Author’s Note: If you have not seen the movie American Beauty, or if you are easily offended, you may want to skip the YouTube clips attached, as they both potentially ruin the ending of the movie, and also contain some slightly racy material. You have been warned.

I’ve often been asked if I regret any of my tattoos. Why would I regret them? I mean that literally– what would it even mean to regret one of my tattoos? Would it mean that it’s a decision I made in the past that I can’t now un-make, and I no longer agree with? But wouldn’t that be applicable to all decisions?

Regret is pointless. It serves no function, just a small step away from its distant cousin, guilt. It is a projected emotion foisted upon the undeserving masses from those trying to leverage a moral ranking of superiority.

Thinking about it intuitively, regret is just an offshoot of fear– fear of being wrong and making an incorrect decision– which is also a pretty useless emotion. It is there to guide us in times when rational thought is not fast enough, when we don’t have all the facts yet we still have to pull the trigger, so to speak. We have been taught to be skeptical, to defer judgment, to remain “open-minded”.

“Dying people lie too. Wish they’d worked less, been nicer, opened orphanages for kittens. If you really want to do something, you do it. You don’t save it for a sound bite”. (Dr. House, House M.D.)

But decisions don’t wait. Life can’t be placed on hold, can’t be paused while we gather all the necessary data to ensure 100% accuracy. Life continues to roll on, to pass us, to move and change. And those that choose to live, will make choices and decisions to the best of their abilities, given the totality of the facts in front of them at any given moment. They will not be afraid. And if and when they choose incorrectly, they will not regret their choice. They will simply learn from it, and choose better next time.

“Right and wrong do exist. Just because you don’t know what the right answer is– maybe there’s even no way you could know what the right answer is– doesn’t make your answer right or even okay. It’s much simpler than that. It’s just plain wrong”. (Dr. House, House M.D.)

Despite this fact, House never stops to question himself. He simply moves on. He decides, to the best of his ability, at any given moment, in any given situation. And he lives without regrets. Gather the facts, make the decision, apply the decision, gather more facts– the gears move, the cycle continues.

The only wrong action is inaction. The only wrong decision is indecision. Life is a process of movement and change, of forward progression, not staleness and stillness. To be frozen into skepticism and inaction due to fear of wrongness is to lie down and die. To take steps– even wrong steps– is not only okay and admissible, but necessary. It’s how we learn the right way. One will stumble on the way to learning to walk, and soon thereafter sprint. Removing fear allows for progress and success. And the concomitant orientation is the rejection of regret as an after-effect. To live, and learn, and move, and breathe– is to live. And the only thing I could ever regret, is committing myself to not living.

I love my stories of failure, of missed opportunities, as much as I love my stories of success. I simply love my stories, per se. They are what brought me to current-day, like a road-map with circled towns along the path from beginning to end, hiccups, stutters, falters, breaks. They dot the lining of my life. Same with my tattoos: regardless of the content, regardless of my association with them, they are the signposts of my life, the Post-It notes with instructions of where I’ve been, where I’m going, and where I currently am. They let me know that I have lived a life, rather than let one walk right past me.

Decisiveness implies an ability to pull the trigger and make a decision, even when it’s not fun. A decision made leads to an effect, which then requires another decision to be made. Like a complex math problem, life is a series of these decisions that leads one from the variables to a final summation or end product, where one can lie back and smile: no embarrassment of the past, no regrets of missed opportunities, and no fear of future endeavors. A true living-in-the-moment orientation, with brief reference to past and future, reference to either side of the time-line, and the primary emotions filling one’s day: joy, and eagerness, and excitement, and anticipation for future joy– and of course, when looking backwards, a certain pride and fondness for all past decisions, without pain, or fear, or regret.

-David A. Johnston

Needless to say I soon feel victim to freshman weight gain. After a year of indulging in the college lifestyle I realized I had lost my once athletic physique and soon began training again. Once I had a steady routine going I heard about fitness competitions, and the urge to compete overcame me. I knew I wanted to be on that stage, and I thought I could do it all by myse

lf. I spent hours researching the perfect workout routines, and reading endless forums of how to drop weight fast to get that toned look. I thought I’d be on stage in no time. Boy was I wrong!

