RSD Goes To St. Patty's Day

Man, choices choices...

I had to miss out on this one to tour Mexico. Wish I was there.

Ridiculous article and multimedia extravaganza on Alex's blog. Run over right now and check it out.

www.alexattitude.com

And leave the dude some comments!!

See you soon.


Tyler

Hot Link: Tim's Rooftop Seminar Q&A

Tim and I are in Los Angeles right now, just heading off to Aspen for the X-Games with the crew tommorow morning.

This past week we were in Honolulu Hawaii producing the upcoming "Flawless Natural Superconference" (www.naturalsuperconference.com) and doing a bit of speaking for a local PUA group out there.

This was Tim's first speaking engagement in a long time as he was off DJ'ing in Australia this past year. The seminar takes place on a rooftop in Honolulu (not to be confused with the rooftop in the picture above -- which is in LA) and towards the tail end I thought to run downstairs and grab my nightvision camera to make a videorecording for you guys.

It's just the Q&A at the end that I got but I'm sure you'll take something out of it regardless -- you can find right now at www.naturaltim.com.


Tyler

PS: I think Tim's uploaded the first video today and will have the second one up at some point very soon.

Jeffy Show Countdown Article #3: The "Now" Is All There Ever Is...

(Note: This is part 3 in a 3 part series of Jeffy articles in anticipation ofthe October 31 2007, 12PM EST release of "The Jeffy Show" -- invest 5 seconds into your success and go to www.jeffyshow.com right now to see the new site.)

Check it out.

I already got more nicknames than my boy Marshall Mathers... but now I done gone and got myself a new one:

"Skate Dad."

Well golly shucks.

That’s right: at the young age of 31, I’ve taken up skateboarding.

The guys joke that I’m like that old guy that tries to be all cool and down with hip and trendy youth culture… he’s got a pink mohawk, standing on the porch giving a thumbs-up and yelling, “HEY DUDES! RADICAL!!” while the kids just sort of look at each other and shake their heads in embarrassment.

One thing that I’m always doing is pushing myself to learn new skills. It’s that philosophy of constant and never-ending improvement, striving to become a more well-rounded person. If those skills happen to involve some kind of athletic activity, all the better.

In any case, an interesting side-effect of all this is that it keeps me tuned in to the mentality of the layman. When you first attempt to take on a new skill set, skateboarding, pickup, whatever, there’s invariably going to be a learning curve, the beginning of which is typically quite frustrating.


When you’ve been doing something for five years, like I've been doing with this pickup game, it’s easy to lose sight of that.

As an Executive Coach with Real Social Dynamics, I've got to take guys who are more often than not full-blown novices, and get them up to speed in the course of 21 hours... week in and week out.

By continually taking on new challenges, it helps me to stay grounded so that I can better understand what my students are going through when they take a Bootcamp. Being in touch with that “layman mentality” helps us to connect, and that's something that's vital when you're dealing with an intense self-actualization experience like a Bootcamp, if you want to maximize results.

So anyway, when you’re learning how to skate, the most basic thing you need to know is how to perform an ollie. If you can't do this, you have no business calling yourself a skater.

It's that simple.

This is where you jump and you pop the board up in the air with you, without grabbing it. It’s the basis of almost every other trick in skateboarding.

You have to jump, pop the tail, slide your foot to the front of the board to bring it level, and then land it flat. It might sound easy, but it’s not. It’s all about timing, and the timing has to be PERFECT.


I mean, when you're first learning it, it's TOUGH. It took me two weeks of practicing several hours every day before I could do it STATIONARY. Two weeks of falling on my ass over and OVER again, getting back up, and trying again. Jump, fall off, the board shoots out, etc. But every single time, I’d get back up and immediately try again.

It's hard work. I'd stand there, sweating like a pig, breathing heavily, bruised up and at times getting extremely annoyed.

But something COMPELLED me to keep going.

Because while all this was happening, I’d get these little flashes of insight. Like, I’d fall off, but I’d get a glimpse of how it was SUPPOSED to feel. And *that* is what kept me going.

"Now we can end the story right here
But shorty didn't quit there was something in the air
Yea, he said it was something so appealing
He couldn't fight the feeling
Something about it…"

And then one day, finally, it happened.

I GOT IT.

I put it all together, and hit the trick. You know, when you just KNOW. “Yep, that was it.” It felt so smooth, so natural.

It felt like MAGIC.

And that’s when I knew I was hooked.

Learning the pickup game is remarkably similar.

You go out to the club and try it out, and at first it’s this epic uphill battle, with blowout after backturn after blowout. Slowly, however, you start to understand what needs to happen.

You keep at it, and you start to have success, albeit in a limited way. After a while, you internalize the necessary principles more and more, and you eventually get to a point where it becomes almost unconscious.

One minute you're over here, leveling through life with a skill set that’s not quite there, and the next moment you have this breakthrough where you’re off to the races and your inner player is awake, alive and taking care of business.

Next thing you know, you start "feeling yourself," and you begin to get a little more “swagger in your style.” You start pulling off more advanced stuff.

And you start having a hell of a lot of fun.

I’ve always said this game is a KNACK, like learning to snap your fingers or whistle. It’s admittedly a lot more complex than that, but it’s still a knack. With practice, the skills needed to approach and attract a woman you’ve never met before get hardwired into your kinesthetic memory. Those neural pathways become strengthened and thickened, bit by bit.

Skateboarding, pickup, whatever… it’s essentially the same process.



The difference is, when you fall in this game, you don’t get a cool scar.

Sometimes, you just get straight fucked.

SAN FRANCISCO, earlier this year. I‘ve just gotten back from Australia and I’m due to spend a while here, at home. I’ve been rolling around the clubs, meeting people, enjoying myself.

So I get this girl’s number and call her up. The first date goes well, we end up back at her place, things get pretty intense but I don’t close the deal. She’s just not ready, and that’s fine. I leave feeling pretty chipper, I’m walking on sunshine.

About a week later, we go out again. I meet her for a low-key dinner. As I walk into the place, I see her sitting there, and she’s looking hot like a tea pot. Damn. We kiss and settle in for the meal.

During dinner, things are going better than I even expected. It’s like the heavens have parted, little cartoon birds are flying around our heads and smiling. It’s perfect.

So it’s getting time to leave, and she says, “Hmmm, it’s still pretty early, what do you want to do?”

I go, “Well, we could go out to the karaoke bar.” I hesitate for a second. “Or… we could go back to your place and I could fuck the shit out of you.”

Something instantly changes behind her eyes.

I know I’ve made a critical mistake.

DURRRRR

Dumbass!!


