I went to Spain a few weeks ago. It was my first time out of the country, and first ever solo vacation. My tickets were purchased after a few drinks last December, one of the many ‘few drinks’ nights that plays partner to the single person’s cyclical holiday dance. Though destructive, those nights spent pondering and exacerbating the agony of my loneliness led to an ironically uplifting ultimatum with myself. I decided that, since I was spending so much time loathing my life, I would finally give in to the nagging voices that were constantly taunting me to end it completely. The only conditions being that I had to wait until 2014 to do it, and that I had to spend the entirety of 2013, and subsequently my retirement account, doing the things I always wanted to do but never did out of fear, responsibility and insecurity.

It sounds morbid, I know, but it’s the truth. People kill themselves all the time out of impulse and emotion; at least I had planned it out and weighed the pros and cons. This was a smart decision on my part and, for very different reasons, I still believe it was a smart decision. The method with which I was going to implement it was meticulously planned with minimal impact to anyone around me, which pretty much mimicked my influence on others while alive. What money I didn’t spend would be allocated towards the disposal of my body and gifted to the select few important people in my life. I could give an exact breakdown, but the details aren’t relevant now. The point is that I had a plan, and that plan never deviated from my mind since its inception. It was not an idea borne of impulse. (Just like I believe yours wasn’t, B. I went to where you went. I found the answer to my question of why. Thank you for providing it to me.)

The great thing about making a choice about something creating resistance within you is that, at the very moment you make it, you feel instant relief. It was liberating to make a solution for the pain, thus allowing me to find joy in the formulation of my death. Sometimes one has to die to actually live, even if it’s just conceptually. It gave me the freedom to start planning for 2013 with intention.

Immediately, I booked trips to Spain and Ireland, registered to run a 50K, two marathons and three half-marathons throughout the year, paid tuition for courses at a community college, changed my diet to only include non-processed foods (sorry, Yogurtland), signed up for mixed martial arts and yoga classes every day of the week and even paid for an online dating service. I was going to do what I’ve always wanted to do; travel, start a career, obtain six pack abs and date men that were actually good enough for me.

It took the knowledge that I would be dead soon to get the courage to do these things for myself. How fucked up is that? It reminds me of something the Dalai Lama said:

“The Dalai Lama, when asked what surprised him most about humanity, he said:

‘Man.
 Because he sacrifices his health in order to make money.
 Then he sacrifices money to recuperate his health.
And then he is so anxious about the future that he does not enjoy the present; 
the result being that he does not live in the present or the future;
 he lives as if he is never going to die, and then dies having never really lived.’”

Who knows what the meaning of life is, but I’m pretty damn sure it has nothing to do with wasting our good years doing the same freaking thing every day without passion, drive or new experiences. To me, that is the opposite of living. This is why I needed to die…it’s not like I was living anyway. Plus, my rent was unbelievably low for Los Angeles. It was wrong of me to withhold this rarity from someone who may have been less of a waste of space.

Right now, it’s May 18, 2013. Halfway through my year of blazing glory. I spent the morning practicing for my gold belt test in MMA which, paired with yoga, has introduced me to beauty of mindfulness and enlightenment of Zen Buddhism. Sobriety naturally ensued with the elation of being clear-headed. I’m halfway through a Project Management certification with high marks. I survived ten days alone in a foreign country with no trace of a comfort zone. I knocked 24 minutes off my marathon time. Oddly enough, my retirement account is at an all-time high. I wake up each morning excited because I know anything is possible. I am no longer reserving my time for people who can’t hold genuine conversation with me and, for once, I don’t feel resentment about it. I feel more valuable alive than dead, and I’m only halfway through my goals. I’ve never loved myself more than I do now. Never. And fuck it feels better than any feeling I’ve ever felt.

Plus, there’s also this:
I mean, come on. You’d shamelessly post this on the internet if you possessed it, too.

I made a pact with those voices that I’d kill myself in 2014 and, though they weren’t a positive influence on my life, I still had a dependent love and odd devotion to them. They were always by my side when no one else was, and I should have been more loyal.

That’s the only thing I really feel bad about. I killed them instead of myself.

When it gets cold outside, the scars on the inside of my nose crack open and itch. As with any wayward nasal debris, I am self-conscious about it, so I pick and pull at them until I’m satisfied that they can’t flake anymore. With each tug of dead skin, I peel off a layer of substance abuse, a mask worn in a former life. Most of the time they don’t bother me. Just on cold or nervous days.

I couldn’t measure how much cocaine was snorted, or how many itchy painkillers were swallowed to induce these scars, but I abused enough of them to keep their reminders with me. It’s weird to think of myself that way, as a drug user or even a recovered drug user. To say that I’ve been clean for years sounds completely uncharacteristic considering the outgoing, kind, happy athlete I am today, but it’s the truth. I don’t know many people who have cocaine scabs, so it must be the truth.