But luck have it after a year of what I like to call “backyard training” I met my current boyfriend, Yuri Kostovetskiy, who was training to compete in bodybuilding competitions. This is how I met Dave, and how he became my trainer.

After my first workout with Dave I realized that no amount of

information I read online could have pushed me to my potential like he does. Dave pushed me past the limits I had set for myself and made me realize how much potential I had to transform my body. After several months of training I took my first step on stage, and finally got my chance to compete; and instead of filling that need and urge I had had to compete, I became thirstier than ever for success.

Competing in Philly was an eye opening experience into a whole new level of competition, and I learned many humbling lessons. As stated, I was raised training and I was used to working hard and winning. At my first competition I came in 7th place; to be honest, at first I was upset. I wasn’t used to working so hard and not placing. After I had some time to get over it, I finally realized, it’s not about where you place, or if I came home with a trophy: It was the fact that I had set a goal of stepping on that stage knowing that I had pushed myself as hard as I could and that there wasn’t anything else I could have done to be prepared. Once I made that realization I knew I had succeeded.

I could not have done this without Dave, because he not only pushes me in the gym, but he helps me see the big picture, and how success is really defined. That being said, I’m more fired up than ever to compete in six weeks at the 2010 NPC Maryland State, and plan to keep training hard and competing in the future!

Part of me wants to be totally objective, to sit here and give a detailed analysis of how the events unfolded on Saturday, August 21st, at the 2010 NPC Maryland State and East Coast Classic Bodybuilding Championship.

Part of me wants to give the full details of how every competitor did– of how splendid an event it was, how nearly 20 competitors from Lifetime Fitness stepped on stage that night and walked away with trophies, many of whom I helped coach, guide and educate along the way. Part of me wants to give details on my clients who were so successful, and my wife who was so successful.

Part of me wants to draw a larger lesson, a moral, put together a learning device or matrix to help guide and inspire my clients to achieve their goals and dreams. I feel I am in a position now to say something cliche like “If you try hard enough, and put in the hard work, you can achieve whatever you set your mind to”.

But the biggest part of me doesn’t want to do any of that. The truth of the matter is, I really don’t even know how I feel. I don’t think I can describe it. I don’t think words can capture it.

While driving to work today, Gary Jules’s version of “Mad World” came on the radio .

While listening to this I found myself crying, for no apparent reason. It didn’t even inspire a specific emotion that I could identify. Rather, I was simply flooded with feelings, with thoughts, with visions. I let the sounds wash over me like a wave, I felt my stomach drop and my head swell with feelings of finality. I felt dissociated from the world around me, like I was no longer functioning within it, but rather, watching it from a foggy distance. If I were a spirit aimlessly roaming the planet, I imagine this is how I would feel.

I felt every morning of the past 7 years, walking into the gym, digging down to find motivation and drive. I felt every ache and pain of every rep of every set. I felt every thousand pounds moved on the leg press, every burst blood vessel, every callus and capillary, every stretch and contraction. I realized I have spent nearly a quarter of my life pursuing this goal.

I saw a vision of a pudgy little boy that was never in control of his body, only his mind and spirit– and how he used that mind and spirit to forge a body to match. And I thought to myself, How odd that I chose to do all of this. I saw that pudgy little boy camped in front of the television watching Arnold Schwarzenegger in all his swagger, and knowing that I would someday look like that. I saw the first time I loaded a trailer at UPS, and felt my flesh strain and contract, and felt the exhaustion of pushing my body to the brink. I saw the first time I put a bar across my back in a basement in Connecticut, with no one else around, and gave myself the command to get in shape. I remembered promising myself to commit for 6 months, and if the results weren’t worth it, I could quit. And I remembered starting to look myself more in the eye when I would gaze into the mirror.

I saw a warrior standing on a stage, beaming with pride, and joy, having accomplished a task I never would have foreseen a decade ago. I saw my daughter looking at me and thinking, “This is normal– this is what people do– they build themselves into wonderful things, through blood and sweat and tears, then they share it with the world”.

I saw countless hours spent reading materials on the Internet, in medical texts, in glossy magazines featuring men with bulging veins on the covers. I remembered all the journals lining my bookshelf at home with notes on diets, supplements, and training routines. I recalled that I have written down every single workout I have put myself through since my first one on September 13th, 2003.

