The problem of all romantic advice columns, from Dear Abby to Carolyn Hax's "Tell me about it" to Savage Love, The One Year Monk contends, is this: they assume we all have the means to succeed in love.
The One Year Monk spent the last few hours writing in the Project's book. The book is so much different than this blog. The book is personal; the blog is a crusade. The crusade I'm waging on here is for the ugly folks, the awkward folks, the self-conscious folks, the non-sexy. I'm crusading for those who are doomed at Love. There is an answer: give up. Life has a lot to offer you. Let go of this one pursuit. Win more. Do more. Feel more.
You don't have a shot at Love? So what. You don't have a shot at the NFL either. You going to mope about that? No, you're not. You can deal with that, so deal with this the only way that makes sense.
So much of the advice out there is given by attractive people who have had lots of amorous success and succeeded with lots of people. They know that until very old age sets in they will always be able to find someone. They will not be alone.
If this blog resonates with you, though, it's because you don't feel that way. You don't really think you can find someone. It feels somewhat hopeless. You know what? Maybe it is. And even if it isn't, the last person you need to listen to is someone who's never had your problems. This is the myth behind romantic advice columns: that courting is a skill you can learn. For some of us, there's no getting better. It's something you got or you don't.
No one wants to say that out loud, though. But I'll say it. When I write in my book, it's those moments as a guy that just can't make it happen that I dwell on in there. So on here, as I read the little blog posts and newspaper stories by hot people trying to help the lumpen, well, I want to scream. And that's what I do. On here, I scream a bit for those of us who weren't born quite as gifted as they were.
Don't listen to them. If you're like me, they've nothing to say to you.
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