You might be the weakest link.
Probably not if you’re reading this blog, hanging out on this website. But maybe your friends read this blog, hang out on this website. Maybe your friends pursue excellence and have big fucking goals (like you do).
And if they do—if you keep good company—you might be the weakest link.
It’s bad to be the weakest link.
But there has to be one, and it’s easy to identify that person.
It’s the impatient one.
Getting annoyed sitting in traffic and when Netflix won’t load might not seem like a big deal, but these small flickers of frustration point to a deep character flaw.
The inability to slow down, relax, and wait reflects your addiction to preference.
And addiction to preference is a deep character flaw.
If your preference is not heard by the grand mechanisms of existence, if small things don’t align with your agenda, if you must have every challenge on your own terms...
You’re the weakest link.
And it’s fucking bad to the weakest link.
The weakest link is the person you’d never want to be stuck on a deserted island with. Inconveniences pile high and rot his spirit, obstacles that expose her weaknesses turn her into a victim, his excitement for discomfort extends only as far as his preference.
That dirty fucking word. Preference is a full table, instant access, and every luxury at arm’s reach.
It’s everything you want, when you want it.
Preference is our workouts feeling smooth and strong, our progress obvious and recognized, our ambitions falling into place.
That shit doesn’t always happen.
It’s not supposed to.
Your preferences don’t mean a thing, and they’re likely to be overlooked by life’s mysterious workings.
You’ll have workouts that feel worthless, progress that seems slow, and ambitions that feel more farfetched every single day. It’s unlikely you’ll get everything you want, now and much later.
But I don’t care. That shit doesn’t bother me.
Because I’m not the impatient one.
I refuse impatience, I battle it daily. I look forward to inconvenience and frustration. I hope my preferences are in vain. It’s a constant battle between what I want, and what I know life will eventually dump on me.
Life’s bucket of chaos is always full, teetering precariously over our heads.
I’m fucking ready.
I’m ready to sit in traffic and to wait for Netflix to load. I’m ready for my food to take forever. I’m ready
to get a flat tire. I’m ready to forget my wallet.
I’m ready for that deserted island, for the battle of spirit and willpower against inconvenience and discomfort.
I’m not the weakest link. I never will be.
You can’t outlast discomfort like me. You can’t wait it out, sit in it, study it, like I can.
My bad workouts are grindstones by which I sharpen my resolve. Slow progress gives me time to excel at the individual steps toward my goal.
When my ambitions feel farther and farther out of reach, I celebrate the strength I’ll need to get there.
Everything I want is the grind of savage effort against modernity. I don’t crave success and recognition,
and so I won’t be impatient for their slow, uncertain arrival. I live over a barbell, my hands steadying it for a heavy pull.
I live before the bag, my punches aligned viciously with my breaths. I live with distrust of ease and accessibility. I live for creation, the artistic molding of a hard body and unbeatable mind by the sweat and repetitions of patience.
The sharpest sword. The mightiest shield.
The fastest path to fulfillment.
Everything you are called to be, every warpath you’re meant to know, lives inside patience.
Never waver, never retreat.
Never beg for better conditions.
The conditions are now, and they’re yours.
Never be your team’s weakest link.
Never Fucking Quit.