We drive back to her place in my car, listening to chodely lite rock. There is an odd, somber vibe in the air. As we pull into her driveway, she turns to me and says, “Sorry, I can’t let you come up.”

For a moment, I wonder if (vainly hope) she's joking, and I laugh, “Hahah, yeah. Anyway, let’s go.”

She says, “I’m serious.”

And I know... that's that.

"Done, son!"

I sit there, stunned, saying nothing with a wan smile on my face. The car is silent except for the radio, which is playing “Africa” by Toto.

doo doo doo doo doodoo do doooooooooooo (boop boop boop boop boop boop boop boop boop boop boop boop boop boop)

...

It's interminable. Finally, she breaks the silence. “What’s going on? Are you speechless? Upset? Listening to Toto? All three?”

I sigh and continue to stare out the windshield. Ten seconds pass.

Eventually, I sort of murmur, “No… it’s fine.”

I get out of the car, walk around and open her door. “You have a good day tomorrow.” She gets out and I give her a little kiss.

She looks sad. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Me too,” I say.

I am.

I get back in my car and drive away.

:/

In the car, I am distracted. So much that I can barely even drive. I’m confused. I feel like something inside of me has been DESTROYED.

I am *HURT*.

I know what I did was wrong. I was miscalibrated. That certainly wasn't the first time I'd uttered that particular phrase over dinner; a different girl would have laughed her ass off at the comment and pulled me back to her place for wild times of love and glory. Many have.

She, uhhhh... she DIDN'T.

I had misread the play, and badly. Right before I said it, I'd hesitated. A familiar alarm, installed fastidiously over my five long, hard years of field experience, had gone off…

“DO NOT SAY THAT!”

But I disregarded it. I went ahead and said it anyway. After all this time, I should have known better. When that intuition hits, you trust it.



I didn’t, and I paid the price. Sure, maybe I could have saved it by being unreactive and leading when we got back to her place, but I sort of didn't even want to at that point.

I'm dazed and stunned. It's been a long time since I fucked up this bad, and I'm in a state of shock. It all happened so quickly.

I mean, I thought this girl was ON MY TEAM.

Up until my vulgar little remark, we'd had a great connection. It was legit. It was like we were in our own little bubble of love or something.

How could she do this to me? To US?

The fact is, I screwed up. It happens.

It was only ONE error, but sometimes that’s all it takes. When all is said and done, there are rules to this game and if you want to win, you’ve got to play by them. No matter how much you think she’s into you, no matter how much she IS into you, if you give the wrong stimulus, you’re going to get a poor response.

Garbage in, garbage out.

Why does it hurt so bad even though I KNOW this? What’s really going on here?

Emotional fitness is an ongoing process. Years ago, when I'd drop the ball or if things went sideways, I’d be fully wallowing in the grip of the angst and anguish, oblivious to what was really going on. Now, even though it still SUCKS, I’m at least aware of what’s happening.

Nonetheless, as I drive along, the negative feeling is almost suffocating. My mind is doing everything it can to analyze and label what just happened. "She treated me like some kind of scumbag... some kind of criminal!"

Suddenly, I'm reminded of our good friend Eckhart Tolle. I sigh and say to myself, “No, Jeff. SHE didn’t do anything. Relax.”


What’s really happening, RIGHT NOW?

Well, let's see. I’m driving. I’m listening to some cool song on the radio. Normally, under these circumstances I’d be loving life, as I usually do, rolling along with a smile on my face and bopping my head to the beat.

But I’m not HERE. I’m back at that girl’s house, sitting in stunned silence with her in the car.

It hurts, but by being aware of it, by accepting it now, it begins to dissipate. Slowly.

See, this pain is far worse than a busted lip or broken bone. Because it is a wound to the EGO.

Our ego is this little story we invent, alone in a hostile universe, fragile. It longs for wholeness, for an end to the Self-Other duality. Sexual connection and intimacy is the highest expression of that “wholeness” that we can experience in the physical realm.

At the restaurant, gazing into that beautiful girl’s eyes, I felt ALIVE… intense… special. That feeling was magnified by the fact that SHE wanted ME too. We were alone in our own world of love and sweetness.

This is why the game can be so exhilarating. When you’re getting that validation, it’s like the most incredible high there is.

But when the girl behaves in ways that fail to meet your ego needs, the pain body flares up, bigger than ever.

Tolle defines the “pain body” as follows:

“The pain-body is an energy field, almost like an entity, that has become lodged in your inner space. It is life energy that has become trapped, energy that is no longer flowing. Of course, the pain-body is there because of certain things that happened in the past. It is the living part of you, and you identify with the past.

A victim identity is the belief that the past is more powerful than the present, which is the opposite of the truth. It is the belief that other people and what they did to you are responsible for who you are now, for your emotional pain or your inability to be your true self.

The truth is that the only power there is, is contained within this moment: it is the power of your presence.”

So when the ego gets wounded in a situation like this, the pain you feel is not something new that’s being introduced. It’s already there.

Many times, when we’re gaming, our motivations are skewed; we’re using sex and the validation that comes with it as a way to mask that pain.

You have to understand that the “game” will not save you or make you happy. If you think it will, that’s when it becomes the drug, the addiction.


As Tim says, “Girls are not the golden treasure that will save your life. The golden treasure is YOU.”

True love is not some external thing. It is INSIDE you.

If you really want to get to the highest levels of this game, you have to stop judging yourself. For that matter, you have to stop judging OTHERS as well.

In the course of my pickup “career,” I’ve had many craptacular failures like the one here. They happen less and less these days, but every once in a while, they do still happen. And while they surely can (and do) SUCK, these failures have often taught me my most intense lessons.

They have helped me to discard disempowering identity patterns.

They have taught me the value of having depth, humility, and compassion.

They are a part of life, which is, at the end of the day, an essentially ABSURD situation.

Not long after The Jeffy Show had been recorded, Tyler asked me to come up with a subtitle for the program. I thought for a moment, and the very first thing that popped into my head was “Advanced Dating Strategies for an Absurd Universe.”

It just worked.

See, a long time ago, back in the early days, Tyler once said to me, “Jlaix, you’re not an insane maniac. You’re a poser insane maniac. You’re just dealing with the absurdity of existence by shoving absurdity back down existence’s throat.”

That statement really struck a chord with me, because this was actually something that I’d been keenly aware of for a long time.

Back in high school, I read a philosophical essay by the French author Albert Camus called "The Myth of Sisyphus."

Though it was a small work, it made a big impression on me. In the essay, Camus introduces his philosophy of the absurd: man's futile search for meaning, unity and clarity in the face of an unintelligible world.

