I have learned that there is a difference between someone who will hunt for sport and someone who will hunt for food. The difference is both huge and obvious. But moreover, when it comes to times of downfall or despair, the difference between the two is what decides which person will eat again and who will starve because of a lack or motivation.
The person who hunts for sport is not worried about their next meal or what happens if they shoot and miss. The person who hunts for food doesn’t know when they’ll eat again or where their next meal will come from. Therefore the intensity and intentions differ to a level of importance; whereas, one sees this as a game and the other sees this as a means to survive.
Hunger –
This is what makes the difference.
There are people who will be fine, no matter what, and no matter how, there will be those who can find a way to get by. There will be those who are gifted or blessed by a lucky gene pool or through a connection, whether this is family, business, or otherwise, there will never be a threat to go hungry.
At the same time, there will never be the undeniable victory which comes from what it means to learn and cognitively understand what it is to feed oneself.
There are those who are like the hunter. They are undeniable.
They might not always be noticed but then again, they are not the ones who thrive or revel and bask in the rays of social attention.
They are the ones who otherwise see the world through eyes with a fierce intensity. They have different intentions, least of all, the social media or reels and social feeds.
Understand that this is the world we live in.
Even if the climax is to reach a social distinction or to absorb and surpass a level of fame, one must attack this branch of life the same as the hunter who is unsure of when they will eat again.
There is a split between those who will stop at no cost and those who are quick to resign.
I see this as true.
I can see this in myself, at times, but not in all cases, like now, or here. I still come here, even if I am alone. I still talk to you, even if you are gone or uninterested.
I have not stopped or quit. Even when the world around me laughs or tells me to pack it in, I say to hell with that, and to hell with the mindset that I am somehow less-than or less-deserving than anyone else.
As I see it, half of the world can see their life as some come as you are lifestyle, or while they see life with no zest, no thirst or hunger, or in the “le sa fare” ideas, as if to stand around in some quiet submission, or for those who live with a “leave it alone,” mindset; as if to say, hey, there is no rush, no priority — I have come to recognize that there’s another half of the world. They are the unstoppable.
This is the half who I want to resemble, if not to better or perfect on my end, this is the half of me which I am bound to improve, so long as I choose to do so and make the moves to do so.
There are those who do and those who don’t.
There is another side of the equation which is made up of the hungry ones, or the insatiable ones, and they are the ones who are unrelenting. These are the hunters and gatherers. When it comes to categories of hunger and need, or thirst and desire, these are the people who wake at dawn, to hunt and thrive.
There are people who wake at dawn, even if they only went to sleep an hour ago.
There is no wait and there is no go.
There is no pause or time to regroup and overthink.
There is only move, calculate and continue.
I have heard it said that there will be plenty of time to sleep when I am dead.
I have been told that there will be time to rest. I have been told there will be bouts and battles. There will be actions and consequences, life on life’s terms, and there will be times to endure, and times to embrace the challenges and struggles.
There will be strife, and there will be times to acknowledge and process our despair. There will also be mornings when the pain is so great, but the need to live and breathe is strong and for the hunter, their will and intent to feed is strong enough to outweigh and counteract the tragic symphonies which play out in the mind.
I think of things like the sad catastrophes, the moments of loss, the unfortunate bouts, and the mournful losses which can play like a string of sad violins—weeping or crying in some high-pitched scream, like an outpour of regret—bitter to the taste and stinging to the touch.
There are going to be bouts. There are going to be times when it is good enough to accept yesterday’s resignation. There will be bouts when the idea of surrendering to win is done so that we can reassign our efforts to the moments like the here and now.
There are two kinds of people in this equation.
Those who live to live and those who exist until they die.
Which person do you want to be?
Or should I ask, who do you want to be?
How do you want your days to look?
Is this the life you want or is this just the life you have?
Answer the question.
Make no more excuses.
Be honest.
Start here.
Design your trick, each day, and do not stop, quit, resign or submit until you pull this off on a daily basis.
Now is a good time to perfect this.
Perfect your trick or your art or your craft.
But in all, this is you perfecting you to the best of your ability.
This is you, allowing yourself to improve. Therefore, there is no backsliding or going backwards. There is no old or unwanted or default settings.
There is only the need to navigate to a move towards a new destination.
I think of people who have found success.
None of this was given to them.
