I cried in the bathroom for 10-minutes.
I got in trouble at work.
The reason wasn’t worth remembering, so I can’t explain why. Wrong place wrong time. Completely my fault.
I watched people’s feet under the stall walking in and out, carefully timing my exit.
I had it all planned. If the inevitable was asked, are you, okay man?
Yeah, just something in my eyes. Classic.
I’ve been lucky in life, always an average to above average achiever without much effort. I’m used to hearing, good job, well done Dan. I still seek it out.
Then I got punched in the face. With a fist full of feathers. And cried.
22-years-old and crying alone in a bathroom stall. I peaked early.
Whilst watching my tears hit the floor, I realised I needed to step up my ability to cop a hit.
If something so small sent me crumbling, what would happen in a real crisis?
I walked out of the bathroom on a mission to callous my mind to handle anything.
Less seeking out approval. More seeking out ways to get comfortable being uncomfortable.
There are no two words in the English language more harmful than good job. — Terence Fletcher, Whiplash.