Does the realization of the absurd require suicide? Camus answers: "No. It requires revolt."

The final chapter compares the absurdity of man's life with the situation of Sisyphus, a figure of Greek mythology who was condemned to repeat forever the same meaningless task of pushing a rock up a mountain, only to see it roll down again. The essay concludes, "The struggle itself is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

Everything is honored, but nothing really matters.

If you excessively focus on the goal, that “someday” when you will finally be “good at this stuff,” you are reducing the now to a stepping stone. The process ceases to be an adventure, and becomes an obsessive need to arrive, to MAKE IT.

It’s one of the more difficult things to do, but you have to train yourself to detach from outcome.

Always, ALWAYS, draw your state from within. Learn to accept, enjoy and be enthused about the journey. This is the essence of what I refer to as THE NIMBUS. It’s happiness. It’s FUN.

It’s a celebration of life.

Think of it as your dharma, your duty to GOD.

I’m only half joking.

The Bhagavad Gita, an ancient Hindu text, says this on the subject:

"You have a right to perform your prescribed duty, but you are not entitled to the fruits of action. Act for action’s sake, and never be attached to not doing your duty.

"Self-possessed, resolute, act, abandoning all attachment to success or failure.

“The wise man lets go of all results, whether good or bad, and is focused on the action alone.

"A Self-realized man has no purpose to fulfill in the discharge of his prescribed duties, nor has he any reason not to perform such work. Nor has he any need to depend on any other living being."

"Therefore, without being attached to the fruits of activities, one should act as a matter of duty, for by working without attachment one attains the Supreme."

This game can be frightening, tedious and/or painful, or it can be an exciting and pleasurable pastime. It all depends on the inner attitude and peace of mind (or the lack of it).

I remember when I first understood this. I was leaving Spain after having been there for several months to train Ozzie, who had just joined the crew. During that time, I had worked very hard to change my health situation, both inside and out. Dialing that internal compass had been the last piece of the puzzle, the missing component of my game that had left me with a disturbing feeling of hollowness for so long.

As I sat in the cab on the way to the airport, I looked wistfully out the window and nodded slowly. Something had fundamentally changed, and it wasn’t just on some superficial level. There would still be challenges, but when it came right down to it, I had WON.

I knew it.

Everything was gonna be okay.

As I pull up to my house after my disastrous “date,” all of this is swirling in my head. I feel better. Grounded. There’s always next time, and there’s always a chance to turn things around. Suddenly, in an odd case of synchronicity, Pink Floyd comes on the radio, and I smile.

See, it was Tyler’s birthday recently, and I sent him a copy of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon.” Since Tyler was the one that turned me on to Eckhart Tolle, I thought he’d appreciate some of the themes the album deals with. In particular, I felt he would enjoy the song “Time.” It’s one of my favorites, a true classic.

The first concert I ever went to was Pink Floyd at the Rose Bowl in Los Angeles, way back in 1994. I sat eighth row, dead center, and the experience blew me away. I scrounged up this video on Youtube which I believe may be from that very concert. Watch it and see if you can spot me.

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time has gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say"

Did you see me? I was the one with the purple hair.

Anyway, the lyrics of the song deal with Roger Waters’s realization that life is not about preparing yourself for what happens next, but about grabbing control of your own destiny.

To me, this message is CRUCIAL.

So many guys sit around doing nothing and say to themselves, “I’ll get around to that eventually.” Or they endlessly *prepare* and never take action.

You see, it isn’t TIME that’s precious, because time is an illusion.

The “now” is precious, because it’s what most of us miss.

As Tolle says, “It’s the most precious thing because it’s the ONLY thing."

Any work toward planning or achieving goals happens NOW.

Honor that moment.


Anyway, this post is the last of my three as guest host of the blog, and it’s been a lot of work, but I’ve also enjoyed it immensely. It also means that the release of The Jeffy Show is now upon us.

You know how much work we’ve put into this thing. You’ve seen the preview videos. You’ve heard the testimonials.

Now... finally... it‘s here. And it’s time to get a hold of your own copy.

I don’t care if you’ve never spoken to a woman before in your life. Or if you’re just starting out. Or if you’ve driven your last six relationships straight into the ground. Or even if you haven’t got a clue what you should say, or how you should say it.

None of that matters.

The only thing that matters now is your desire to get on the bus. To start spitting game that brings in sex and babes and new women in a flood, fast and furious.

So please… if you’re at all interested in checking out this material, and seeing what all this fuss is about… DO IT NOW.

This is your only life.

Stop waiting around for your life to start.

Start it yourself.

Start it now.

Hustle to the link below, and get your copy of The Jeffy Show.

I’ll catch you later.


-jlaix
www.jeffyshow.com

Jeffy Show Countdown Article #2: American Billionaire

(Note: This is part 2 in a 3 part series of Jeffy articles in anticipation of the October 31 2007, 12PM EST release of "The Jeffy Show" -- invest 5 seconds into your success and go to www.jeffyshow.com right now to see the new site.)

Porto Cervo, Sardinia.

I step out on the balcony, squinting against the fading sunlight of the afternoon. The scene before me is spectacular: a cozy marina tucked amidst green hills and valleys, unspoiled by man save for the numerous low-slung buildings with adobe-tiled roofs. Live music wafts over gently from across the water.

Looking at this, you might think you were living in some sort of mystical realm from days of yore, except for one thing: the harbor is filled with gargantuan, multi-million-dollar yachts.

This is Italy’s Emerald Coast, a ridiculously exclusive holiday destination for mega-ballers the world over, from Saudi princes to Jay-Z. I’m here with my boys on the RSD Executive Retreat.

Twice a year, the crew gets together in some exotic locale to catch up and get a little much-needed R&R. This, in my opinion, is incredibly valuable, and one of those little things that set our company apart.

With coaches scattered all over the globe, we don’t often get the chance to hang out and just shoot the breeze. The Executive Retreat makes that a possibility. It’s an opportunity for us to exchange new ideas about the game, new developments we’ve made in our individual programs, etc.

Think of it like a brain trust, a mastermind group. Whatever.

Anyway, this summer we’ve chosen Italy, and it’s been awesome. Ten days of pure relaxation, sipping on flutes of prosecco by the pool, checking out some of the world’s most famous cultural icons, and just unwinding after six long months of flying around the world doing back-to-back Bootcamps every weekend.

Logically, I shouldn’t have a care in the world. But in the back of my mind, there’s a nagging little ‘something’ that I can’t shake.

Two weeks from now, I’ve got to run a Bootcamp in Rome.

I know what you’re thinking. “Yeah? So what? You’ve done hundreds of these things… how is this any different?”

