“I live for myself and answer to no one.” — Steve McQueen.
Let’s call this an origin story. You’ll have to read between the lines. And one thing should be understood up front: I’m a fighter, not a lover. Always have been. I will romance with the best of them and enjoy women, but real connection is a by-product of strength, and you don’t get strong by sitting on your ass and cuddling.
Being just into my late forties in January 2016 when my divorce was final, I possessed the advantages of experience rather than the advantages of youth, although being reasonably fit, muscular, and somewhat young-looking were all bonuses that I knew I had to maintain and which would serve me well.
So, older and somewhat wiser than I was when I proposed in my late twenties, I could see through the fading clouds of grief over a family lost that the future was now a surprise party and I was the guest of honor, and I knew that I would seize this opportunity and ride it to hell and back if need be to make the rest of my life the life I wanted.
Being in decent shape, decent looking with solid social skills, and making a great living in a leadership position at a company I helped start, and for which I mainly worked remotely and traveled a lot, I knew I was positioned better than most men my age. The future was about as wide open as it could be so long as I didn’t simp out during this divorce and lose that which I’d worked hard for all those years.
While I had been a kind of manager at work and at home for years, I had gotten weak as a leader in my marriage. I was generally pretty strong where my boys were concerned, but considerably more “blue-pill alpha” (as I’ve heard Rollo Tomassi put it) with the wife. I had been working on changing that for a while, on my own, not having read anything in the masculine self-help space and not really aware anything existed beyond the “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus” bullshit nonsense I was vaguely familiar with. In the year leading up to the separation, I was increasingly responding to my wife’s shit tests and related behaviors with a James Bond smirk and the response, “Non-serviam”, meaning, “I will not serve”…presumably the words of Lucifer in rebellion against God.
So when the separation was triggered, I had already made progress and did three things through the separation and divorce that got me oriented toward the new life and new opportunity I wanted to build for myself. The mistakes men make at this juncture are common and I’d seen it live, in action. Seen friends cower before their soon-to-be-exes who pushed them out of their bedrooms, their homes, their children’s lives. Even in my somewhat “purple-pilled” mindset at that point, I couldn’t understand why men would simply roll over.
I began to consider very carefully how I would conduct myself through the divorce. Here is what I did.
1. No compromise. I decided what was right and stood my ground.
I refused to sleep in the spare room or leave the house, despite being prompted by her. I had done nothing to warrant my sleeping elsewhere, so my response was a simple, “No reason for me to change what I’m doing. Both the bedroom and house lock from the inside which means you can leave any time. As for me, I’m conducting business as usual.”
She moved out. Because I was prepared and got read-in on the laws in my state, I was allowed to change the locks when she moved out. I did so, immediately.
She’s not your friend, men. Don’t let your emotional state cripple you into doing things, or agreeing to things, in order to look nice but that you’ll have to live with for months or years. Fight legally. Fight professional. Fight without drama. But fight.
I maintained this frame throughout the divorce process, standing my ground on all points in the no-fault agreement that mattered to me, and ultimately winning on all those points. I made her file. I made her pay for her attorney. I simply went about my life and let her figure it all out, then altered any of her proposals I didn’t like, told her what I wanted, and waited. Since she was in such a hurry to get out herself, and get back on that cock carousel, I held leverage, and I milked it for all it was worth to me.
2. No weak, soy, bullshit. I started fucking new women asap.
After two decades of marriage, most of them not that great in terms of she and I, I was ready for some strange. And I got it, despite the fact that it felt, well, strange at first to be fucking someone who looked, felt, moved, smelled, tasted, and sounded different from the one woman I’d been with for so long. But it was fun and nice being with women who were enthusiastic about being with me.
This was yet another declaration of the principle of non-serviam. Friends, family, “experts” were all reminding me about how “fragile” I was. How I needed lots and lots of time…maybe even months, years. Insofar as they meant, Before getting into a serious relationship again, I agreed. But as far as dating and having sex? Fuck that noise. I was going to enjoy women without getting dragged into relationship. I owned my frame not just with women, but in all aspects of life. The world was mine now.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that fucking a few women regularly was, for me, better than fucking one woman constantly. I get it though: divorce after such a long time as a family man and more or less typical dad leaves you feeling, well, wrong. No one waiting at home…no errands to run for the wife after work…no stopping by the store to pick up a few things she texted you. Most men and women jump right back into a serious relationship and marriage just because that’s what feels normal to them, and they feel lost without it.
