STOICALLY PRAGMATIC
Bud Can Stay. He Just Doesn't Get to Drive Anymore.
Hey, fukkers.
So here I am. Again.
Standing in one of those situations where the old me and the man I'm trying to become have two VERY different ideas about what should happen next.
I've been working a lot with Stoicism and Pragmatism lately.
My extremely sophisticated philosophical explanation goes something like this:
Stoicism tells me not to lose my shit. Pragmatism tells me what to do after I don't.
LOL.
The problem is that my particular brand of Pragmatism has an asshole living in the basement.
His name is Bud.
Bud is the dude Ross became a long time ago when anger, aggression, and occasionally doing some crazy shit were legitimate parts of the toolbox.
Bud doesn't believe every problem requires violence.
He's more sophisticated than that.
Sometimes he recommends pliers.
And Bud is PISSED right now.
Some things have happened involving my family that have awakened every old instinct that dude has.
His solution is simple. Straightforward. Satisfying.
Mine isn't.
Because I have court hearings coming up. I have paperwork to organize, questions to prepare, evidence to gather, and decisions to make.
More importantly, I have a daughter watching how I handle this.
And that's where the whole damn lesson lives.
Growth Doesn't Mean Bud Disappears
I think we sometimes get self-improvement wrong.
We imagine that if we work on ourselves long enough, eventually the ugly thoughts disappear.
The anger disappears.
The old instincts disappear.
And one morning we wake up peaceful, enlightened little fuckers who drink herbal tea and never want to choke anybody.
Apparently, I missed that class.
Because Bud is still here.
But something has changed.
Twenty years ago, anger gave an order, and I followed it.
Today?
Anger gets to make a suggestion.
I make the decision.
That might be one of the best definitions of personal growth I've stumbled across.
Growth isn't necessarily changing what pops into your head.
It's changing what happens next.
Capability Isn't Character
There's also a difference between what you're capable of doing and what you choose to do.
I don't have to prove I'm tough.
I don't have to prove I can hurt somebody.
I don't have to answer disrespect with more disrespect.
Being capable of something doesn't make doing it right.
Especially when my little girl is watching.
I cannot teach her how to stand up for herself by becoming exactly what I'm telling her not to become.
I can't teach self-control while demonstrating that self-control only applies until somebody pisses you off enough.
So instead, I'm preparing.
I'm documenting.
I'm asking questions.
I'm getting advice.
I'm using the tools available to me.
And yes...
Bud thinks this plan fucking sucks.
But here's what I've finally figured out:
I don't need to get rid of Bud.
There are parts of that dude I still need.
His toughness.
His refusal to quit.
His willingness to stand between trouble and the people he loves.
His absolute fucking stubbornness.
Those aren't bad qualities.
They just need adult supervision.
So Bud can stay.
He can bitch from the passenger seat.
He can remind me what I'm capable of.
He can even occasionally hand me the pliers.
But he doesn't get the steering wheel anymore.
I do.
And maybe that's what self-improvement really looks like.
Not becoming harmless.
Not becoming emotionless.
Not pretending you're never angry.
It's looking that old version of yourself straight in the eye and saying:
"I know what you want to do.
But we don't do that shit anymore.
We do what's right. Even when it sucks."
And then doing exactly that.
Even when your hands itch.
Even when doing the right thing tastes like shit.
Even when you have absolutely no guarantee it's going to work.
Because the outcome doesn't determine whether your choice was right.
Your character does.
ROSS'S RULE
You don't have to forget your past to grow. Just stop giving it the keys...
Too stubborn to stay down.
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