Money & Muscle
Master Don Juan
- Joined
- May 22, 2023
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- 1,337
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Despite what you may think, what you may have heard, or what you may be looking for, The Red Pill is not a path to happiness. If anything, it’s the opposite.
Something like a year ago, I stumbled across The Red Pill. Before then, I was in a mostly-sexless marriage with an ungrateful b*tch of a wife, my job sucked, I barely had any friends and no professional/social network worth mentioning, and had a hard time interacting with people in a non-awkward way. But despite all of that, I loved my wife fiercely, my daughter even more, was still making six figures, commanded enough obligatory respect in the workplace that people had to tolerate my awkwardness, and had been hitting the gym each day for years. Life wasn’t perfect (far from it), but if you’d asked me then, I would have told you that life was good. I was happy. You can’t have everything all the time, and I considered myself a lucky guy.
Enter The Red Pill. It dawns on me that my marriage sucks *ss. That real men have wives that respect them, treat them well, and f*ck them more than once every six weeks. That real men tell their young toddler what to do, and she doesn’t just laugh at them. That real men are respected at work, successful, and if they don’t enjoy what they’re doing each day they make changes. That real men know lots of people, help people get places, and have those favors returned by others. That I wasn’t a real man. Not because I cook dinner and fold laundry instead of doing carpentry in my garage and discussing college football with my burping guy friends over beers – but because I didn’t have my sh*t together. One bad month, and I’d be out of a job with no contacts to hook me up with my next one. One bad fight and my wife would be out the door with my daughter. I was lonely, stressed, even frightened. All the time. I was terribly unhappy and had been for a long time, but somehow got used to being that unhappy. It became normal to feel like that – so normal that if you’d asked, I’d have told you I was happy and had a good life. My good life was hanging by a thread, and I was willfully blind to it.
Today, after a year of trying to amp-up my Red Pill life, am I more happy? F*ck no. I’m in great shape, but there’s so much room for improvement that it’s just not funny. I’m not satisfied with my body. I have a good job (about to leave it to start a better one), but I’m still not satisfied. I have a decent professional network at my fingertips, but nowhere near where I want it to be. My marriage is better, but still has a long way to go. I’m better socially, but again, still a long way to go.
And even if I somehow reach this Red Pill ideal of “good enough” in any category, there’s not really such a thing. You’re never done. “Good enough” is a sickness. You’re never content. Never satisfied. Never happy.
Because being “haaaaapy” is for women. Being satisfied and content is for women. Once you’ve torn the blinders off and see the world for how it is, there’s no such thing as happiness. There are momentary pleasures, longer-term pleasures, but throughout everything, life is work. You’re never done. You’re never “good enough,” and you’re never finally ready to stop, sit back, enjoy it all, and be “haaaaapy.”
Real men aren’t happy. When your grandfather (or great grandfather if you’re young) came home from a long day at the factory, he never smiled. He was gruff, abrupt, hard-working. He loved his family, but they were his responsibility to take care of – they were his burden, not his contentment. He took satisfaction from being employed and hard-working, but his job was a means to an end, not his identity, not his source of contentment. He had friends and contacts, but they were one more thing he worked to maintain, not something playful to help him relax and cut loose. He had hobbies, but they were always constructive ones that broadened his mind and taught him skills, not f*ck-*ss video games—his hobbies were sometimes harder work than his actual work.
If you want to be happy, stop reading The Red Pill. Go away. Never think about it again. Be ignorant, content, satisfied with “good enough.”
It’s not in your nature, as a man, to be happy and seek contentment. Being “haaaaapy” is for women.
Link here.
Something like a year ago, I stumbled across The Red Pill. Before then, I was in a mostly-sexless marriage with an ungrateful b*tch of a wife, my job sucked, I barely had any friends and no professional/social network worth mentioning, and had a hard time interacting with people in a non-awkward way. But despite all of that, I loved my wife fiercely, my daughter even more, was still making six figures, commanded enough obligatory respect in the workplace that people had to tolerate my awkwardness, and had been hitting the gym each day for years. Life wasn’t perfect (far from it), but if you’d asked me then, I would have told you that life was good. I was happy. You can’t have everything all the time, and I considered myself a lucky guy.
Enter The Red Pill. It dawns on me that my marriage sucks *ss. That real men have wives that respect them, treat them well, and f*ck them more than once every six weeks. That real men tell their young toddler what to do, and she doesn’t just laugh at them. That real men are respected at work, successful, and if they don’t enjoy what they’re doing each day they make changes. That real men know lots of people, help people get places, and have those favors returned by others. That I wasn’t a real man. Not because I cook dinner and fold laundry instead of doing carpentry in my garage and discussing college football with my burping guy friends over beers – but because I didn’t have my sh*t together. One bad month, and I’d be out of a job with no contacts to hook me up with my next one. One bad fight and my wife would be out the door with my daughter. I was lonely, stressed, even frightened. All the time. I was terribly unhappy and had been for a long time, but somehow got used to being that unhappy. It became normal to feel like that – so normal that if you’d asked, I’d have told you I was happy and had a good life. My good life was hanging by a thread, and I was willfully blind to it.
Today, after a year of trying to amp-up my Red Pill life, am I more happy? F*ck no. I’m in great shape, but there’s so much room for improvement that it’s just not funny. I’m not satisfied with my body. I have a good job (about to leave it to start a better one), but I’m still not satisfied. I have a decent professional network at my fingertips, but nowhere near where I want it to be. My marriage is better, but still has a long way to go. I’m better socially, but again, still a long way to go.
And even if I somehow reach this Red Pill ideal of “good enough” in any category, there’s not really such a thing. You’re never done. “Good enough” is a sickness. You’re never content. Never satisfied. Never happy.
Because being “haaaaapy” is for women. Being satisfied and content is for women. Once you’ve torn the blinders off and see the world for how it is, there’s no such thing as happiness. There are momentary pleasures, longer-term pleasures, but throughout everything, life is work. You’re never done. You’re never “good enough,” and you’re never finally ready to stop, sit back, enjoy it all, and be “haaaaapy.”
Real men aren’t happy. When your grandfather (or great grandfather if you’re young) came home from a long day at the factory, he never smiled. He was gruff, abrupt, hard-working. He loved his family, but they were his responsibility to take care of – they were his burden, not his contentment. He took satisfaction from being employed and hard-working, but his job was a means to an end, not his identity, not his source of contentment. He had friends and contacts, but they were one more thing he worked to maintain, not something playful to help him relax and cut loose. He had hobbies, but they were always constructive ones that broadened his mind and taught him skills, not f*ck-*ss video games—his hobbies were sometimes harder work than his actual work.
If you want to be happy, stop reading The Red Pill. Go away. Never think about it again. Be ignorant, content, satisfied with “good enough.”
It’s not in your nature, as a man, to be happy and seek contentment. Being “haaaaapy” is for women.
Link here.