Here’s the deal: thus far, my experience in the clubs here has NOT been pretty.

Nobody speaks English (shocking, I know). Verbal game is rendered useless; all you can do is launch the CLAW and hope for the best.

Nonetheless, we’ve been slogging it out like good little soldiers, and generally going down in a blaze of glory, as the song goes. Basically, my approaches have been looking something like this: walk up to Italian girl, CLAW, it opens, she realizes I’m an American that can’t speak her language, blown out.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

But you know what? That’s all fine and dandy.

I’ve long since divorced any sort of emotion from my success or lack thereof in the field. And partying hasn’t really been the focus of this trip for me anyway… I came to relax. When your entire LIFE is game, it’s nice to just chill out for a while. Necessary, even.

In two weeks, however, that’s not going to be an option. In two weeks, I will be going out with some fine gentlemen who have expended considerable resources in order to be taught this skill. It will be my job to inspire these men, to show them how a real playboy GETS IT DONE.

And I’ll have to do it without verbal game.

–gulp-

I think back to 2003, when I first joined up with RSD. I was an unpaid “guest instructor/trainee” and to be honest, at times I felt pretty lost. For the first six months or so, I was kind of treading water, just hoping that nobody would notice that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

Over time though, I learned the ins and outs of Bootcamp administration. Make no mistake, there’s a very unique skill set that’s involved.

You need to see exactly what these people are doing wrong, and you have to know how to fix it, fast.

When they ask you a question about girls on the street, the dance floor, hell – the moon – you’d better have an answer.

It’s not just that though. Your students expect you to sort them out right down to the level of core self-image.

When they get scared, you have to reassure them. When they get down on themselves, you’ve got to pull out your best Braveheart impression, CPR their ass out of it, and get them back in the fight.

When they freak out because your advice hits too close to a nerve – and sometimes it will – you need to chill them out while standing your ground.

If they don’t learn because they can’t see past THEIR OWN EGOS – it’s YOUR fault.

Whatever goes wrong is always YOUR fault. Always.

And that’s fine.

Some people wonder why it’s so expensive to take a Bootcamp; I wonder why it’s so cheap.

And that’s one night of one Bootcamp.

I’ve been doing this three nights a week, every single weekend. For four years.

I’ll say it again. That’s FOUR YEARS.

That’s the kind of pressure that either breaks a guy or makes a guy.

I’m proud to say I’ve done more than survive it... I’ve thrived.

Now, I’m so proficient it’s literally SICK. I could (and HAVE) run a program with two cracked ribs, food poisoning and a 102 degree fever and still get them a good result.

I’m a professional, plain and simple.

Regardless, even after four years, the bottom line in this biz is still “produce or go home.” It always has been, unequivocally.

No matter how seasoned you are, you never have the luxury of having an “off night.”

If you have a bad night, the student will have a bad night as well. If you mess up, thousands will hear about it online. In graphic detail. At length. Three times over.

I can’t have a mediocre night. I don’t have that option. I have to deliver nothing less than inspirational brilliance.

And you know what?

I’m totally fine with that, too.

Rock and roll, deal with it.

But THIS, this is something entirely new. Now you’re telling me I have to attract girls who won’t be able to understand a word I’m saying?

Oh man.

In light of my dismal performance here thus far, this Bootcamp could very well turn out to be a disaster.

The day of the program arrives. I look in the mirror. “All right, buddy,” I say, “Let’s do this.”

In the elevator, my heart is racing. It feels like there’s ice melting in my chest. I walk into the hotel lobby and meet the students.

Introductions are made, and we sit down to talk. They have that look in their eyes. It says, “I’m ready to learn. I’m counting on you to help me. Teach me.”

And something clicks. All that static EVAPORATES. A smirk creeps across my face. My eyes narrow. I KNOW.

Jlaix is here, bitches.

We hit up this open air club on the bank of the Tiber and it’s dreamtime. I’m adrift in a sea of gypsy mullets, a parade of ridiculous clothes with no sleeves and sparkly stones on the ass. As if on cue, the DJ drops the ubiquitous club hit of the summer, “Relax” by Mika. The whole trip, every club, bar, pizza shop, and passing car in Italy has been bumping this track.

Relax, take it easy
For there is nothing that we can do.
Relax, take it easy
Blame it on me or blame it on you.

It’s as if I’m scared.
It’s as if I’m terrified.
It’s as if I scared.
It’s as if I’m playing with fire.
Scared.
It’s as if I’m terrified.
Are you scared?
Are we playing with fire?

All of a sudden, it doesn’t matter that I can’t speak Italian. It doesn’t matter at all. My nimbus ignites; I go super saiyan and blast off.

I’m spouting straight nonsense. I roll up on them, simultaneously flashing my Giant Iced-Out Pinky Ring and iPhone and I yell, "You like American Billionaire?! Yes?! BILL-EE-OH-NAIRE!!"

This elicits either massive giggling followed by an almost child-like fascination with the phone, or a disgusted sneer followed by a backturn. “RIGHTO!”

All concerns about “looking bad” in front of the students are GONE. They can see how utterly unfazed I am by any sort of less-than-favorable response. I am completely unaffected, swirling through the club with that dumb grin on my face, bopping around, clapping. I’m clearly drawing my state from within, as opposed to from the environment.

I encounter a group of sixteen-year-olds with rudimentary English skills, getting wasted on the dance floor. After regaling them with the "American Billionaire" bit, they begin pawing at the phone in a fashion reminiscent of the protohumans in "2001: A Space Odyssey" when they first stumble upon the monolith.

I inform them that we just arrived in our yacht with 50 Cent, and we are here to "drill for oil under the Vatican in order to fund our War of Terror." I begin quizzing the blonde about her oral hygiene habits.

Flossin'.

By the end of the night, I’m off in a corner with a Brazilian girl who happens to have huge boobs, examining her necklaces. “Where’d you get these?” I ask.

“Brazil,” she replies.

I grab her tits with both hands and give her the wolf smile. “How about these? You get these in Brazil too?” The student’s chilling off to the side; I wink at him and proceed to make out with her.

Nice.

See, at the end of the day, my apprehension about the program proved to be unfounded. And on a certain level, I knew that all along, from the very beginning.

Let’s face it: I’m a bit of a drama queen.

Don’t get me wrong, I knew it would be challenging. There was indeed a very real possibility that I would blow the program. After all, up to that point none of my approaches in Italy had gone well.

But those approaches were on MY time. If they didn’t work out, oh well, no biggie, grab another Peroni and take a nap on the beach.

