I’m not sure what my deal is. Everyone I know, and everyone I grew up with seems so normal; I’m not normal.
I want to live on the edge. The edge of life. I want to wonder, in any moment, if I might live or die.
Is that weird?
I think that’s why I love motorcycles. Granted, I ride safely and am (generally) very careful. But there’s just something about twisting the throttle, feeling yourself get pushed back in your seat, and popping the front wheel off the ground, that just feels so damn good.
If something goes wrong on a bike, you’re fucked. And somehow, I love that.
I don’t want to live a normal life. I want to live an epic life.
Our grandfathers fought the Nazis, their grandfathers’ grandfathers built a nation. I think deep down inside we all long for a sense of adventure to some degree. And maybe if I had just come home from a war, all I would want was a farm, a wife, a job and a family. But I haven’t fought a war. I fight only with my own fear and insecurity.
Most people wait for adventure to come to them. They wait for an exciting life.
Well, you might wait forever.
I want to create adventure. I want to create an epic story – and then live it.
That’s why I quit both my jobs and gave myself a deadline. This is all or nothing. Sink or swim. Hit or bust.
And I love that the stakes are high. I thrive on it. I’m all in.
I think I finally brought myself to a point in life where I just don’t give a fuck. I don’t care if I fail, if no one reads this blog (people are, thanks!), if I never start a business and I leave this state with $1,000 dollars in my bank account, on the back of a motorcycle I don’t know how to fix. It doesn’t matter anymore.
Screw it. It’ll be epic. Either epic failure or epic success. Both of those options are better than living safe.