I have a job interview tomorrow for a job that I think will be a perfect fit for me. Part — if not most — of my stress the past couple of weeks has been because I don’t have a job. Every purchase hurts, especially when I know that the longer I go without a source of income, the more I’m going to hurt later. But it’s also been all the free time I now find myself with. There have been times where I’ve felt paralyzed because I realized I had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Of course I know there’s so much I can do, as evidenced by my todo list, but none of it is pressing. I found out last week that I didn’t get a job I thought I was going to get, and I’m afraid I’m going to bomb the interview tomorrow.

I have to convince myself that I’m going to do okay. I can’t think about failing but instead about succeeding. As long as I bring my A game, and I know I did my best, then there’s nothing I should worry about. If I fail, I fail. I can’t dwell on it and let it bring me down. I’ll have to pick myself back up and start again. But if I succeed? If I succeed, I’ll be over-the-moon happy. I would have a job, a new source of income, and a new routine that I think I need most desperately. I love what I’ve done in just about a week. My novel is in full swing again. I’m getting back into shape (although Monday’s workout has left me sore for a few days). I have this blog, which has helped my health and well-being tremendously. I don’t have many readers, but I don’t care. I like writing here, and I feel like this is just the beginning. I foresee this place becoming something much more in time. I fear I won’t reach my 365 consecutive day streak of entries, but even just ten is worth applauding. That’s ten I didn’t have ten days ago.

Slow and steady wins the race. I’ve always believed in that. By focusing on just one pound a week, I lost over 70 in one year. By writing just one page a day, I wrote my novel in two years. By slowly examining myself, my emotions, and my actions, I believe I can become not only a better person, but a more healthy one, too.

To accomplish this, I have to bring it every day. And then I can say I lived, I think.

I have trouble letting go of the past. As much as I want to focus on the present, I can’t stop my thoughts from always drifting to some lingering memory of my life. I had my first ever crush when I was in the fourth grade, and I sometimes still think about this girl now. There have been girls since then that I still think about, and of course there’s her. There hasn’t been a day in the two years I’ve known her where I have not thought about her, especially not in the weeks since she cut me out.

I’ve realized that whenever I do dwell on some scene from my past, the main underlying emotion is regret. I always replay these scenes in my head with the knowledge of my experiences and try to recreate those moments with different things I could have done or said. If I said this, for example, maybe this positive outcome could’ve materialized. Or if did something instead of not doing something, then maybe I would be a bit happier with myself, maybe a bit more fulfilled as a person and as a man. I don’t know, obviously, what would or would not have happened since I cannot change the past. No one can, and I have to stop thinking that I can.

We have to leave the past in the past and accept that we would not be the person we are today if it weren’t for that path that trails behind us. We cannot live in the past, no matter how much we want to, but we can learn from it. I’ve learned to recognize similar situations that happen to me in the present that has happened to me before, and those little mental recreations where I imagined fixing or improving my circumstance in some way manifests itself when I most need it. It doesn’t happen all the time, especially not when I most desperately need it to, but I’m grateful for the times it does.

In an effort to accept the small wins, I’m listing today’s small wins. I worked out hard, but I didn’t push myself as hard as I would have liked. I decided today that I’m starting the Insanity/Insanity: the Asylum Vol. 1 hybrid workout on October 1st. I wrote another 300+ words in my novel today, and I’m really enjoying the direction I’m taking with this second draft. I started to use OmniOutliner in conjunction with Scrivener today in an effort to organize the story better than what I did the first time around, which was literally making it up as I went along. That’s why my first draft ballooned to over 150,000 words. I’m aiming for 80,000 this time around. Finally, I’m still alive. Every time I focus on my breath when I meditate or when I try to catch my breath while I’m working out, I’m reminded that I’m alive.

Life is hard, but we only get one shot at it. We must take advantage of that.

For the first time in a few weeks, I feel good. I feel like things don’t look as bleak as I once thought they were, and instead I feel hopeful for the future. This morning, while I had my car checked out at the shop and while I did laundry, I wrote the most sincerest and honest cover letter to a principal at a local school looking for an IT person that I’ve ever written. As we may have noticed, I have a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve unashamedly, and that was reflected in this letter. I was desperate to make this letter work, and I think I cracked it. I sent it and my résumé to him and waited. A few hours later, he e-mailed me back and asked me when I would be free for an interview. Immediately, I thought. I replied that I’m available all day tomorrow. He’s yet to reply, but I’m hopeful. Ever since I seriously started looking out for my health over three years ago, I made it a ritual to check and log my weight every Monday morning. I chose Monday because it was usually the first day of the week where I would work out, and knowing what I weighed would set the tempo for the rest of the week. Like clockwork, I checked my weight this morning. I gained two pounds since last week. At first I was a little disappointed, but I became hopeful when I realized those two pounds could be muscle. I’ve been putting whey protein powder into my shakes after every workout, and I’m hoping that’s the cause for this weight gain. Otherwise, I have to change my diet even more, and I don’t know if my budget can afford healthier options at the moment.

Considering how horrible the last month has been on me, I’m making it a goal of mine to appreciate these positive days. There were times in the past few weeks where I seriously considered taking my own life in a very impulsive way, and I don’t like it when I’m like that. Those are the times where alcohol both made me feel better and way, way worse. I need to appreciate all the wins I can because there will be days when things just won’t go my way. I have to believe that one bad day isn’t everything. The next day could turn out to be amazing.

