The Wave

As the energy surges through my body I find myself once again asking, am I bipolar, or is this just entrepreneurship?

My family has a history of mental illness so the thought, though extreme, isn't entirely unwarranted.

Sometimes I feel like I am a goddamn crazy person and the people closest to me are patient as fuck as I bounce between the doubt that anything I'm doing is making a difference and the kind of contagious positivity that will annoy even the cheeriest of souls.

On an off day, I question my entire purpose and path. I feel zero motivation to continue doing what I'm doing; have thoughts of abandoning my business and becoming a full time barista on Bondi beach in Australia.

But when the weather turns and we have an especially beautiful day in Austin, Texas I often find myself splayed on the floor amidst poster boards and post-it notes planning my empire, visioning a positive future for every element of my life, and strategizing the fastest way to build billion dollar businesses and conquer the entire fucking world. And I have the confidence that I can actually achieve all of it.

Where does this energy come from? It's internal... so I know I've generated the flow within my physical body and/or brain (assisted, always, by almond milk coffee) but why does it feel so natural on some days and others I can't for the life of me uncover the force to send one goddamn email even after seven shots of espresso.

I'm learning to go with the flow. I don't understand it, but like a surfer floating patiently off the depths of a dark shore I wait for the perfect wave. I rise and fall with the gentle swells, often annoyed that I have to sit so still. Being tossed around and teased by the subtle sway of the tide.
Occasionally giving me hope that this is the big one.
Sometimes pouring over my head filling my mouth with the salty taste of ocean water.

But when it hits I soar.

I glide.

I run.

I fly.

I have the godlike strength to push past the toughest obstacles and in the pure ecstasy of a flow state I can see things happening around me before they are real. I have the energy to make big things happen. I am on top of the motherfucking world. I am unstoppable.

I want to capture this feeling. Bottle it up like a strong cold brew to drink on my next down day, but there is no such device.

After some time, the wave dies down and I reach the shore to rest.

I'm not a surfer, but years of summer trips to the ice cold beaches of Southern Maine during my youth taught me plenty about waiting for the perfect ride. It takes patience. Persistence. Practice.

I heard once that every seventh wave is a big one. I have no idea whether that has to do with gravity, the Fibonacci sequence, or if it's actually even remotely true, but I like the idea that everything in nature has its own powerful rhythm. Slow, steady, consistent flow followed by a sudden surge as the tallest wave comes crashing into shore with the sheer force of thousands of pounds per gallon.

And so, I ride on.