Los Angeles is a place where people come to chase their dreams. The dream of the next best thing. Whatever you have now isn’t enough, because what if you are able to get more? Be more. Be more important. That is precisely why you are in Los Angeles after all, right? Because you believe you are special, and you are going to have it all. You are one bold move and big check away from being that person you’ve always pictured.
What if your dreams come true and suddenly you are rich and famous? If you are a guy you might become “the man.” On top of a hill. In a mansion. Overlooking all of Los Angeles. Surrounded by models, money and access to anything. The best blow. The best blowjobs. The best blow while simultaneously receiving the best blowjobs. At the same damn time.
Here’s the problem: The dream of becoming “the man” is what drives you, but it also prevents you from seeing anything besides the lifestyle of this “imaginary future you.” Imaginary future you is sooooooo much better. He’s in shape. He travels on private jets to exotic locations. He isn’t stressed. He isn’t worried. He doesn’t have to settle. Brazilian underwear models, tastemakers and famous actors want to attend your cool parties and lay by your pool. Imaginary future you is too good for any woman you meet now, because imaginary future you has better women waiting – in your imaginary future. The current version of you can’t get married or even have a girlfriend now – because what if you become somebody who can do better?! You must remain free, unattached and open – so the better future you can marry the type of woman imaginary future you deserves.
It’s okay to dream big. However, this isn’t goal setting. It’s putting real things and real meaning in your life on hold until you become somebody you think is worthy of happiness. This isn’t planning for your future comfort. This is madness. It’s shallow, narcissistic, childish projections of a future that may never arrive. But since it’s LA and you are special, you’re SURE it will arrive. Most of us are sure we will arrive. Shit, I think it’s going to arrive for me too and I’m a chick. I imagine my mansion full of awesomeness and blowjobs all the time.
But let’s stick to men right now.
Let’s pretend all this success does arrive. You are now wealthy. You built that empire. You have seven cars. You have eight bitches. You have a huge modern mansion with a pool. Many homes with many pools, in fact! Now that you are finally whole, you can enjoy life. Ten underwear models (minimum) lounge around your various pools sipping champagne at all times. Future you is a yacht-hopping jet-setting playboy, who is a mix of George Clooney and your own face. He is also kind of a douchebag, but whatever. TEN MODELS and YOUR DICK.
Maybe you grow tired of champagne, blowjobs and parties. We know that CURRENTLY you can’t get married or even have a girlfriend because you are waiting to see who future you can land! But now that you have it all, you are ready. You are “the man” so obviously you will land the perfect woman. Now that you proved to the world you can make it and be somebody, you are ready to settle down with somebody worthy of awesome you. She’s an actress, or a model (or whatever) as long as she’s ridiculously attractive AND is also somehow absurdly the perfect picture of feminine glory – nurturing, sweet, smart and going to make a great mother. You’ve partied your balls off – so now it’s time to wife up, be a power couple, throw fabulous dinner parties, give back to charity and live a life so much better than your friends on Facebook. (Suckers!)
The problem is this: Imaginary men are still YOU, but with more money. That’s all. I know these imaginary men, because they do actually exist. I’ve met a lot of them lately. A LOT of them. They have money. They have power. The have access. And most of them are incredibly lonely. All the parties, private jets, mingling with celebs and banging models must have been fun, but it also must have gotten old. Now they want a wifey, and for some strange reason even though I’m the farthest thing from chic or a supermodel – recently they’ve wanted it to be me. ME? ME?????
These guys did it. They became their imaginary selves. Their dreams are their reality. Then their emotional REALITY kicked in and they suddenly want someone REAL to share it with. Now they want someone who they want to fuck - but who also makes them laugh. Someone they can banter with. Someone who challenges them. Someone they can discuss business, politics, whatever with. The person they would have wanted in the first place, before they became imaginary them.
After all that hard work. After achieving the dream. After the perks, the fame and the glory they just want a dope ass bitch to be themselves with. They want the girl they dumped in order to become the person they are now.
Too bad that girl is exactly where YOU were 10 years ago. She’s dreaming of her imaginary self and who and what she’ll deserve when SHE is somebody. Should she settle for a partied out, notorious playboy who finally discovered the meaning of life? Or will she repeat his trajectory, only to long for whomever she ends up leaving to “have it all.”
Probably the latter. And so goes the ridiculous, lonely, sad, exciting, beautiful,. tragic, heart-breakingly empty and soulless circle we make around the 30 Mile Zone we call Los Angeles.