But more, I think of those who maintained their success, by any means, and by any sacrifice, whether this hurt or not, or whether the time spent was grueling, or at risk of anything that came, there were no options to quit nor was there a moment when giving up was the only thing to do.
This here?
This is my trick.
This may not seem like much to you or this may not seem like anything to anybody else.
But this is not their trick.
This one is mine.
This is part of my elaborate scheme to keep going, especially when life is not okay.
This is my way. This is my light and my truth.
This is my hope and my drive.
Should this be misunderstood, then fine.
So be it.
This is my art and therefore, fuck the critics.
Fuck the people who told me to quit.
Fuck the backstabbers or the people with smiles that glimmer with sharp knives for the backs of people who helped them along the way.
Even if kindness is forgotten, I realize the interaction of karma and karmic debt.
So, let me pay.
Fuck the people who put me down or did me wrong.
And fuck the excuse machine that churns out numbers of sad predictions, like an old adding machine in my head.
I’m hungry.
I want to eat.
Therefore, I have to become a hunter.
I have to satisfy my otherwise unstoppable appetite because otherwise, I live in the concrete jungles, or when I face the boardrooms in the corporate life, or in the business world, the only question is who eats best?
Is it the person who allows their emotion to cripple them?
Or is it the one who rather than be reactive to pain or the grand submissions of say, emotional rape, or rather than give way to the weight of the world, or lastly, rather than go down, or if this is me; rather than lay down flat and let the tires tracks across my body be the evidence that I existed; I have to stand and rise, each day, no matter what.
I have to eat blood and guts and ask for seconds.
I write this as a testament to myself.
However, and openly, it would be inaccurate to assume or believe that I am alone.
There are billions of people in this world and each and every person is looking to find their place or their fit. We are all looking to understand where we belong.
We want our place in the circle.
Some people have a life, which is less complex or simple.
Some people have a life that is mediocre enough, as if where they are is either “good enough” or unobjectionable—as in plain. Some people can live this way, as in zestless or flat, like a land without landscape and a sky without color.
Some people can be mute and be fine.
I am not one of the some . . .
I saw the sun go down over my town last night. The sky took on a colorful appeal—and despite the errors in my thoughts or the miscalculations of what’s going on around me, I looked out from a window at a school where I learn to defend myself.
In the case of I against I, who wins?
Therefore, I am seeking a way or a path. As an oath to myself, I am looking to recover and reassign my life in a way that will result in a new form of living.
There is no time to simply exist.
The hour is far too late for me to overthink.
There are no reasons to quit.
And as for the excuse machine, this is nothing more than an emotional scam.
This is just an assumption or projection of a emotional scheme which is inaccurate—unless I allow for this, or unless I allow myself to lay down. None of this has to be my definition.
I can grow and rise and be reborn at any dawn.
I am more. And so are you.
We do not have to let go of our hopes or the visions we share.
There is no reason to be defeated to the point where we submit.
We can refuse to be walked over, or to have the tire tracks be the only proof that we were here or that we existed.
No. We are far more than this.
For the record, this is more than my trick.
This is my art.
This is my artillery and the only means of mental and emotional ammunition, which I use to defend myself and to remind me that hey, today is calling me.
You and I have grown folk’s business to take care of.
There is no time to bitch. The complaint department never writes back, and even when they do—how does this help, and to what avail?
In the case of the hunter who hunts for sport or the hunter who hunts for food, who do I want to be in this race?
Do I want to be the one who eats?
Or do I want to be the one who only knew this as a sport?
I see life as a search and this search is my hunt.
I am on the search for my real life.
I want to be the one who dictates and determines when and where my next meal comes from.
I don’t want to live at the heels of someone else’s mercy.
Not now.
Not ever.
I want to be the one who eats.
Meanwhile, there is the person who never dared of cared, or considered that emotional famine is real.
At best, and without the rage or the determination to feed, there is nothing else but to hope for some table scraps.
In the end, I have determined that it is necessary to be the hunter, otherwise, be hungry without the drive to be fed.
Do you know what this means?
This means it’s “Go” time.
Unless you’re here to hunt for sport . . .
In that case, I think you chose the wrong journal to read.
“Get busy living, or get busy dying.”
I love this quote.
But the quote means nothing without action.
So?
Let’s go . . .
The Written Addiction 