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- Марк Мэнсон
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- Тонкое искусство пофигизма
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- Стр. 91/115
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Do
something
.
That
“
something
”
can
be
the
smallest
viable
action
toward
something
else
.
It
can
be
anything
.
Recognize
that
you
’
ve
been
an
entitled
prick
in
all
of
your
relationships
and
want
to
start
developing
more
compassion
for
others
?
Do
something
.
Start
simple
.
Make
it
a
goal
to
listen
to
someone
’
s
problem
and
give
some
of
your
time
to
helping
that
person
.
Just
do
it
once
.
Or
promise
yourself
that
you
will
assume
that
you
are
the
root
of
your
problems
next
time
you
get
upset
Just
try
on
the
idea
and
see
how
it
feels
.
That
’
s
often
all
that
’
s
necessary
to
get
the
snowball
rolling
,
the
action
needed
to
inspire
the
motivation
to
keep
going
.
You
can
become
your
own
source
of
inspiration
.
You
can
become
your
own
source
of
motivation
.
Action
is
always
within
reach
.
And
with
simply
doing
something
as
your
only
metric
for
success
—
well
,
then
even
failure
pushes
you
forward
.
In
2009
,
I
gathered
up
all
my
possessions
,
sold
them
or
put
them
into
storage
,
left
my
apartment
,
and
set
off
for
Latin
America
.
By
this
time
my
little
dating
advice
blog
was
getting
some
traffic
and
I
was
actually
making
a
modest
amount
of
money
selling
PDFs
and
courses
online
.
I
planned
on
spending
much
of
the
next
few
years
living
abroad
,
experiencing
new
cultures
,
and
taking
advantage
of
the
lower
cost
of
living
in
a
number
of
developing
countries
in
Asia
and
Latin
America
to
build
my
business
further
.
It
was
the
digital
nomad
dream
and
as
a
twenty
-
five
-
year
-
old
adventure
-
seeker
,
it
was
exactly
what
I
wanted
out
of
life
.
But
as
sexy
and
heroic
as
my
plan
sounded
,
not
all
of
the
values
driving
me
to
this
nomadic
lifestyle
were
healthy
ones
.
Sure
,
I
had
some
admirable
values
going
on
—
a
thirst
to
see
the
world
,
a
curiosity
for
people
and
culture
,
some
old
-
fashioned
adventure
-
seeking
.
But
there
also
existed
a
faint
outline
of
shame
underlying
everything
else
.
At
the
time
I
was
hardly
aware
of
it
,
but
if
I
was
completely
honest
with
myself
,
I
knew
there
was
a
screwed
-
up
value
lurking
there
,
somewhere
beneath
the
surface
.
I
couldn
’
t
see
it
,
but
in
quiet
moments
when
I
was
completely
honest
with
myself
,
I
could
feel
it
.
Along
with
the
entitlement
of
my
early
twenties
,
the
“
real
traumatic
shit
”
of
my
teenage
years
had
left
me
with
a
nice
bundle
of
commitment
issues
.
I
had
spent
the
past
few
years
overcompensating
for
the
inadequacy
and
social
anxiety
of
my
teenager
years
,
and
as
a
result
I
felt
like
I
could
meet
anybody
I
wanted
,
be
friends
with
anybody
I
wanted
,
love
anybody
I
wanted
,
have
sex
with
anybody
I
wanted
—
so
why
would
I
ever
commit
to
a
single
person
,
or
even
a
single
social
group
,
a
single
city
or
country
or
culture
?
If
I
could
experience
everything
equally
,
then
I
should
experience
them
all
equally
,
right
?
Armed
with
this
grandiose
sense
of
connectivity
to
the
world
,
I
bounced
back
and
forth
across
countries
and
oceans
in
a
game
of
global
hopscotch
that
lasted
over
five
years
.
I
visited
fifty
-
five
countries
,
made
dozens
of
friends
,
and
found
myself
in
the
arms
of
a
number
of
lovers
—
all
of
whom
were
quickly
replaced
and
some
of
whom
were
already
forgotten
by
the
next
flight
to
the
next
country
.
