earn your stripes

  "There are no flukes.  There is no luck.  There’s just talent and hard work and the ability to bounce back when you’re knocked down.  No more, no less." 

–Nico Reilly, Lipstick Jungle

I just had an all-nighter watching the first seven episodes of my current addiction, Lipstick Jungle (the other one’s Gossip Girl).  It’s about three New York-based career-driven women who are breaking bones for success.  And I think everyone and anyone who wants to make it to the top should borrow a lesson or two from this series.

Successful people don’t become successful overnight.  Doctors study at least four years of pre-med and another gazillion years of med proper.  Same thing with lawyers–at least four years of pre-law and another four (or is it five?) years of law proper.  Plus reviews and the bar exam. (Calling Joei!  Calling Ces!)  And it’s the same for all the jungles we play in, whether it be in the corporate world, in TV, in publishing, or in the academe.  Success is EARNED.  If you want it, work for it.  Prove your worth.

I’m so tired of hearing people who whine about how fucked up their life is when they haven’t even lifted a finger to remedy it.  I mean, instead of wasting, what, two, three, four hours ranting to your friend about your neverending dilemma on finding the right track, why don’t you just move your butt and take the first step towards wherever it is you wanna go or whoever it is you wanna become?  It’s easier said than done but it beats the hell out waiting for grandeur to land on your lap.  Because, that’s not gonna happen.  Ano ka, si Juan Tamad?  Hinihintay na lang malaglag ‘yung bayabas galing sa puno?  (Or was it another fruit?) 

Same thing goes for pretty much everything else about life.  Whatever shit you’re in is a produce of your own actions.  Or lack of it.  So don’t put the blame on other people who refuse fix your problems for you. 

And enough with the emotional blackmails.  Your incapacity to move forward is you’re own burden to bear.  Your shit, your fault.  Deal with it.

And if you continue expecting your friend, your mentor, or whoever your shock-absorbers are to spoonfeed you answers to your oh-so-great dillemas, then honey, you’re in for a disappointment.  The only thing you’ll be fed is the resident psychiatrist’s number.