“You are someone else; I am still right here.”

 

 

As daunting a task as it is, reading the comments in ‘sphere blogs is rewarding.

Tonight, for me, that’s quite an understatement.

 

 

You’ve no idea how much this comment resounded within me:

http://tempesttcup.wordpress.com/2013/12/01/a-rebuttal-to-alpha-vs-thug/#comment-1890

Long time readers of my work (here and elsewhere) know, beyond doubt, how much this particular portion of her words spoke to me:

 

“Consider St. Lawrence. Ordered to bring forth the church’s riches, he brings forth the city’s poor. He quipped with his enemies ‘Turn me over, I’m done on this side.’ That man died like a Roman. He had serious cajones.
 
But what if a man with principle Lawrence lived in our times. He wouldn’t get the dignity of an honorable death. He’d have to choose between wordly success (at the expense of his principles, essentially acting out of fear of authority: not Alpha) or actively choosing the route of poverty and obscurity. In following his principles, he bows to no man but himself. But he’s not a conventional ‘winner’.”

 

See, everyone wants to talk about “being Alpha”.

This is “alpha”; that is “alpha”.

I’m here to tell you:

Sometimes being “alpha” is shitty.

 

 

Sure, it’s nice to command a room.

To have women giggle and gossip favorably concerning you.

To have men respect you.

To have them seek your council and leadership.

But that’s only the half of it.

 

 

No one talks about the pressure.

The constant battle to stay True to one’s mission.

To ignore the derision.

To go through job after job because everyone in management thinks you’re gunning for their middle-management position.

To tell your bosses they’re [literally] crooks.

It’s exhausting telling people when they are being foolish, deluded or simply an asshole.

It’s painful to look in the faces of loved ones and call them out.

 

 

Sure, I don’t really give a rat’s ass about the opinions of others.

But it’s wearisome speaking out (in real life) when no one else will.
 
Knowing everyone is taking a step back so that it appears you’re the one stepping forward to take the challenge.

[Anyone spoiling for a fight obviously hasn’t been in many real ones.

Or has a death wish.]

 

 

See, if you’re a natural:

You can’t choose.

You don’t get to “shut it off”.

You don’t get to simply “ride along”.

You lead.

Or you feel like you’re dying.

Even though you know leading will likely kill you.

Metaphorically or literally.

 

 

Even with all of that, the hardest part is this:

The knowledge that people trust you.

They have faith in you to not lead them astray.

They place themselves in your hands.

They give you the opportunity to carry them.

Or to crush them.

 

 

Every man wants to be the fastest gun in the West.

But they forget that, if they get to be such:

Every other man still wants to be the fastest gun in the West.

Every man wants the hearts of pretty women.

But they’ll have to break a few, at some point.

Thus, I learned a long time ago:

To an honorable man, a crown is just as much a fetter as leg-irons.

 

 

Sure, everyone likes honorable men.

So long as they’re dead.

Living is another story, entirely.

 

 

Would I choose a different path, if I could?

I can’t say.

It’s not an option.

So I don’t think on it.

I just keep riding ahead of the posse.

Sometimes they’re following me.

Sometimes they’re chasing me to lynch me.

But I ride on, regardless.

It’s all I know.

It’s all I have.

 

 

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