Once that Bootcamp started, however, it was a whole new ballgame. No more excuses. With the students depending on me, I HAD TO make it happen, no matter what the cost. They gave me the LEVERAGE to do what was necessary to succeed.

If you’re familiar with Tony Robbins, you’ve probably heard him talk about this.

“A lever is a device that we utilize in order to lift or move a tremendous burden we could not manage on our own. In my experience, 20% of any change is knowing ‘how to change’ but 80% is knowing ‘why you must.’

Change requires more than just establishing the knowledge that you should change. It is about knowing at the deepest, most basic emotional level that you must change. If we gather a strong enough set of reasons, we can change in a minute something we’ve failed to change for years.

Those reasons—the why—are what provide the leverage. And the greatest leverage you can create for yourself is the pain that comes from inside, not outside. The pain of knowing that you have failed to live up to your own standards for your life.

Access enough leverage and there will be nothing you can’t change.”

What you’ve gotta understand is this:

I *chose* to do the Rome Bootcamp, knowing full well ahead of time that it would be challenging… dangerously so.

I made the decision to put the program up on the schedule. I put myself in that position intentionally, because I realize that the times of my life when I’ve experienced the greatest, most rapid growth have been in those “do or die” situations.

Before the program, it was, “Yeah, I should pick up some of these Italian girls. That would be pretty cool.”

During the program, it was, “I MUST pick these girls up. Right now.”

If you want to get good at this stuff, you have to find a way to get this kind of leverage on yourself. Otherwise, you’re going to flounder around at it half-heartedly and you’re just not going to see the results you want.

I’ve been using this same principle since the very beginning of my pickup “career.”

At age 26, after a series of mind-bogglingly disastrous monogamous relationships, I decided that I’d had ENOUGH.

It was time to take the power back. Time to become a player.

Granted, my motivations for getting into the game were less than noble at the time, and they’ve since evolved. Regardless, my mission statement, my prime directive if you will, was crystal clear:

GET LAID OR DIE TRYING.

I had the HUNGER. I was going to get this area handled, no matter how hard it was or how long it took.

It was not a “should.” It was a “MUST.”

I remember those first awkward months of going out and trying this stuff out. Of course, back then there was no RSD; there were no formal schools or professional-level resources available to help guys get good with women. I’d simply read the seduction groups on Usenet and then hit the club, trying out anything and everything and seeing what would stick.

And to be honest, not a whole lot did.

It was rough as hell. I’d get blown out super hard, with girls calling me a moron, jerk, and any other pejorative you can think of. It was terrifying and humiliating all at once.

After yet another horrible night, I’d arrive home, alone, in a drunken rage, and throw my television out the front window (yes, I actually did that). I’d pace around the house, berating myself. “What are you doing? You’re NOT getting better at this, you’re just making a fool of yourself,” etc.

But I kept at it. I didn’t quit, because that was NOT an option. I was going to get good at this… there was simply no alternative.

And eventually, I did begin to get better. And that’s when the game started to get FUN.

Like, REALLY REALLY fun.

Over the years, as I evolved and matured, I continued to put myself into situations that REQUIRED brilliance, in order to relentlessly push myself further.

This is related to the CLOSER mentality. It’s the attitude that separates the great from the merely “good.”

You’ve got to make that decision. Start by associating massive pain to your “chode” identity and behaviors, and begin to get excited about your new identity: that of a cool, social, naturally attractive MAN.

Chode time is over. NO MORE.

At the end of the program in Rome, I say goodbye to my students. This time, there’s a different look in their eyes. A look of conviction, with a magical little twinkle behind it all. They’ve gotten the leverage, and they’ve flipped the switch. Great things are in their future.

The very next weekend, I do a program in London.

We’re in Tiger Tiger, the cheesiest club in all of London, maybe the world. I’m doing a demonstration for the students, and it’s on. I’m pitch-perfect. I befriend the peer group, kiss the girl, get her phone number and eject. The whole thing takes about ten minutes.

I walk back over to the students. I ask, “All right guys, did you see that?”

Two of the guys are grinning… hell yeah they saw it. But the third guy goes, “No, I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.”

I give him a stern glare and sigh. “Damn it, now I’m gonna have to do it again. WATCH THIS TIME.”

I look around, and very purposefully saunter up to the first set of attractive girls I see.

“OH MY GOD YOU GUYS,” I say, “you are the most glorious and lovely vixens I have ever seen in my fucking life. I just want to hug you!” I give them a group hug and they’re all smiles, loving it. I close in on the hottest of the group and give her the laser eyes. I murmur, “And this one…” I cut the distance and kiss her; she kisses back.

The whole thing takes about twenty seconds.

And so it goes.

When I got back to San Francisco at long last, I decided to take a little time off to recharge my batteries and prepare for the launch of The Jeffy Show.

It’s been five weeks of reading, reconnecting with my “civilian” friends, going to the gym, writing, sex, cooking, playing Aerobie in the park with no shirt on like my hero Matthew McConaughey, etc. It’s been nice.

Now my vacation’s over. I’ve got three students on deck for this weekend. And a tiny little part of me wonders, “Am I rusty? Maybe I took too much time off. Am I gonna be able to deliver the outstanding program these guys deserve?”

What do you think?

Heheheh.

Take your passion and make it happen.

-jlaix
www.jeffyshow.com

Jeffy Show Countdown Article #1: It's A TOUGH RACKET Out There

(Note: This is part 1 in a 3 part series of Jeffy articles in anticipation of the October 31 2007, 12PM EST release of "The Jeffy Show" -- invest 5 seconds into your success and go to www.jeffyshow.com right now to see the new site.)

Sunday morning. I wake up in New York City after another crazy night out on Bootcamp.

I’ve been here for two weeks. My previous visits to NYC were always done commando-style: BOOM, in and out in a couple of days. Now that I’ve had the time to really immerse myself in the culture, I can see why people love it here.

Alexander and I have been on a rampage, just soaking it up...

Trips to the SoHo bagel shop with the little old lady giving “service with a fawkin’ smile.” Day game in Washington Square Park on a sunny afternoon. Swanky rooftop clubs of glory. We’re running through this piece like the Tasmanian Devil on crack.


It’s been tiring, no doubt. But there’s still work to be done.

It’s the final day of the Blueprint Superconference here in New York, and I want to bask in some of the Tyler wisdom before I head out on program again tonight.

Yeah, that’s right: despite the fact that I’m close friends with the guy and hear him yammer on incessantly about this stuff on the daily, I still want to attend the damn thing.

It’s that good.

I head down and get some coffee at the Dunkin’ Donuts (when are we getting these in Cali?!) and meander back up to the conference room.

