People probably often wonder, How does Mr. Yolo69420.blog stay humble? Especially with all his blogging success, profound insight, and obvious interpersonal skills that make him the perennial center of attention in all situations-how does he do it?
What can I say, I have a disposition towards humility. I try and understand that we all start from different places. I recognize that all of us have talents, and all of us suffer flaws. But there still come moments when even I succumb to my own hype. Maybe I hit 10 subscribers on this blog. Maybe I shaved my bits, and my master sword is looking extra sparkly, and it’s got my ego a tad inflated. That was a Zelda reference btw. Anyways, that’s when I bring in the humility-inducing reinforcements. These are situations that call for specific tactics, where I must rely on the frameworks I’ve developed for keeping it all in perspective. So I utilize a set of personalized strategies I’ve built over the years with tedious repetition. Remember what my boy Archilochus said, “We don’t rise to the level of our expectations, we fall to the level of our training.” I have trained for this, and I know how to keep my bitch-ass humble.
In fact, I have a precise and foolproof method to guarantee maintenance of humility, which I will describe here. I use a specific and personal example, but the general framework can be borrowed, tweaked, and applied to anyone else who may be struggling to stay humble. Here is my short and effective methodology:
Every time I feel a sense of arrogance washing over me, I think back to that time I was a reasonably put-together and independent 23-year-old college graduate who somehow failed to get a job making sandwiches at a grocery store deli.
That’s all there is to it, but let me review the details so they sink in and you register how lame I was/am:
I was a full blown adult. At 23, I had all the unalienable rights afforded to a legal-age American citizen- I could drink, smoke, vote, serve in the military, steal catalytic converters in order to sell the platinum on the dark web, to then launder the profits through a shitcoin ponzi scheme-all the freedoms that we adults cherish. I figured this level of privilege meant I had at least acquired a morsel of maturity and responsibility.
I was college educated, having spent the prior 4.5 years (a half-year victory lap just for shitz) at a fine state university. I had earned a bachelors of science. Of fucking science, dawg-not the arts! Serious shit. A real education. Business management-the peak of all academia, slightly edging out theoretical quantum physics for the title of most demanding and elite course of study. I was learned in the rigors of the scientific method- observing, hypothesizing, testing, analyzing- all that jazz. Skills I hoped to apply to….sandwiches, I guess. As someone with an allegedly marketable degree, why was I even trying to work counter-service in a grocery store deli? Good fucking question. I don’t remember. Clearly, I was ambitious though.
I had no criminal record, or at least none visible to the public after some efforts were made to have it expunged (story for another time).
And despite all these quality attributes, I was not hired to make sandwiches. They didn’t outright say it in the emailed rejection, but I read between the lines- Not qualified to make a sandwich. Maybe not even capable of making a sandwich. Probs too stupid to properly spell the word samwitch. Very likely too mentally underdeveloped to even comprehend the concept of a sannish. Friggin’ harsh, man…
The deli didn’t even toast their sandwiches. There was no risk of me dealing with hot surfaces or electricity, just the simple stacking of meats, cheeses, and accoutrements, your classic cold-cut deliverable. Did they think I would forget the cheese?
Who knows, but in the aftermath of this humiliating rejection, I used my scientific skills to study my predicament: I hypothesized that I was a fucking loser. Controlling for confounding variables, the analysis of experimental results showed that the null hypothesis was to be rejected, confirming the alternative hypothesis- that I was indeed a fucking loser.
The only grace I will grant myself is that it was a somewhat fancy deli (inside of a grocery store, which clearly means not too fancy). Probably reasonable to call it a delicatessen. I reckon it serviced, at minimum, Whole Foods-grade clientele.
To be clear, by no means am I deriding deli-folk, as they’re commonly known. How could I? What ground do I have to stand upon? They are obviously a class above me, as they actually got a job making sandwiches, potato salads, and what have you. I look up to these people in awe, admiration, and envy. Always remember, these people hold great power, for they are the people making your food. Never betray or offend them. Otherwise, risk pubes in your potato salad. Hmmm…I suppose after some reflection, I’ll grant the following: Touché Marczyk Fine Foods, maybe you were smart to not trust me with such capacity and influence. It would have been too much for me to wield justly, and I surely would’ve suffocated under the immense weight of my own authority.
Thus, I think of that whole ordeal, and it keeps me pretty well in check. That memory is like a sandpaper handjob to my mind-penis, which gets very deflated and a wee bit scuffed up everytime I recall it. Here, I am using a metaphor where my mental state is a hard penis, and an embarrassing memory is represented as a bristly handjob, which rapidly softens my penis, meaning it severely damages my psychological well-being and self-esteem- just in case that went over anyone’s head.
Anyhow, to summarize this technique in general terms for others’ application, simply remember one of the lowest or most embarrassing moments of your life, then dwell on it excessively. Let it sink in how pathetic you were in that moment. Remember that despite wherever you currently find yourself, you are still that same loser and could at anytime find yourself back in that same circumstance. Otherwise, risk a precipitous downfall from the lofty heights of your own vanity.
As an example, if I forget this critical, embarrassing story of my life, I could let things get away from me. Overconfident and delusional, I could become a degenerate gambler, believing in my own genius and infallibility. In a rash move, I might accidentally bet away my entire family’s net worth over the results of a Serbian B-League soccer match in a three leg parlay gone wrong. My wife would certainly leave me, the readership of this blog could dry up, and with no other options for surviving, I could be forced to seek employment once again in a deli, only to be rejected. Due to shear embarrassment, my kids will refuse to associate with me, and I’ll be totally alone and penniless. I will find myself at the lowest point of my entire existence. From this humiliating and desperate place, I will have to discover something within myself- the seed of creativity, my true voice for expressing my highest self- and I will rebuild the empire I once ruled over from scratch, only this time bigger and better. And never forgetting that I am a fucking loser who couldn’t even get a job making sandwiches at a grocery store deli.
Yolo 69 420 