Alright, Champ. Enough moping around.

You've got one life. One. And I'm tired of watching you let it slip through your fingers like loose change in the couch cushions. You're not a sad little passenger on this ride - you're the damn driver. So stop making excuses, close the laptop, get off Leadit, wash that magical special sock of yours, and start building something.

Doesn't matter where you start. Could be sweeping floors. Could be flipping burgers. Hell, my first job was digging ditches in August while getting eaten alive by mosquitoes the size of sparrows. But you know what I learned? Showing up matters. Doing a job - any job - with pride, builds something inside you. Call it grit, call it backbone, call it whatever you want. Point is, no one's handing out purpose. You earn it.

So get out there. Comb your hair. Print a damn resume even if no one reads it. And when you find someone hiring?

You walk up to the manager, you look him in the eye, and you give him a firm handshake, Champ.

>>81783653 (OP)
Champdad, it's not the 70's anymore. Doing soul-crushing work for a few dollars everyday isn't worth it.

>>81783653 (OP)

Boomer dad! I thought you died. You are still as funny and delusional as the last time I saw you.

>>81783674
Ah, there it is. "Dad, it's not the 70s anymore!"

No kidding, Einstein. I don't wake up to disco and black coffee out of a tin cup either. But let me tell you something: soul-crushing work? That's not a new invention. I shoveled gravel in the dead of winter for a boss who thought OSHA was a brand of chewing tobacco. I didn't do it because it was fun-I did it because it meant something.

You think meaning comes from passion? From chasing some perfectly curated dream job with mental health Fridays and beanbag chairs? No, son. Meaning comes from discipline. From showing up. From doing what you said you'd do even when you don't feel like it.

You think you're too good to mop a floor or ring up groceries? Let me tell you-every decent man I ever knew started with a job that felt beneath him. And those jobs? They built him.

So quit waiting for a perfect moment or a cosmic alignment to validate your existence.

You walk into that building, you look the manager in the eye, and you give him a firm handshake, Champ.

>>81783698
Funny and delusional, Champ? Maybe. But guess what - my "delusions" bought a house at 23, raised a family without a food delivery app, and kept a marriage together without therapy podcasts or matching bathrobes. We didn't need mindfulness. We needed paystubs.

You laugh now, but someday when your smart fridge locks you out for missing your monthly vibe payment, by Golly, you're gonna remember yer ol' Pop - the man who survived recessions, lawn darts, and a cholesterol count high enough to be declared a weapon.

And when you finally snap out of your irony-poisoned doomscroll haze and decide to do something with your life?

You walk into that building, look the manager dead in the eye, and give him a firm handshake, Champ.

>hit downtown to apply to jobs in person
>mfw firm handshake gets me hired on the spot

>>81783930
That's my boy!

You hit the pavement, looked 'em in the eye, gave that firm handshake - and boom, hired on the spot. That's what I'm talking about, Champ. That's America.

We're celebrating tonight. I'm taking you to Chick-Fil-A. But don't get ahead of yourself - you're getting a salad. No fries, no shake, and definitely no caffeine. You're employed now. You need to stay sharp, clean, and combat-ready. Save the milkshake for your first paycheck. Walk up to your boss, look him in the eye, give him a firm handshake, and tell him you're ready to do the job right and do it well.

>>81783674
You're parents are going to die and your new third world neighbors won't be so accommodating

>>81784030
Watch your mouth, Champ.

You're sittin' here whining about your neighbors like they're the reason your life's off track. Let me tell you something-back in 'Nam, I didn't give a damn what color the guy next to me was. Black, white, brown, didn't matter. If he had my back in that foxhole, he was my brother. Period. You don't build a good life by drawing lines-you build it by showing up, putting in the work, and treating people like people.

You're scared your parents won't be around to bail you out forever? Good. That fear? That's the fire you need. Use it. Get a job, pay your rent, mow your own damn lawn, and stop blaming the world for not being shaped like your comfort zone.

You want respect? You want security?

You march into that workplace, look the manager in the eye, and give him a firm handshake, Champ.

Working won't get you laid.

>>81784191
"Working won't get you laid"?

Let me tell you a story, Champ. A story about Chet Anders.

Chet was the guy. Eighteen years old. 6'5", 260 pounds of pure God-given fury. Defensive lineman with a jaw like granite and a 40-yard dash that made scouts weep. He had offers from Notre Dame, Alabama, Oregon-you name it. Whole town thought he was going to the league.

And then he lined up across from me.

One snap. One cut block. Took him out at the knees like a scythe through summer corn. Took sixteen minutes for him to stop screaming. They had to carry him off in a wheelbarrow down to the emergency room.

Last I heard, he couldn't hack it at Hackwamanee Community College as a third-stringer. Then one day, he just jumped. Off the bridge out by Miller's Creek.

Now what's the point of all this? It ain't about getting laid, kid.

It's about knowing none of that glory lasts. Not talent. Not hype. Not Twitter followers or TikTok thirst traps. You show up. You work. You build something real. Because one day, all you'll have is your hands, your word, and your ability to walk up to the manager, look him in the eye, and give him a firm handshake, Champ.