And that’s the problem. That’s why second marriages fail at a higher rate than first marriages: men and women alike are chasing a sense of “normalcy” and the familiar. But it is a phantasm. It is an ideal that doesn’t exist.
In short, normal kills. Hold your frame.
It was time to create a new normal. I had seen my own father burn through three failed marriages, one after another before dying in his early seventies never having crossed the line he pursued in his gyno-centric, blue-pill, beta fog. That wasn’t going to be me. I didn’t know everything but I had learned from his mistakes, from his negative example.
3. No sitting around, waiting for anything or stewing in useless emotions. I traveled.
I was fortunate in that the only thing my divorce cost me was my ex’s share of the household expenses. No alimony. No child support since both kids were over eighteen. We each kept our bank accounts, our retirement, our assets and vehicles. It was a clean, if acrimonious, break, with little drama.
I was also fortunate in that I had the option to travel a lot for work, so I could piggy back personal days around business trips. I had typically not been all that fond of travel, and because of that, it was one of those new and different things that were out of my comfort zone and which I had slowly begun to enjoy over the years traveling for work.
First the weekend road trips increased. Then, in the summer of 2016, I made a ten-day tour of the northeast, just me, my rental car, and Google Maps. Drove around New Jersey, from AC to NYC, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire. Played blackjack in Atlantic City with a hot blonde who lived in the northeast who I’d met through friends. I had just started studying blackjack the year before, learned basic strategy, and on this trip had come out ahead with enough winnings to cover the cost of the casino hotel. I then visited family in Manhattan. Spent time on the New Hampshire seacoast with work friends. Experienced the Berkshires and Hudson Valley in upstate New York for the first time, both of which were beautiful to the point of being sublime. I can’t overstate the natural beauty of either place, and I’m long overdue going back.
It was a great time and long overdue for me. On the road every day, working on game in an area where I’d spent little time. Having grown up in the South, I discovered there was an entire segment of women who were curious about Southern men, and I satisfied their curiosity as much as possible everywhere I stopped.
It was a great trip at the right time.
That ten days capped off six months of re-learning how to live life on my terms. How to rationally think through and spec out the kind of life I wanted, then doing what it took to make it happen. Then living it. And living it on the road, in places that were new to me, where I didn’t know anyone, and, therefore, had to adapt, improvise, succeed with no companion or wingman. Any last vestiges of hesitation in social situations were burned away without my realizing it at first.
People who harp about mindset, meditation, etc. usual fail in this sense: having control of one’s mind and will is an important thing, but true changes only come from action, from doing. Discipline in daily behaviors and routines is part of it. Getting out of your ruts and routines is the rest, and it will never feel right before you’ve done it, and done it repeatedly.
Men need to journey alone at times. It leads to true self-discovery, and true re-creation of what we’re capable of. It is a key component to growth so long as we push ourselves, test ourselves.
For this particular trip, ten days had been long enough. I was missing home, missing the South. Real iced tea and Southern women. A quick, two-hour flight put me back where I came from. The comfort of home was most welcome. Magnolias and dogwoods and longleaf pines with their massive cones like fire hydrant caps.
Just a year earlier I’d still been married and just starting that painful transition. I was worried about myself. My health insurance had been through my ex’s job. The kids were angry. Hell, everyone was angry. Finances would have to be reworked, etc.. Ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
Those are all problems that can be easily solved. The real problems: your own fear, insecurity, unhealthy attachments, and generally soy behavior, not so much.
Home again, it seemed like it had been much longer than a year. Every problem, every pain point still existed, sure, but existed as a mere objective fact: It’s a sunny day. There’s a lamp in the corner of my den. I used to be married. I used to defer. I used to be a nice guy. Or even a not so nice guy playing by others’ rules:
“I have served. I will be of service.” — John Wick.
You’re not John Wick. Your wife is not The High Table. Nor is the church. Nor are tradcons, feminists, or women in general. Follow your own path and you will become a target. And you will become stronger than you ever thought possible.
It will scare the shit out of everyone who can’t or won’t do it: “It’s not healthy for you to date multiple women”; “You’re going to die alone”; “Dating women twenty years younger than you is just wrong”.
Fuck that noise. Go forth and conquer.