This is for non-approachers/non-starters/anxiety-ridden.
My old man used to like to tell me that the 3rd biggest fear in life is that of rejection. He always played a pivitol role in reddit's favorite fetish - that of the "bull". He fucked other dudes' wives that he'd meet at swinger parties. He's been doing it since he was 25 years old. Now 73, he still goes out. He claims to have fucked "hundreds and hundreds of women". I don't doubt it. Explains where he was all that time! Dad!!! You fuck.
As he comes closer to the end of his stint, he's tried to create a relationship with me, and I've put our past aside to know him better. It came as a surprise to learn that after all that fucking, his most frequent regret is that he never had the courage to do what we all love to discuss--the almighty Cold Approach. Of course, he didn't know it was called that, "I wish I would have had the courage to walk up to pretty girls at the bars. Oh, boy. Could have fucked thousands instead of hundreds! If you could find the trick, you could rule the world. Figure that out. If not for yourself, you do it for me and let me have the leftovers!" (Ew, Dad!)
After trying everything in the book to get started with pickup, wasting a year reading theory and being a bitch, it occured to me that I may be hopeless. I couldn't do it. Motivational quotes weren't going to cut it. An approach here or there never lead to consistency, which is surely a necessary ingredient for success. Standing around all night never made me move. My hardcase was made from the sturdiest of metals. Shit was special delivery from Wakanda. No body could crack it. My feet would simply not move out the door, to the car, to the pedal, to the bar, to the girls, often enough to score. This is how I always visualized it--if only I could turn my brain off on command and have my feet place me in front of women, I could actually rule the world.
Eventually I got to thinking about my dad and his crutch. Could I come up with my own crutch? I didn't particularly want to fuck other dudes' wives, but maybe I could lift... I am tall... and sit on dating apps and not have to approach. And that's exactly what I did. Spent 1 1/2 years picking up heavy shit and putting it back down, while reading more theory that was all the same. I'm not here to speak ill of lifting or theory--Being strong and looking good works. Other men respect you. Women accept you. And Mystery knows his shit--I got laid regularly for the first time in my life. But as it turned out, a lack of sex was only a small piece of my unhappiness. Even when I had recently been with a girl, my mind was filled with thoughts of inadequacy. Why did I need an app? Am I always going to need an app? What would that girl think if she knew I couldn't approach her in the wild? Why the fuck am I still worried about this? This standard I held myself to was eating me alive. I only barely left the starting line. Pops knew. I'd imagine Pook preaching at me that I'm not yet Man.
Somewhere inside our brain exists a place where ego and fear of judgement exists. Some of our brains are fucked up and that place doesn't work properly. Many of us can't overcome it by ourselves. I couldn't. Or maybe we just never had the role models to show us how. Either way, I've found we can short-circuit the fuck out of it. There's an emergency switch that shuts the 3rd biggest fear down when the 1st and 2nd biggest fears come into focus. You put a little homelessness and potential death in your future and fear of rejection suddenly isn't that bad anymore. In fact, you don't even give a fuck about getting laid anymore! You just want to not get raped!
I could have just made a post with this upcoming few paragraphs being the entirety, but I hope my anecdotes will resonate enough with some of you to take action and not just paralysis-analysis away your billionth post that leads to nowhere:
At the time, I had $1500 in my bank account. I cashed out $1k. That was a large amount to me. That's how it has to be. I was at the end of my rope and needed a tool that forced me to take action. Called up an acquaintance, gave him the cash, and told him it was his unless we went out the next night and I immediately approached girls of his choosing until I did 10 of them. (If you do this, make sure it's someone who won't give it back. The consequences must be ensured. Ma won't work. Make sure the hand-off is when anxiety is lowest, earlier in the day or a day before the cut off.)
That night all 10 sets went poorly. Blew through all my adrenaline and all the theory never showed up to help me out. The final result? There never existed an accomplishment, reward, fuck, or drug as good and high as the cloud I was on. That night I learned what it felt like to be released from what felt like a life sentence for a crime that I did not commit. Had the best sleep without a regret in the world. The training wheels came off too. Once I experienced enough outcomes and consequences, the act started to normalize. I was able to get myself out and about often enough to start closing on my own.
If you're like me, stop looking at more posts and books and videos. You'll find no solutions. No one tried harder to find an easier quick-fix. All I've done my entire life is find loopholes to shit. What I've provided you is the solution. It's the last stop. Anxiety is not cancer. There's no urgency. It doesn't hurt. You can whack off and forget about all of this for another 10 years. That's the most malicious aspect of it. You will wake up one day and have dreamt your life away. I think in the back of my mind I knew this, and it's why I was in such a desperate rush.
So put your shoes on, go get in your car, and make your way to the ATM. Txt the friend that could use your money for rent. It's going to feel very strange doing this for some of you. Ignore that feeling. Fuck that feeling. Thrust yourself beyond the point of no return. The water's great.