I had planned on compiling a list of everything that I had to do between January 1st, 2010 and August 21st, 2010, in order to compete at the Maryland State:
-the 8,500 egg whites
-the 1,600 whole eggs
-the 495lbs of chicken
-the 800 cups of oatmeal
-the 500 miles on the treadmill
-the 18,596 flights on the stairs
To speak nothing of the literally thousands and thousands and thousands of pounds of weights hoisted, lifted, curled, squatted, benched, dead lifted, broken, battered, and beaten.

And I realized, it wouldn’t convey what I was feeling. I realized, for once, I didn’t want to be dramatic. Because being dramatic would not do justice to how I was feeling.

I feel accomplished. I feel proud. I feel sad that it’s over. I feel excited to know that I can be the greatest, all that it takes is time and effort and consistency. I feel redeemed, though from whom or what I am not sure– like I proved a point to the universe, or to myself, maybe. I feel exhausted. I feel I could lie down and die right now, and everything would be okay. I feel for the first time like I accomplished something worthy of being written down and remembered. I feel incredibly sad and spent and empty, though I’m not sure why.

Part of me sincerely feels that I don’t quite deserve it. Not to say that I wasn’t the best that day. But my heart went out to everybody who has worked hard and not taken first. For the first time in my life, I think I actually felt humble– I felt the need to be humble– because if I wasn’t, I would truly be cruel. On Saturday night, I felt like I was part of an elite pack of human beings, and I wish every single one of my clients, every single one of my friends, every person in my family, was there with me. I don’t want to be the one at the center, saying, “See! See what you can achieve!” I want to be surrounded by people that are there, too!

There is no “I told you so” left in me. Rather, there is only a promise, to myself above all else:

You have only begun to see what is within me.

David A. Johnston

First up the men – Yuri, David, Joe, and Brandon.

Here is one of the final pose downs. Much more video to come as I am able to get it edited and put together.

I have worked in commercial gyms for years now, and have watched every sales tactic and technique imaginable when it comes to personal training. Often times, a new client is presented with a questionnaire asking about their preferences regarding a personal trainer– “Would you prefer a disciplinarian type, or an empathetic type?”

I always thought the question was the silliest question in the world– until I started watching other personal trainers with their clientele.

See, here’s the deal with personal trainers: they are typically commission-only. Which means, when they’re not training a client, they are making no money at all. Which means they are intensely interested in acquiring a client in the first place, and by all means never offending that client.

We are taught in the sales world to “never say no”– if you want to close a sale, you should always be cheerful, agreeable, and always tell the client what they want to hear, even if you later have to modify it to something slightly different. And most personal trainers approach their new clients in this manner: they are passive, borderline fearful of offending the prospective client, for fear that they won’t close the sale. And then once they have that client, they are afraid to be blunt, to “tell it like it is”, for fear of losing the client.

But here’s the problem: you are hiring a trainer. This means, you are seeking out guidance and leadership from a qualified professional to help take you to a level of health and fitness you admittedly can’t get to on your own.

Can you imagine sending your children to a teacher who backed down her expectations every time the child said “It’s too hard”, for fear of discouraging the child? Can you imagine employing a teacher for your child who was more concerned with being the child’s friend, than the child’s instructor? Of course not! You would run screaming from a teacher like that. Why? Because a teacher’s job is to hold your child accountable, have high expectations, and help elevate them to the next level of knowledge.

The same is true with personal training. You want somebody with a strong personality, somebody who is smart (maybe a little too smart), somebody who will call you on your BS, somebody with high expectations, somebody who holds him or herself to a ridiculously high standard. This will help to elevate you to the next level, even if it’s a bit painful (and trust me, it will be– if it was simple and pain-free, you’d already be in great shape, and not spending hundreds of dollars on a personal trainer!).

So when hiring a trainer, do yourself a favor and look for the meanest, most brutally honest trainer in the gym. Yes, it will sting a bit, but at the end of your sessions, when you actually have the body and health of your dreams– along with the self-esteem that you earned in the process– you will come back and thank me!

I never understood focusing on the mundane, on the ordinary, on the every-day. Every day is filled with the every-day– it is boring by definition. I‘ve often heard the cliche, “Ordinary people are heroes, too”. Nope. False. Heroes are heroes. That’s what makes them different from ordinary people.