Papa’s sitting at the registration table out front, looking intently at his laptop. “What’s up dude,” he says, “the Jeffy page just went live.”

He’s talking about the sales copy for the Transformations DVDs. Basically, Tyler had an idea for a campaign where we’d post up BEFORE and AFTER pics of the Transformations speakers, to really hammer home what it is we’re talking about here.

(You can see the final page here: http://www.becometransformed.com/jeffy)

So anyway, I’m like, “Awesome, lemme see it!”

He calls up the page. The photos are, of course, hilarious. Then I start reading the sales copy below it.

It’s basically several pages of Tyler making me out to be the greatest thing since sliced bread. Like, I’m God’s gift to game or something. Some choice excerpts:

“Over the next several months, we watched in astonishment as Jeffy went from being a “solid” guy in terms of women, to eventually pulling off some of the most intense results we had ever seen.

He was having success with phenomenally attractive girls on a more and more consistent basis, and eventually started getting some of the most top-notch results with women that I’ve ever personally seen… from *anybody*.

He’s on anyone in-the-know’s “Top 5 In The World” list at this point.

Not only is the guy the “consummate professional” in terms of how seriously he takes his job, but on any given night he’s absolutely unstoppable.”

As I read this, I’m a bit taken aback.

I’m mean, sure, I’m pretty good… but am I really *that* good? How the hell can I live up to this hyperbole?

Tyler’s in the conference room… I hear him talking about how to LORD over the club and have the turbo girls clinging to you.

I think to myself, “Am I a fraud? I mean, sure, I’ve done some incredible things, but it’s been a while since I had a real glory pull. What the hell am I doing? This is way over the top. I am a LIAR.”

I’m reminded of Alec Baldwin in the movie “Glengarry Glen Ross” where he’s mocking the salesmen on their inability to close… “You’ll be some loser sitting at the bar… ‘oh, I used to be good… it’s a tough racket!”

(Great clip BTW… but more on that later…)

I hand the laptop back and settle in for the Superconference. But I still have this unsettling feeling.

I know that the RSD program is the best out there… my students’ RESULTS week in and week out prove it.

BUT… “top five in the world”? Am I really that good? Hmmmmm….

Flash forward to that evening. Final night of bootcamp for the guys who were taking the Superconference.

These guys are HARD CORE… they’ve put in 14 hour days this weekend, and it shows in their faces and demeanor.

They’re tired.

So am I.

None of this matters a damn. Time to execute.

We take them out to the Lower East Side and split up. Alex takes two, and I take three.

Not much going on in the bars here. Oh well, that’s to be expected on a Sunday night, I suppose. We settle into a little boutique lounge; get a couple of fancy pants cocktails and I start to reel off my finest seminar, digging deep. There’s literally nobody in the place except us, the bar staff and a couple of older guys off to the side having a drink.

We’ve been there for about twenty minutes when all of a sudden, the doors fling open and these two little hellions swirl in.

What the hell… it’s a pair of bona fide nines, all dolled up to the gills for a night on the town in bangshorts and sparkleface. All eyes in the place are on them as they ruckus up to the bar and get their little drinks.

They start clinging on the guys off to the side, telling them how good they smell… okay. I turn to the students and loudly proclaim, “Prostitutes.”

They look over. The students jump on them, asking, “Well how do I smell,” etc. I just lay back and let the guys have the set, after all, it’s probs the only one we’re gonna see tonight.

The girls, however, keep casting these glances over at me as I sit there in the corner, saying nothing.

My nimbus is smoldering.

“I don’t like that one,” one of them says, pointing at me. “He’s the one that screws it up for you guys when you’re talking to girls, huh?”

Everybody laughs at the irony.

They start in on me, hard. “Look at his shirt,” the first one says, “you’re gay, aren’t you?”

I sigh. “Why, you looking for blowjob tips?” Zing!

They keep at it… talking mad trash. A little alarm goes off in my head. I know what this means.

The bigger the test, the bigger the attraction built when you pass it. These girls want me… I just have to stand my ground. The other one says, “Just admit it, you’ll be much happier… you like it up the ass.”

“Hey,” I reply, “that doesn’t make me gay!”

The first girl sidles up and continues to poke at me. I am completely unreactive. I smirk and look her up and down. Her face gets close to mine. “Feel the tension,” she says, “feel it… feel it…” Closer, closer…

Tonguedown deluxe!


The other one comes up and wants some. “Commere,” I say…

Tonguedown, part two!

“Now make out with her,” I command. They start making out with each other.

“Now all of us.” Commence three-way makeout.

I’ve got my hands down their pants now, this is getting scandalous. The students, the other bar patrons, the staff, they’re all watching this go down with their jaws on the floor. I’m basically threesoming a couple of nines in the bar, surrounded by like ten dudes.

The students are stunned, and with good reason. They’re seeing everything Tyler talked about in the Superconference, in REAL LIFE. Like, “Oh, so it actually IS real!”

And all of a sudden, it hits me like a bolt from the blue.

I remember.

“Oh, right. I *am* one of the best. DUH.”

Believe the hype, bitches.

I’m literally not doing a damn thing except refusing to qualify myself, projecting 100% core confidence, escalating assertively and exuding positivity, with that dumb smirk on my face.

The girls want me to go home with them and finish the job, they’re trying to pull me into the cab. But I’ve got a Bootcamp to complete. Kissy kiss, and they’re off into the night. One of the students is shocked that I decided to stay and commends my work ethic.

Hahaha that’s how I roll yo. I’ve had plenty of threesomes with 9s before, this program is all that matters to me right now.

I get a text from Alexander: “I have secured our Omega Uniforms. I am at x location.” Not sure what that means, but hey.

We all roll off, meet up with the other guys and proceed to destroy some hipster bar. Glory times.


The next day, on an airplane back to San Francisco, on zero sleep, I’m contemplating why I ever doubted myself. I mean, sure, the sales copy was a little out there, yeah, but I’m JLAIX. I’ve seen and done things most men only dream of.

Not to mention that, but I had gotten laid earlier that week, and for some reason, that event didn’t even register in my head when I got to trippin’.

Rewind.

The previous month, I was doing a Bootcamp in Austin, Texas, when I picked up a little ginger hottie who happened to live in San Francisco. Hooked up with her when I got back home.

I told her about my upcoming trip to New York, and by coincidence she was going to be in Manhattan that same week on business. We agreed to hook up; she was gonna take me to Masa, one of NYC’s most exclusive and pricey restaurants… on her expense account.

Nice. The life of a jet-setting playboy of doom.

Flash forward to the Wednesday that it was supposed to go down, however, and she FLAKES on me. Yeesh.

