Raw dog it, thank me later

I say, raw dog it.

What do I mean by that? What could I possibly mean by that?

Well, I mean raw dog your life. Put condoms on though, but everything else? Raw dog.

Don’t put your headphones on during your walk or your run. I want you to breathe and live in the boredom.

I want you to say good morning to strangers, say hello. I want you to try.

I don’t want you to escape life through music, or through movies, worse —doomscrolling on reels.

You can people watch or you can close your eyes for a second —feel the breeze touch your nape, and listen to the birds chirp. It’s a good Saturday morning is it? Sit a little bit with your thoughts. Look up ahead, and smile to anyone who runs past you, say good morning, ask to pet their dogs, then just have a small talk. Third spaces, communities, or deeper forms of friendship won't spur out of thin air. You have to try, and when you do …

Suddenly, life feels kinder no?

Then keep dong it. Keep practicing. Keep living what’s in front of you.

I saw this post saying that his brother once told him that he imagines that he begged God to be reincarnated and relive his life again, to have the privilege to do the mundane, the routine, the same grocery trip, take the same commute to work, see the same friends and family, hug the same people, hold the same pet you grow up with.

In a world so obsessed in running away, choked up in brands bombing my phone daily, not any better looking up at the skyline full of billboards too, squeezed up like sardines in the metro full of the same working class who looks down their phone and watches their downloaded movies to survive standing for forty minutes straight, slaving in capitalism, and coming home to a shoebox —I cannot blame us, them, me for wanting to run away too. I cannot blame rushing to get out, rushing to get home, rushing to dissociate, rushing to numb.

Anthony Bourdain already said it himself:

don’t be afraid to eat a bad meal, if you don't risk the bad meal, you never get the magical one

Funny enough, that applies to more than meals. We try not to have a bad day and block those feelings out, we deny ourselves care and validation. We might never go out. If we don't risk the bad interactions, the situationships, the bland dinners, the intimidating fitness class, the big group of athletic runners in your beginner pace —you might never have the magical partner, the meant-to-be interactions, the hole-in-the-wall that will become your spot in the city, the friendships that sees your soul through and through, the hobby you feel most you, the sun rise and sets that never fails to eject the Sunday scaries out of your system.

Controlling and dissociation is a disservice to ourselves. It limit the experiences to be grateful of. As if there is a standard built by capitalists of what a high should feel like, of how much should gratitude cost.

If we continue to do so, we might never have the habit of exchanging small pleasantries, an intrinsic part of being a human in this world. It’s a butterfly effect, we might never find our community. So, forget the distractions —raw dog it.

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My routine:

A 9-5 in sniffing fragrances, pilates before that and a cuddle with my cats, easy runs on Monday, interval runs on Wednesday, social runs on Friday, and a long run on Saturday. All blessed with sunrise and thousands of “good mornings” exchanged with strangers. Scoop litter once I get home. Occasional hot yoga and a treat of flat white at GolosItalia. Single fins whenever friends are up at six a.m. on a Saturday. Books and Substack during the metro to work. Lunch with parents on Saturday. Grocery and meal prep on Sunday. If it’s a bad week, I’m sitting on a happy hour three glasses in.

i have so much love for Kite beach and my communities there 🌞🫶s/o to jjrc

I’d probably beg God too just to have days like this again when it’s time to let go.