Turning Pro

In a way I was lucky that I experienced failure for so many years. Because there were no conventional rewards, I was forced to ask myself, Why am I doing this? Am I crazy? All my friends are making money and settling down and living normal lives. What the hell am I doing? Am I nuts? What's wrong with me?

When we turn pro, we stop running from our fears. We turn around and face them.

Here's the truth: the tribe doesn't give a shit. There is no tribe.

The sure sign of an amateur is he has a million plans and they all start tomorrow.

But the past evoked by the amateur is make-believe. It never existed. It's a highlight reel that she edited together from events that almost took place or should have occurred. In a way, the amateur's re-imagined past is worse when it's true. Because then it's really gone. The payoff of living in the past or the future is you never have to do your

The amateur prizes shallowness and shuns depth. The culture of Twitter and Facebook is paradise for the amateur.

When we take our M1903 Springfield and blow a hole in our foot, we no longer have to face the real fight of our lives, which is to become who we are and to realize our destiny and our calling.

It's not just the Irish. The pain of being human is that we're all angels imprisoned in vessels of flesh.

In the end, it didn't matter. That year made me a pro. It gave me, for the first time in my life, an uninterrupted stretch of month after month that was mine alone, that nobody knew about but me, when I was truly productive, truly facing my demons, and truly working my shit. That year has stuck with me.