Despondent, I start walking through Times Square, alone.

I come across a Red Lobster restaurant and give a slight chuckle. I’m always telling girls, as a role-play, that I’m gonna take them on a romantic date to Red Lobster… and rail them up the ass in the bathroom.


“Screw it,” I think, “I’m taking MYSELF to effin’ Red Lobster.”

I walk in and grab a seat at the bar. How the mighty have fallen. The great jlaix, stood up and eating at Red Lobster.

The biscuits were really good.

As I’m eating my fine lobster meal, I get a text from Kent, one of the RSD Old Guard. Some kind of karaoke party going down, a going-away thing for one of his co-workers. Says he’s got a 40 oz. all set aside with my name on it.

A little sparkle ignites in my eye. I settle up and leave. My iPhone guides me to the location.

I get there and there’s about 35 people in this little karaoke room. I’m introduced by Kent and make some chit chat. All good. Then it’s my turn to sing.

I pull out the big guns first, shock and awe. “Faithfully,” by JOURNEY. It looks something like this:


People are like, “whoa.”

I’m like, “Thank you, thank you very much. You’re a fantastic audience. God Bless America.”

I then ask Kent, “Which ones are single?” LOL. “What about that one?” I point to a cute little nerd in the corner. I love these hot nerds, it’s my new thing.

“She just broke up with her boyfriend a few weeks ago.” Oh my god. I hear those little alarm bells in my head start ringing.

I sit down next to her and start rubbing up, right off the bat. “You’re a great singer,” she says.

“And you’re like a little fuckin’ angel. Jesus. Give me a hug.” Sometimes, I even make myself laugh.

Okay, I make myself laugh ALL the time. But that’s neither here nor there.

The party starts to wind down, I‘ve isolated her off to the side for some VERY light kissing- don’t wanna be tacky club makeout guy- then I get the number. I make sure to qualify her, cover all bases. She looks back wistfully as she gets into a cab and goes off into the night.

I call her the next day. She has some softball game to attend and says she’ll call me afterwards. Ok.

The call finally comes in at around 10:30 pm. We chat a bit and then she gives me this: “Well hey, I’m pretty tired after the game and I have to work at 6am, so I think I’m gonna go to sleep.”

I laugh. “Cool. Hey, where do you live?”

She says, “Oh, right near 89th and 1st, upper east side.”

I go, “Cool, I’m coming over.”

“What?! Now?”

“Yep, see you soon.” –Click- I hang up and go downstairs, hail a cab and just GO.


I get there and call her up. “Hey, I’m here, what’s the address?”

She says, “Hold on, I’m coming down.” She meets me on the corner. She’s dressed casually, but you can tell she’s cleaned up a bit. Heheh. Hug and little peck on the cheek.

“How about one beer?” I ask.

She agrees and we go to some chode pub nearby. I’m in full rapport mode. Interested and interesting. I whip out the old iPhone and go through my photo routine, some Google Earth stuff, etc. we finish our beers.

“How bout another?” She agrees. “With a shot of Jameson this time,” I tell the barkeep.

More comfort. I’m filling in the empty canvas of my life, talking about my friends and all that. I tell her a story about Christophe fucking some girl up the ass. I talk about my book. I turn my stool to face her and brush her hair aside. I tell her she’s like a little kitten filled with love and scratch her behind the ear. I rub her hips; I gently rub the back of her knee.

“Do you have anything to eat at your house?” I ask.

Slow dissolve and we’re in her apartment. I take my shoes off and lie on her bed. We have a smoke and sit on the bed. I talk at length about my novel, “Ichor of the Wolf.”

All of a sudden, I go, “So hey, lie down here and let’s make out for a bit.”

She sort of freezes up. “What?! Is that your ‘move’?”

I smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I need to have a ‘move.’ Do you want me to leave?” Laughing. Very light, not at all bitter or annoyed. I am totally fine with leaving right now, I had a nice time. Obviously I’d prefer not to, but hey…

“Well, no,” she says, “but I don’t know… I don’t even know you that well…”

Grinning now. “What do you want to know? And WHY?”

“Why?!” She relaxes a bit. “It’s just, you seemed a little truculent there.” Oh, a vocab nerd.

“Truculent? Actually, I thought I was more PETULANT, but hey.” She lies down. Makeout ensues.

My shirt comes off. Her shirt comes off. My pants come off. I go to take hers off and she stops short. “Hey, I thought we were only going to make out?”

I look her in the eyes. “Look. I only want to do this if this is something we’re going to feel good about later. And I definitely don’t want to do anything without protection.” Classic.

She looks back at me. “Well… I know this is gonna sound totally lame, but… I don’t want to do it.”

I say, “Cool.” I raise one eyebrow. “How about oral?” Then, literally TO THE AUDIENCE, “I wanna lick it.”

She’s like, “oh…” as I take them off and go to town on it. After a bit of the de rigueur jlaix maneuvers, she’s pulling on the ears and saying, “enough!”

This little nerdgirl turns into a minxy WILDCAT of desire, damn, it was hot.


Fade to black, roll credits.

Now. When I read that marketing, why didn’t I take into account the fact that I had just pulled off the above feat, not two days earlier?

Because it wasn’t really THAT spectacular. A social circle pull, paint-by-numbers. Social proofed, demonstrated value, qualified, followed up hard, led the interaction, built trust, systematically defused token resistance with a willingness to walk. Right out of Billy-Bob Whatshisname’s Seduction Ebook.

Contrast that with the glorious Sunday night encounter where it was PURE NIMBUS POWER with a threesome twist, in full view of spectators. Smashing their reality, boggling the mind.

Here’s the point:

Looking back on my “career” as it were, I have a lot of those insane, spectacular pickups in the mix, sure.

But the overwhelming majority of my lays have not been all that unusual. To the contrary, nine times out of ten, a successful pickup is going to be TEXTBOOK. You meet her, she likes you and you MAKE IT HAPPEN. That’s how this stuff works.

A lot of guys tend to get caught up in the glamour and the myths of Herculean pickups from mighty Valhalla, and you know what?

That’s fine.

That’s naturally gonna be the stuff that gets the most attention. People WANT to hear about those miracle pickups, because they’re inspiring… the stuff dreams are made of.

In reality, the FUNDAMENTALS are what matter the most. Knowing what to do, and sticking to the script. Executing.

When I hooked up with that Minxy Wildcat Nerd, obstacles popped up at every step. A lesser man might have thrown in the towel.

But because I knew the fundamentals and had a solid base of experience and reference points, I was able to defuse every one and take it to the hole.

