The Secret to Success Has Nothing to Do With Happy Horseshit Like "Manifestation"

Things are really simple, once you agree to show up.

Do 30 push-ups a day, get stronger. (Hello, Sweat App!)
Write for 1,119 hours, get a book deal. (No, fucking really. See my current time report here.)
Paint enough watercolors, become an artist.
Raise your hand enough times, become a linchpin.

So much of success is mere cause + effect. We like to glorify it with romantic notions of THE UNIVERSE AND FATE AND I WAS MEANT FOR THIS, DOROTHY!, but the reality is far less glamorous. I know nobody wants to hear that, because it makes us feel less extraordinary. It invalidates our significance. Simply sitting your crotch in a chair and doing the work every single day implies that maybe we aren't so remarkable at all—that maybe time is the real hero.

And yes! Time is non-negotiable, but you still have to give it. And as simple as that may be, most people won't put in the time. Turns out, the secret to success is trusting that it'll show up if you do—and being the only motherfucker in the room left standing. There's a life hack for you: don't stop, even when your hands are bleeding.

Because at some point, success can't outrun you anymore. Not when you're slowly marching for it with a dagger in your hand. The odds aren't about luck: it's about nerve. The nerve to keep going, even when reason would suggest otherwise.

Reason is a construct built by the smallest of men, hoping you'll fail.