this comes in troubled times, you are too late for harsh measures; and mild ones will not help you, for they will be considered as forced from you, and no one will be under any obligation to you for them.”