Pun intended. I despise vulgarity.

I didn’t cave, and I didn’t sweat the process either. Because, like our friend Alec Baldwin said above, I’m ALWAYS CLOSING.

People sometimes ask me what the difference is between a guy who is merely “good” at this stuff and one who is GREAT.

The answer: the CLOSER mentality. As Alexander says, “I’m not here to fornicate arachnids.”

We’re gonna get a RESULT, come Hell or high water.

Period.

I didn’t become “one of the best” overnight. I wasn’t always this RELENTLESS CLOSER. I was a typical, normal dude five years ago. A dude who’d slept with 8 women by age 26.

I didn’t just decide one day to be some badass player and POOF my wish was granted.

No, I had to slog it out and learn from the ground up.

And through tireless study and COUNTLESS interactions, I began to internalize those fundamentals. With each “textbook” success, the new identity of a MAN who is successful with women became more and more grounded, more CONGRUENT.

And after a time, it just became WHO I AM.

End of story, no more questions, thank you very much.

It was BECAUSE of those fundamentals, BECAUSE of all those “textbook” successes, that I was ABLE to pull off the “glory stunts” that get the marquee headlines.

I have faith in the nuts and bolts of a pickup, I have unconscious competence, I have presence. I can focus on letting my nimbus shine. That’s what happened on that quiet Sunday evening with the Manhattan nines. And all of this can be attributed to all those years I spent in the “Textbook Trenches.”

This is why I always tell my students at the end of Bootcamp, “Your goal in the upcoming months shouldn’t be perfection. It should be CONSISTENCY. Because if you’re consistent, the results are inevitable. Don’t sweat the process.”

And in the end, as I considered all of this on my flight back to San Francisco, my home, I began to get a little misty, and I had to laugh. Because I knew that I had been foolish in worrying that I was a “fraud” or whatever.

See, for a long time, I depended on external validation to prop up my sense of self-worth, as so many of us do. I pulled a stripper in front of a crowd of stunned onlookers and had a threesome with her, great… I’d feel good about myself for about 72 hours. Then I’d need to pull off some other crazy shit to keep the story alive.

Ultimately, it was like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it.

It wasn’t until I turned my focus inward that I found the solution. Until I dialed my sense of values, my sense of PURPOSE, determined WHO I AM and WHAT I STAND FOR. Until I discarded the ego, and reconnected with my long-lost SELF-ESTEEM, that the bucket with a hole in it became an endless well of pure, clean water. Water that I could share with everyone.

I’m not “absolutely unstoppable” because Tyler, or anyone else for that matter, says I am.

I’m absolutely unstoppable because *I* KNOW that I am.

I give value, I’m a closer, and I’m coming from a place of CORE CONFIDENCE.

It’s inside of me. And it’s inside of you.

Ignite your nimbus, and let it shine, baby.

Glory times.

-jlaix
www.jeffyshow.com

Glorious Article: Ozzie on "Perpetual Disappointment"

This article by Ozzie had a great response on RSD Nation today.

(Ozzie is our main guy in Europe...)

Thought I'd throw it up on here as a bit of mid-week bonus content for those of you who haven't had a chance to read it.

I really connected with it myself, just in the sense that one of the biggest "self-sabotage" moves I see on a day-to-day basis is guys trying to "measure" themselves -- trying to be better than than the night before, scrambling to prove that their self-development is "working" for them based on women's responses, etc etc...

It's a major cause of "reaction-seeking", "outcome-dependence", "seeing yourself through the eyes of others" -- and all that nastiness that turns you from a big pimp to a needy, hungry-eyed, full chode extreme.

Get this stuff handled and I predict you'll see a big jump -- both in your skills with women, but also in your happiness in general.

Have a look......


Tyler

===========

Since we are little in school we are being measured, big part of it is grades. The grading system accounts for most of the disappointments growing up.

At home, we are measured by our parents whether you are “doing good” or “you are a disappointment”. We get a job and it is the same. Boss evaluates us or worst the market place. Religion, etc, in our culture we are being measured and made to feel bad if we don’t “live up to somebody´s expectations”.

Our lives are constant struggle “not to disappoint”. We are set up to being measured which in turn sets us up for perpetual disappointment.

Most of our social conditioning comes from this very fact. It is the elusive obvious.

We don’t question this system. We just are born into it and grow into it and probably die in it without questioning it or its validity.

Most of this measuring is done by people who in turn are being measured...... and it goes all the way up or down to infinite.

Then we come to the "game". We get into it. And what do we do? Same old measuring.

This is the reason many guys struggle with “outcome orientation”. They cannot let go of the “measuring.

Bad set/good set, bad night/good night, good opener/bad opener, good/bad performance, good pick up school vs bad pick up school, good advice vs bad advice and the list goes on and on to infinite.

The courage to be imperfect. My best performances on this have been imperfect ones. I came back from gross mistakes or salvaged hopeless situations. Then results came tumbling down in cascades.

I would say that being courageous is defined by how imperfect you can be. How much a risk you are willing to take. how much "measuring" you are willing to fuck up.

On bootcamp it is a constant battle to rescue guys from this measuring mechanisms embedded in the depth of their brains.

It is hard to wrap your head around the fact that trial and error is at the heart of pickup. That´s how it is learned.

Most guys are terrified to make mistakes. Why?

You guessed it right. The measuring system. It haunts them in the back of their head. Makes them feel they need to “improve” constantly to “live up to”.

Not good because it destroys the guys natural ability and coolness. It goes against its core of naturalness. The guy is not relaxed so he can not perform properly. His own outcome oriented mind paralyzes him.

The “need for constant feedback” is at the heart of the measuring system. The need to be “reassured” that he is doing right even when he is doing right. Self confidence is coming from “outside” not from inside where it should.

We have a philosophy of PPT. Practice, patience and time.

Practice comes first. Nothing will happen in your game if you don’t practice in the field. No book, DVD, seminar will give you what practicing in the field will give you.

Patience. Without patience practice is bullshit. You will abandon at the first mistake or the second. No patience, practice is useless. You will open a couple of sets and hang by the bar because nothing is happening in your game. No patience leads to inconsistent results. Trial and error is at the heart of building any skill.

Time. You need to allot time to practice. You have to schedule your practice time or you will not practice. Example, I will go out Fridays and Saturdays either rains or shine. You arrange your life accordingly to make this schedule happen.

Then don’t judge results on the basis of good or bad. Don’t go black and white on your practice and your progress.

Let go of the idea or the need “to measure” you because it is compulsive. Society induced. You are ok as you are. Progress will happen anyway if you apply PPT philosophy.


Ozzie