We used to play a game when we were young: “If you could have any superpower, what would it be?” The cheater amongst us would normally say, “My superpower would be the superpower to adopt any superpower I wanted”. (This was usually me, trying to outsmart the system.) Super strength, super speed, super intelligence– the ability to have abilities above and beyond, to be larger than life, to bend the rules of the universe to one’s own design.

Watch the average 5-year-old boy on the playground, observe what he aspires to be: Superman, flying at freakish speed and saving the world; Wolverine, healing instantaneously and fighting villains; or a hero of real-world flesh and bone– LeBron James flying through the air, similar to Superman, but in a slightly smaller arena. And the 5-year-old girl is not exempt, pursuing the powers of Wonder Woman, or Storm, or Witchblade or Phoenix. The honesty of youth recognizes the beauty of the superhero.

We are taught, as we age, to give up the attempt, to not bother with trying to become superheroes. We slowly have the “super” beaten out of us, and the “mundane” beaten into us– to fit in, sink into the background, do as others do, follow the trend.

But some fight it. Some don’t bend so easily.

I want to be Neo from The Matrix, I want to be the One, the pre-destined, the chosen. I want to see the code of the universe from omniscient eyes, integrating the raw data, the atoms and particles of existence, into whole entities. I don’t want to see the blandness, the murkiness, the fuzzy borders. I want the pristine black-and-white edges of perfection.

My heroes were not always of the cape-wearing variety. Many of them were musicians I looked up to– Michael Jackson, then Axl Rose. Or, later in life, certain sports figures that pushed the envelope of human ability to a higher level– the Walter Paytons, Michael Jordans, and Bret Favres of the world. Still later, I turned to intellectual heroes, those that challenged a pre-existing way of thinking and were able to perceive the universe from a unique and innovative perspective– the Platos and Aritostles, the Leonardo da Vincis and Michelangelos, the Tomas Edisons and Albert Einsteins and Ayn Rands. Most recently, my heroes have been those that have committed their lives to a singular discipline and literally transformed themselves into warriors-of-flesh-and-bone, creating a suit of armor that the Incredible Hulk himself would envy– the Dorian Yates’s, Ronnie Colemans, and Jay Cutlers of the world.

But one theme has persisted from early youth: Life is about aspiration, it is about the greatest, the biggest, the strongest, the smartest, the fastest, the best. Or at least, it should be. Life should not focus or dwell on the accidental and average. The superhero is the artistic manifestation, the concrete representation made flesh, of certain principles, the concepts and values that lie at the core of what we think matters.

When I first started dating my wife Nikki, I went to watch her and a group of girls play league volleyball. During a break, she introduced me to her pack of friends, and we then left to take a stroll in the beautiful Chicago spring air. When we returned, her girlfriend told Nikki, “The two of you look like a couple of superheroes walking into the sunset hand-in-hand”. And I smiled. I decided then and there to be a superhero. Approximately 15 months later, we had our first child, a beautiful baby girl. Her name? Raven Storm, of course. What better moniker than a name worthy of comic book pages? She’s the newest addition to the superhero household.

I am on the constant lookout for heroes, because I am a hero-worshiper, unapologetic and unabashed. I need that hero to help elevate me to the next level, to pull me up in times of need– to raise my spirits and expectations of what lies around the corner– to make me want to flip the comic-book page of life, and consume the next square panel of flashy colors and bubble letters.

(Author’s note: The following “Emotional Fuel” might be perceived as borderline redneck, and probably not grappling with the highest concepts that mankind has to offer. However, after dealing with serious and weighty topics for several weeks in a row, I figured we were overdue for something a bit more “light”. I hope you can forgive me.)

Muscle. Thick, rippling, bulbous muscle. Like concrete rubber stacked upon a skeleton. Striations riddling an anatomy chart, representing strength, contraction, force, movement, both potential and actual. The dressing on a frame, the housing, the lifeforce that gives motive power to the wishes and demands of the mind. I love muscle.

I love all kinds of muscle, including the kind that purrs, that roars, that makes inhuman noises. I’m not talking about the kind made of flesh, of actin and myosin filaments running in opposition. No, I’m talking about the kind of muscle made of steel and glass, that glistens and belches smoke. I’m talking about “American Muscle”.