Actually, I don’t know anyone who does.

It’s beautiful how we can encompass so many different lives in one existence. Within each fragment of scar tissue wedged beneath my fingernail lies proof that genuine change is possible in each and every one of us. For better or worse, we have the power to be anything we want to be.

I kind of like the scars. In a weird innocuous way, they show me how much I love myself.

I hear this phrase all the time. “Live With Intention.” You’ll find it in self-help books, inspirational meme’s, bumper stickers and even the occasional greeting card. Just the act of reading it can inspire a warm fuzzy feeling in the pit of the stomach, enabling one to go about their day with slightly less weight on the shoulders. For ten minutes at least, until the easily-distracted mind gets caught up in the latest celebrity gossip, or knocked off its axis when an email alert blows up the imposing iPhone screen. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been on the verge of achieving ultimate enlightenment, only to be ripped from it by someone commenting on a photo of a salad I posted on Instagram. “Oh gurl, I SO love food too! <3 xoxoxo” Fucking notifications, man. The harbingers of mediocre human interaction. I can’t really blame anyone but myself though; it was I who thought that salad was worthy of idolization. It was delicious.

The brevity and incomprehensive nature of these sayings, though concise and lovely, cause them injustice. Many people act as passers-by, taking what they will with the little amount of time they’re able to invest in them. Scan the words, feel the warmth, exude a humbled smile and move along. This isn’t a bad thing by any means, but the concept of living with intention can carry so much more liberation if one is willing to exude a little recyclable brainpower.

So what does “Live With Intention” actually mean? I’ll break it down for you.

Everything you do is a choice. When you wake up in the morning and brush your teeth, you are choosing to roll your ass out of bed, choosing to spread Sparkling White toothpaste (because, fuck baking soda; this is all about aesthetics) onto the overpriced electronic toothbrush you impulsively purchased at Target at the advisory of your friends, for the thirty everlasting seconds (or was it sixty? I wasn’t really listening) that your dentist hammered into your psyche at the last visit to his office, where he scoffed at your apparent addiction to the new limited-edition Spring Oreos. I have no idea why yellow artificially-colored slabs of sugary paste sandwiched between two discs of baked high-fructose corn syrup artery-cloggers would be at all enticing for human consumption, but to each his own. I go ape shit over low-carb protein bars. Those can’t be great for you either.

The point is, in these two menial actions, there’s a gamut of choices. But do we even acknowledge that? Or do we just do it because it’s what we’ve always done?

I’m not saying to stop getting up in the morning and, for the love of God, please keep brushing your teeth, but maybe occasionally ask why you are doing the things you are doing. By asking ourselves why, we are living with intention. Instead of just going through the motions, we are being present and aware of the choices we are making and, in doing this, we are taking care of ourselves. Isn’t it nice when people ask how you feel about something, and really mean it? That’s what this is. “Hi, self. How are you doing today? Is there anything you need? Let’s cater to that. Your quality of life is valuable to me.” When you live with intention, you are showing self-love.

I found myself feeling aggravated the other day because someone was telling me that the price of milk had gone up. “Those cow-farming bastards,” I thought, “why are you so damn greedy?” Immediately, a flood of victimization smashed into me and the world was no longer a fascinating playground of inflation and supply and demand; it existed solely for the purpose of being my enemy. Everything was an injustice and I had no control over it. Until I stopped to check myself. Why was I reacting this way? Even if I did drink milk, which I don’t, I inherently knew the basic fact that prices fluctuate in a functioning economy. I was upsetting myself about a topic that wasn’t affecting me only because someone introduced to me the idea that I should be upset. I wasn’t living with intention, I was living with conformity. And look, you can get pissed about rising prices of milk, that’s cool. Just make sure you are expending that energy because you actually care about it. Passion with intention is respectable.

*On a side note, if you get a chance, try unsweetened vanilla almond milk. It’s got more calcium and less hormones/sugar/calories and it’s amazing, especially warmed up at night. But don’t do it just because I told you to. Or do, because I genuinely care about you and am in no way affiliated with the Almond Council of America.

Toothpaste and almond milk are definitely two important things, but what about the larger choices we blindly make? Like what we do with our valuable time, who we let into our trust circles or our diet and lifestyle choices. You can have any belief about the meaning of life, religious or otherwise, all are respectable and possible. I can’t vouch for God, aliens, or Scientology, but I can confidently say that there is absolutely one iron-clad fact, and that fact is that we exist here. Now. Show yourself how much you appreciate you by asking yourself “Why?” occasionally. Once you do this, a truth will emerge that will make the act of living with intention much, much easier to conceive. And it feels so damn good to live with conviction and self-love.

