I feel like a lot of people have this impression that you have to spend your twenties fucking up and spending your time on people you don’t care about and making weird gambles with your heart just to have stories to tell, and I can’t relate to that. I can’t deal with that mentality. So if I’m single for a long time, I’m single for a long time. But fuck, man. I want to be honored to be in the room with a dude, ya know? I want to feel privileged to have that person laugh at my joke and poke holes in my arguments and spend their weekend afternoon with me, and if that means lamping and spending time with my friends and getting really good at being my best self, then fine. Fuck it. At the end of the day I’d rather have done a really good job at that than at taking a million desperate swings at shitty pitches just because the thought of being alone terrifies me so much.
I’m cleaning out my drafts area and found this thing I wrote trying to capture what I’d said to my coworker Ross in March of last year while sitting in a bar in Austin, Texas and attempting to explain why I wasn’t trying to ~get buck~ on our business trip.