When YOLO pays off for $500 Alex

I suspect y’all want me to write some insightful piece about Valentine’s Day, but I’m going to have to disappoint this time around. Seriously, that’s so basic. Instead I’m gonna impart this gift to all three of my readers; you get some anecdotal advice. Yayyyy! It’s a terrible gift on the surface I know, that’s the point. But stay a while and listen to the riveting tale about how YOLO just might be the remedy for a shitty 2017. And by YOLO I mean doing things against your better judgment. Judgment that may not always be right.

So I planned something and instantly regretted the decision once I learned what exactly it all entailed. This is going to be very vague for unspecified reasons. Anyway, I agreed to something that seemed great at the time because I was busy pretending to be a productive adult and all that. Come to find out, I dun goofed. And the thing was that I could have easily just gotten out of it with a simple text, but most of me said “dude just do it, it’ll be fine.” My curiosity often gets the better of me and regularly gets me in trouble so I wouldn’t have been surprised if I got reamed on this encounter. But suffice to say, I had an amazing time despite the initially awkward circumstances and I was glad I took that gamble.

That’s the troll of life though. If you play everything safe, you won’t win big though you won’t lose big either. For some that’s a pretty boring proposition that’ll lead to an early grave caused by boredom. I tend to agree. What makes me alive are those situations where sometimes it gets really dicey. Not the “I might die if I guess wrong” dicey, but a few notches away for sure. That’s why I don’t gamble with real money. I know for a fact that I’d gamble myself out of house and home simply for the experience. It would have zero to do with winning money and everything to do with the dance of chance. So I play video games instead because that way if I lose big it’s only my dignity and occasionally my sanity. Worthy sacrifices.

The age-old adage of “trust your gut” is a fair one to live by. I’d say 80 percent of the time my gut is correct. But that other 20 percent concerns me the most. Mainly because that 20 percent is often times the most painful or joyful of experiences I get to have. I expect my gut to be right under normal circumstances, but when it’s wrong…holy shit is it wrong. So wrong that I think twice about trusting my instincts for a while afterward. It’s a struggle that I don’t think other animals, rational capacity or not, have to deal with. The impulsive brain runs the show for most animals so they live and die by how things feel. Very admirable if not borderline sad in a way. Whereas my bi-pedal-ass has to contend with the eternal war of logical brain versus the carnal brain.

The most obvious and sexist example I’m going to bring up is when I catch wind of a fine looking woman that is scantily clad. The first thing I want to do, I’m only 70 percent ashamed of this, is to bang her brains out. My word there was one today, looked like she was smuggling twins in her ass. Unreal. But that is the carnal mind trying to exercise its will over the situation. Satisfaction reigns supreme; food, sex, sleep or otherwise. I gots ta be sated. Now clearly I’m not going to violate this woman’s personal space and autonomy to exist in this world unprovoked because the rational brain steps in to tell the rest of me why. Societal norms and negative consequences are chief among these reasons. I’m not trying to go to jail over an impulse. So not worth. I would feel great for about 10 minutes before I get beat the fuck up by her and the po-po with an assault charge sprinkled on top. With a couple bullets in my shins for good measure.

This all seems off topic, but it’s connected. There’s a reason why I don’t go against my gut regularly, but there’s also opportunities that I should. Logically, I should not have come back to LA at all. It made little sense to ditch the life I made for myself in Chico where I was living comfortably. Wasn’t hurting for cash, was regularly entertained, and generally all my needs were being met. Logically there was no impetus for me to say “I’m going to throw away my autonomy for a pipe dream in LA.” None of what I did made sense in the vacuum of logic and reason. But it sure as shit felt right.

My gut response to my situation was the complete opposite to the logical inputs I fed myself. But at that moment I had to decide what took precedence: choosing to act on how I felt on a corporeal level or if my carnal response was just simply a response and nothing more. I’ve written more on this pseudo-Cartesian duality scenario more than I care to admit, but suffice to say I’ve always been on the side of trusting my body more than my mind because I know how I am. Mainly because I project and overthink a lot so I dunno, physical responses seem more genuine to me; more trustworthy as ridiculous as that sounds. In any case, taking those “I might regret this tomorrow” risks should be entertained every once in a while. You never know what or who you might get out of it.

That being said, I’m gonna go pout in my bed without stupid rose petals, scented candles, or a woman in it because I have my stuffed bear. He’s been holding me down for 15 years now. That’s real love. We’re gonna simp out to some K. Roosevelt. I hope you choke on your arrow Cupid. Fucking useless (I’m kidding…kinda).