If you still don’t understand what I’m saying here, don’t worry. I was a window shopper for 27 years before finally realizing what these three words encompassed. It’ll come to you when you’re ready for it. The world has a beautiful way of doing that.

Lately I’ve been getting hit on left and right and it has been awesome. I’m not just talking about some Mexican construction worker gawking at me and making smooching noises, either; I’ve actually been repeatedly confronted with conversation and asked out. On dates. Real dates, like dinner where someone else pays and doesn’t immediately assume that they will get laid and/or revered as an ancient God. This has never happened with such frequency in my entire life and I’s like it.

So what is it? Have I lost weight? Nope. Did I get my hair done? Negative. New shoes? I wish. There is absolutely nothing that has changed in my overall appearance. In fact, I’ve been so down since the breakup that I’ve barely even showered, brushed my hair or even applied makeup, and I have a nagging suspicion that my freshly trimmed lawn has turned into an overgrown forest full of tumbleweeds and nightmares. Why am I suddenly getting so much attention from the opposite sex?

Simple; I stopped giving a fuck. That’s it. I no longer give a flying fuck about what anyone thinks of me.

This decision wasn’t formed from passive aggression or resentment of this cruel, loveless world. It occurred to me one day while searching forums for tips on how to eliminate negative self-talk. My exes rejection was already enough to throw me off my axis and the internal negative reinforcement of his decision to end it was driving me to some very dark thoughts. I had to get rid of them before I got drunk and started mutilating myself, because at that point it was only a matter of time…the only thing standing in my way was sobriety. I felt that I had no one to talk to about it so I immediately turned my reliable friend, the internet.

Soon thereafter, I recognized that many of my insecurities stemmed from the intense fear associated with being rejected and abandoned by others. Through various mental exercises, I was able to analyze how I interacted with people in a social setting, which basically consisted of me nervously scrambling to impress people and then obsessively analyzing their reactions in order to gauge the opinions being formed. I cared so much about what they thought of me and what they would share with other people that any perception of disapproval would immediately effect how I viewed myself and, in turn, that little asshole voice within my head that kept me from overcoming any of those self-imposed obstacles. Did they find me attractive? Was I funny enough? Was I being too simple? Too intellectual? Did they adore me and want to be my friend? I worried so much about what they were thinking that I was completely oblivious to the following reality:

All of the thoughts infiltrating my head while interacting socially were the exact same thoughts of the people I was interacting with.

“Did they find me attractive? Was I funny enough? Was I being too simple? Too intellectual? Did they adore me and want to be my friends?” – These questions couldn’t even be answered by the people I conversed with because they were too blinded and ignorant by their own attempts to accomplish the exact same goal. They wanted to win me over just as much as I did them and, as a result, any effort put forth by me was a complete waste of time. And vice versa. It seemed almost narcissistic to think that other people cared so much about who I was.

This realization forced me to stop giving a fuck and start being me. With this logic, there really is no valid excuse not to be. Now I do whatever I feel like doing and for some reason it is drawing people to me like homeless Miamians to facial flesh. No shit. I can’t believe I spent my entire adult life striving for endless perfection in order to be accepted and the whole time I just had to stop trying.

So now, instead of not giving a fuck about my life to the point of near-suicide, I’m just not giving a fuck about everything that doesn’t enhance my life. It’s not a form of Nihilism, because I do still care about meaningful things, I just stopped caring about the useless shit that would never benefit me. Like appeasing people that I didn’t have the chance to develop respect for, vying for the acceptance of the opposite sex without knowing they deserve it and not dancing in public places when I feel like busting a cheesy white girl move. It’s just not worth wasting any more precious time over unless it’s authentic.

So, to summarize:

1) Don’t give a fuck unless a fuck is merited, which is probably only about 10% of the time you think it is. Downsize.

2) Everyone is as scared of your opinion as you are of theirs. Want power? Make people think you are judging them. It doesn’t matter who you are…all humans can be made insecure. Just remember that with great power comes great responsibility and anyone who is truly happy with themselves never feels the need to bring others down. Plus, karma can be a huge bitch. Just ask the Catholics.

3) If you are being anything other than yourself, then you are wasting your time. No one is paying attention to you.

4) Release yourself from the internal pursuits of perfection. You will never be happy or satisfied while doing this. Be who you want to be, right now. Not tomorrow. Not ten years from now. You want to look good? Exercise and eat right today. Want to get promoted? Work like you already have. Wish people would accept you? Accept yourself first. Be the person that you aspire to be today and eventually, without even realizing it, you will become that person. You’ll look back and realize how easy it was. All it took was the decision to simply be. Sitting around talking about doing something is about as useful as forming a mindset based on the opinions of others.

5) Don’t publicly take your pants off in Florida and not expect to get mauled by an infuriated homosexual cannibal. We live the age of Jersey Shore, people. This should not surprise anyone.