Wartime

What Doesn't Kill You Only Makes You Die Sooner

Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,

I fucking hate wartime.

But it sneaks up on you.
Always uninvited.

Before you know it, you can’t remember what the good old days were like.

No more salsa seven days per week.

No more dance crew.

No more girlfriends.
No more sex.
No more money.
No more fun.
No more running.
No more racing.
No more running team.

No more weekenders.

Just me and David Goggins.
With unending misery.

There was the Great War of 2018.

I found myself a ghastly fifty pounds overweight.

That takes dedication.
codependency.
isolation.
poverty.
That takes an abusive relationship.
Three long years of depression.

Dark thoughts I can’t unthink.

That took two hundred days of nonstop running.
Weekly starvation.
Chugging salt water to keep my appetite down.
That took getting a handle on my finances.

During wartime, you don’t get to coast.

It’s wartime.

Either you fight, or you DIE.

You don’t want either.
So you make hard choices.

You get strategic.
You create wealth out of poverty.

Back then, I was broke, but I was ALSO burned out.

FUCK.

One big breakthrough was when I changed my relationship to money.

I didn’t understand the vicious cycle I created every month by mismanaging my money.

New systems filled my bank accounts within months.

Good always follows the bad.
Nothing stands still.
Not one thing in this universe stays the same.

This can and will change at any moment.

Everything changes.
So will this situation.

This is the season for building strength.

The spring always follows winter.

And it WILL be sweet.

During wartime, you don’t linger over lunch.

And apparently, everyone can see it.

At the Zen center, at least three people have commented on how fast I eat.
I’m always the first one done.
Every meal.

I’ve started skipping breakfast a lot of days too.

I work through every single break.

If I’m being honest, sometimes I find extra ways to get access to my computer so I can keep working even when I technically shouldn’t be.

Because in war…

There’s no time to waste.

You find out who your real friends are.

That’s one of the few gifts of this season.

Right now, I can count them on one hand.

You see who’s really in your corner.
And who was just nearby when things were easy.

Be strategic.
Double down on self-care.
Guard your inner space.

Fight for every win.

Journaling is always mandatory in wartime.

You need to organize the hurricane of ideas in your head.
You must think clearly.

You can accomplish far more during wartime than during peace.

Because you have to.

Take inventory of every hour of your day.
Do it every day.

Trim the fat in your life.

Proactively toughen up.

War stinks.

This time has a special stench.

Normally, even when broke, I can still run and dance.
Salsa parties are always cheap.
Ten bucks most of the time.

But this is grim.

Because I can’t run the way I normally would.

My running coach was my first paid member here on Substack.
I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that.
Especially right now.

I’m sitting in my car, listening to bachata and staring at my running bag.
Untouched for five months.

Janitors don’t have time for running.
Especially not Buddhist janitors.

I feel like I’m in a movie or something.

It’s surreal.

I almost forgot to mention that part.

I don’t get paid.

Currently working two jobs around the clock.
And neither of them pay me.

I must be crazy.

I took such a hard stance against freelancing I chose becoming a janitor instead.

I don’t regret it.

There are some crosses I’m willing to die on.

And I’d rather die than freelance again.

I would rather starve.

Compared to freelancing?
That’s just where I’m at.

There’s another part of this wartime I haven’t really talked about.

Burnout.

There was a stretch where I only had about five good hours in me per day.
That’s it.

So I had to get ruthless with reality.

I had to build a life that worked inside five hours.
Not pretend I had twelve.

That meant making fun a priority.
Movement.
Music.
Anything that reminded me I wasn’t just a machine.

It took me a year and a half, but my list is almost at 100k.

It’s surreal having access to this many people.

I feel like I built a giant stadium.

And now, I have the place all to myself.

When I hit send, I say —
“Bomb’s away.”

That’s how it feels.

It’s still a work in progress.

No, I’m not going to tell you how I did it.

Not unless you pay me.

And Goddammit, it’s about damn time someone did.

Tony Robbins fired me for asking for a raise.

After I made him millions.

Everyone else took credit for my work.
No bonus.
No standing ovation.

So I asked for more.
I thought it was sound logic.

Fifteen years in this game.

I was trying to build a $200,000 per year freelancing business.
The math worked.
Until it didn’t.

I didn’t think asking for a raise would ruin my life.
Would send me into poverty.

But unfortunately, I have principles.

Getting fired when everyone else benefited from my work but me was a bridge too far.

There are people who got out of freelancing and built seven-figure companies within a year.

Can I do it?

I don’t have a clue.

But I do have a list of 84k people.
An engaged segment of about 25k.
And a Patreon with a handful of buyers and a growing free base.

I’m winging it as I go.

I had to acquire these leads through creative means.
Which presents its own unique challenges.

It’s like taming a bucking bronco.

Mike Tyson was built during wartime.

Even Buddhist monks have to go to their car to scream once in a while.

I don’t recommend my lifestyle.

Tony
Editor in Chief
Permission to be Powerful