For those not familiar, “American Muscle” is the term given to American cars produced in the mid-20th century– “muscle cars”, as they are often called. They were inefficient gas-guzzling machines, more about ego and flash than efficiency and smoothness. But they were beautiful. They represented raw, unadulterated power. Granted, many European cars would beat American Muscle cars in a competition of overall speed, but that’s not the point; if the American Muscle car lost the race and could talk, it would say, in a thick, Jersey accent, “Yeah, but I looked better losing than you did winning, so who cares?” The European car would be a beautiful work of art, a piece of fine-tuned machinery that functioned like a math equation. The American Muscle car would scoff at such a description as pretentious, and would instead roar through sheer force of will, through overly-large engines and tires, through a bulky metal frame that served no discernable purpose other than to “look cool”. The American Muscle car is like the bodybuilder of the vehicle world.

The American Muscle car embodies everything that was great about being a kid (or maybe an 18 year old male– or maybe a 30 year old male– all essentially the same thing, as I’m coming to discover). It is all noise and speed and awesomeness. It is often purposely uncomfortable, stripped down to chunks of clunky steel with minimal upholstery and accommodations. It is sheer might and horsepower and thumbing one’s nose at society, authority, convention. It is pure ostentatiousness. It is rude. It’s a brute. And it is soooo cool.

I always had the underlying, subconscious belief that there should be a direct, one-to-one correlation between performance and appearance– smart people should look “smart”, and if you look “slow”, you should be slow. I think that’s why kids are attracted to the bodybuilding physique (and for proof of this, just ask yourself why all children’s toys are versions of He-Man and G.I. Joe with hyper-inflated chests and arms): We tend to believe that if something looks strong, chances are it is strong, in mind, body, spirit, action, and every other conceivable facet. Part of the process of maturation– or, more appropriately, the disillusioning of growing older– is learning the unfortunate fact that appearance and reality are not always aligned. But dammit, life sure is cooler when they do line up.

To that end, I want my fast, menacing cars to look fast and menacing. I don’t want spherical globules of angle-less plasma spilled onto a set of rubber tires; nor do I want the current trend of (literally) cubes on wheels, that are worshipped as “kitsch”. If only I were trendy or cool enough to care.

I want hard right angles and pointy parts, fenders that abruptly terminate into grills, with panels butted up against one another. I want a vehicle that rumbles down the road looking like an uncaged animal waiting to strike at prey. An engine that idles so slowly– the knock-knock-knock-knock, as the entire cars shakes from side to side– that it lets the driver know every second exactly how dangerous it is. I want a weapon of a vehicle, something that will slice through asphalt like a knife through warm butter– and not the smooth, kind blade of a chef, but the jagged, rugged edge of a hunting knife. I want a car who’s attitude and look match its speed and handling. I want anything but subtle, subdued, suburban. I want atomic hellfire with an exhaust and dual headers, with chrome spilling out of tailpipes and from beneath the hood. I want a car that is so cool it requires a nickname, or better yet, a Lady’s name, because you love it, because she’s your baby, and because if you take care of her then she’ll take care of you.

Monster trucks, Dukes of Hazard, Hot Wheels, Big Wheels– I want linear motion, decisive and assured– a car so blazingly uncontrollable that only a beast of a driver, just slightly more blazing and uncontrollable, would dare try to tame it. “Real cars don’t power the front wheels, they lift them”.

And you better believe Raven will be riding to school in this, with me at the helm:

-David A. Johnston

Getting in shape is a daunting task, but it can be made much easier with the help of a certified personal trainer. However, many people don’t know how to go about selecting the right trainer. There are three major areas one needs to focus on when hiring the right trainer:

1) What has this personal trainer accomplished in the past?

2) How did he/she accomplish it?

3) How is he/she going to do that for me?

Let’s look at each a little more in-depth:

What has this personal trainer accomplished in the past?

Many trainers are kids fresh-out-of-college that have never actually worked with a real-life client before. And while there might be a lot of theoretical knowledge, the everyday application and know-how is not yet up to speed. It’s always preferable to find a personal trainer with a track record of proven results. Ask to see his or her portfolio, with pictures and testimonials from past clients. This way, you can better gauge that trainer’s success rate. Ask them about their methods. Any trainer with his or her metal ought to be able to explain briefly why their approach works well, and what sets them apart from other trainers with a less successful track record. You want to find a trainer that has had a wide variety of clients with varied backgrounds, and thus knows how to solve a range of problems, whether physical, behavioral, or nutrition-based. Finally, it’s always preferable to find a trainer who “walks the walk”– a trainer that actually looks the part and is in shape, and is thus obviously passionate about his or her own fitness level.

How did this personal trainer accomplish his/her past successes?

After you’re sold that the trainer you’re interviewing actually has the goods, figure out how he or she has applied it in the past. Start by making sure the trainer is well educated and actually knows the science behind the human body. Make sure the personal trainer you are considering hiring avoids gimmicks and trends, and thus doesn’t go for the “easy-sale”. Even if well-educated, we all have our knowledge limitations; make sure your trainer is honest and objective enough to admit when he/she doesn’t know the answer to a question or problem, but is also ambitious enough to seek out the answer from the appropriate source or authority. Finally, make sure the prospective trainer is professional in how he/she conducts his or her business– that the trainer is consistently on time, is highly organized, and has excellent communication skills.

How is this personal trainer going to accomplish your goals for YOU?

After reviewing the trainer’s success rate and seeing how they accomplished said successes, it’s important to see then how they will individualize that program for you. First, make sure this trainer is going to take you on as a “project”, rather than as a “client”– that means they will help you with not just your exercise, but also with your nutrition plan, your cardio plan, your life-coaching and behavior-modification– basically, whatever is needed to help get you to your end-goal. Make sure the trainer is more focused on achieving your goals, and the actual training part of the equation, than merely closing the sale. Yes, sales is part of personal training, but it shouldn’t be the central focus. The focus should still revolve around your health and fitness. It’s important that your trainer is a good teacher. Unless you are planning on working with him or her for the rest of your life, you will eventually need to know how to work out on your own. Thus, you need somebody that can explain it to you. Finally, make sure your trainer is brutally honest with you, and has a strong personality. Remember, you are hiring this person to help drag you to the next level, often kicking and screaming. If you could do it on your own, you wouldn’t be hiring him/her! So the last thing you need is sugar-coated nonsense.

When trying to select the right personal trainer, just remember to focus on the three big areas: what have they accomplished in the past?; how did they accomplish it?; and how are they going to accomplish it for you?

To itemize:

1) Make sure the trainer has a proven track record of results. Anyone can talk big, but client pictures and testimonials don’t lie.

2) Make sure the trainer has a proven method of achieving results. After showing you his/her testimonials, make the trainer explain how it was accomplished.

3) Make sure the trainer has worked with a variety of clients presenting a host of different challenges (physical, nutritional, and behavioral). This will demonstrate that the trainer has good problem-solving skills, and can be successful in a variety of situations.

4) Make sure the trainer actually “walks the walk”. Many in this industry become cynical over time, but a trainer who still takes care of his or own health and physique is clearly passionate about fitness.

5) Make sure the trainer is well-educated. A scientific background, and knowing how the human body actually operates, is key.

6) Make sure the trainer is not looking for the “easy-out”. It’s simple to sell people gimmicks and trends, so avoid gimmicky trainers like the plague!

7) Make sure the trainer knows his limitations. Yes, education is key, but so is admitting that you don’t have the answer to everything– that way, you can both seek out solutions from other sources (doctors, chiropractors, etc.).

Make sure the trainer is professional. He or she should consistently be on time, not cancel appointments, be highly organized, have excellent communication skills, etc.

9) Make sure the trainer takes you on as a “project”, and not just a “client”. Yes, they are there to work you out, but they also need to help you with your nutrition, your cardio plan, your life-coaching and behavior modification, your motivation– basically, whatever it takes to actually help you achieve your goal!

10) Make sure the trainer is more focused on the training than the sale. Making the sale is an inherent part of personal training, but it should never be the focus; make sure the trainer you are considering puts your fitness and health first, and the sale second.

11) Make sure your prospective trainer is a good teacher. Unless you plan on working with him or her forever, you will eventually be doing this on your own, and thus need somebody that can teach you how and make sense of it all.

12) Make sure your trainer is brutally honest and has a strong personality. Remember, you are hiring this person to deliver you– often kicking and screaming– to a healthier lifestyle and better physique; thus you need somebody that won’t pull punches with you, and that will take the lead when necessary.

“You want something. Go get it. Period”.

From whom are you seeking permission? Why do you feel, in the larger scheme of things, that other souls outrank yours, that you are not qualified to seek out your own ends and your own goals? Nobody can walk for you, breathe for you, think for you. You are the sole cause of the path your life takes, and the sole recipient of all ends brought about from walking said path. So if you want something, what are you waiting for? What is holding you back? Who is holding you back? Why do you feel the need to “clear things” with others, to ask permission?

My nickname from my father growing up was “the bulldog”, because I was tenacious in achieving my ends. Even when I was five years old, if I wanted something, I went out to get it, and nothing could stop me from moving towards it until I held it in my hands. Needless to say, this led to many a fight with my parents when I was a youth, as my “goals” weren’t exactly the most rational or well-thought-out! But I never understood the mentality that you should be stopped by “expectations”, by norms and etiquette and opinion. I never understood the mentality of taking somebody else’s judgment as superior to my own. And I still don’t.

If you want something, go get it, period. There’s really nothing else to it. Don’t let other people stop you. Don’t let yourself stop you. Don’t let “the difficulty of it all” stop you. Become a juggernaut of propulsion, an internal combustion engine hell-bent and determined. Crush it, destroy it, knock it down, and own it. Until it’s in your hands, and you can clutch your values close to your heart. Until then, it’s just some floating abstraction not tied to anything real.

About six month ago, a client of mine told me, “Dave, I’m really an all-or-nothing person– I either have to be 100% with my diet, or not follow it at all”. At first, I nodded and agreed, understanding the sentiment, as it’s one that I hear all the time. And then I stopped him– “Are you really?”, I asked. Honestly, everybody tells me that– that they are ‘all or nothing’. Yet I don’t see it that often in practice. If you commit to something, do you get it– consistently– every time– 100%– without fail– to the point of mania– to the point of depriving yourself of short-term worldly comforts if need be? Can you put the ephemeral on hold in exchange for the glory of the permanent? Isn’t that what “glory” is, after all?– the idea of something that lasts, something that will be around longer than 30 seconds, perhaps even longer than you inhabit this earth? Honor, glory, pride– antiquated concepts of centuries past, I know. Maybe it’s time for a return.

“He was a man who had never accepted the creed that others had the right to stop him. He set his goal and moved toward it.” (Atlas Shrugged) Or take this variation from The Ultimate Sales Machine by Chet Holmes: the number one skill required for success is “old-fashioned pigheaded discipline and determination”. Plug away, plug away, plug away. Don’t stop. Grind it out. And again. And again. You want something. Go get it. Period.

I know I’m supposed to be teaching my daughter to share, to “play nice”. I went to swim lessons with her several months back, when she was only 5 months old. I watched all of the other parents with their newborn infants, and watched the mentality they were cultivating. I watched the various children spot toys that they wanted, often toys held by other children, and make a move to take them. I watched the parents scold the children immediately– “Tommy, that’s rude! You have to share!” As if sharing is the moral ideal of all time. I watched these newborns consistently cower in fear and confusion. I watched them learn the principle that if one wants something, one should not go get it– for fear of offending, hurting somebody’s feelings, stepping on toes, rocking the boat, being different, making waves. Come up with whatever cliché you like, the principle is the same: I watched these poor young children become indoctrinated to the idea that they should hold themselves back.

Don’t ever hold yourself back. Seriously. Be an idiot. Be ridiculous. Push it to a level heretofore unseen. We’ve all heard the cheerful and pleasant saying “Dance like no one is watching”. I prefer the slightly more over-the-top version, “Drive it like you stole it”. And don’t ever look back to see the cops in the rearview mirror!

Author Alfred D. Souza wrote, “For a long time it seemed to me that life was about to begin – real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time to still be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life.”

At those same swim lessons, I watched Raven spy a toy duck that she wanted, and fight vigorously through the water to get it, with every ounce of joy and energy she contained within her being. It was her sole object of desire, her focus, her goal, her destination. I watched her interact with the other newborns, sometimes “rudely” grabbing their toys. And I let her. If you want something, go get it. Period. If it’s a problem, you’ll learn what it feels like to have another child slap your hand. But at least you’ll know from firsthand experience, without others cultivating a mindset of hesitation and self-doubt.

Take the damn toy, child. This world is yours, if you take it. Now go get it. Period.

-David A. Johnston