The good days give us the ammo to combat the bad.

This morning, while it was still pitch black outside, I sat by my desk in front of my laptop, opened my novel in Scrivener, and stared at the blank screen. My goal was to write at least 300 words toward the second draft of my novel. I sat there staring at this blank screen for close to forty minutes and nothing to show for it. I didn’t care if I wrote 1 word or 1,000. All I cared about was disciplining my mind and body to sit in front of my laptop, ready to write. Up to this point, I’ve written zero words. After today, I had 452.

After writing that first word, the rest came easily. All I needed to do was be serious about starting. We all have goals we want to accomplish, and many of us visualize us achieving those goals and the warm feelings that accompany them. For a long time that’s all I seemed to do. I visualized myself doing so many things, becoming someone completely different, someone funny and smart and handsome, and those images in my head felt good. The downside, though, was that these images weren’t real. I wasn’t that man doing those things I so desperately wanted to do, and when that realization hit — a realization that has hit me so many times before and since — my emotional high quickly sank, and I hated myself. I felt guilty when I would ignore my todo list, or when I would lie in bed watching something mindlessly on Netflix instead of working and bettering myself in some way. So today, I decided to do something about it.

This week has been long. I had my last drink a week ago today. I’ll be honest, I’ve craved a drink so much these past two days. Yesterday was rough. Today, not so much, yet I still craved one. I didn’t work out today because I want Sunday’s to be my day off from working out. I worked out for six days, so I think that’s enough physical activity in a given week. And I’ve kept my blog updated on a consistent basis. There are seven entries, one for each day my blog has been live on the Internet. My goal is to reach at least a full 365 days before I consider relaxing my self-imposed daily requirement. Do I think I’ll make it? I do, but I foresee many obstacles that could get in my way. In the end, though, my goals seem clear and my path is set on accomplishing them.

Except… I don’t envision an ending to my journey. When we’re on a mission toward self-improvement, our journey spans our life, and the only end is death.

I’m afraid of myself sometimes. There are times when I’m so overcome with emotion that I truly don’t know what to do. I feel paralyzed, and that’s one of the worst feelings I’ve ever had because I feel like panicking and that’s stressing me out. My mind sometimes creates reasons to do things because they just feel right to do. I usually never stop to think about what I’m doing because the emotions coursing through my body just feel right. Why would I question that? Why would I doubt myself?

I’m so full of regret with some of the things I’ve done in the past few weeks, actions that have cost me dearly, that I’m on the verge of a breakdown. There’s this hollowness in my chest that is hard to ignore. I feel anxious to do something about it, but I can’t. That feeling is too strong, and I can’t go back to how things were. Those doors are closed forever, and I can never reopen them. I have to move on, but it’s hard when the road ahead is dark and unknown. But I have to.

I have to keep pushing harder. I have to take advantage of every day and live them (and life) to the fullest. And I have to stop making excuses. It sounds like maybe I’m being a little too hard on myself. Maybe I am. Maybe that’s what I need to do to see this thing through, whatever that thing may be. Regardless, I’m unhappy, and I know what needs to change, and, for the most part, I know how to change it. All I need to do is do. I need to move on, and the only way to do that is with time, and time’s all I have right now.

One of my biggest issues that time is not fixing is my seemingly inexorable loneliness. I feel like I have nobody here to go to anymore. One thing I didn’t realize before was how my former job clouded the fact that I don’t really have a social life here. That coworkers only tolerate other coworkers because they have to and not because they want to. For five days and forty hours every week, I would see the same group of people and we would laugh and fight and live with each other. That’s where I met her, and that’s where I felt socially fulfilled. It was enough for me, and that’s not something I considered when I quit. Do I regret that? Sometimes.

But look: my actions are forcing me to look at myself straight to my soul and ask, “Is this the life you want?” “No, it’s not.” “Then fucking do something about it.”

I could feel the cracks showing today. My goal for this week was to just start: start working out, start writing, and start getting my life back together. I’m not sure what that means; it’s one of those things where I’ll know it when I see it. For the most part, I’ve been doing okay. But nobody knows that. Nobody really knows what I do every day. I don’t really know what my friends or family do every day. We are all a collection of little moments built up over a period of time, and that’s something we can control. Except, the only person keeping me accountable to all that I do is me, and that’s a responsibility I must honor fully.

I didn’t want to work out today. A few months without exercising meant my body was not ready for the beatings I’ve been giving it this week. I woke up sore. It hurt to walk. It hurt to lie down. It hurt to move. I wanted to lie in bed and watch Netflix. I wanted to browse the web mindlessly and forget about all that’s bothering me. I wanted to procrastinate and go out somewhere, eat shitty food, and maybe — maybe — run into her. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Not when I need a job. Not when I need to lose a few more pounds. Not when all that I want and need is out there for the taking.

I’m writing all this down publicly because I need to know that there are eyes out there watching me. That I’m not alone in this. I need to know, 10-, 20-, 30- years from now, when I’m feeling low and sad, that I embarked on this journey toward a better me, that I didn’t know what was ahead or what waited before me, that I overcame whatever obstacles life threw in my way, and that I became the man I could always feel was there watching me my whole life but never thought I could become. I know I could fail. I know that so much. It feels like I’ve been here before. It feels like I’m Sisyphus, doomed to always carry that boulder up the mountain only to watch it roll down again. Except… this time I don’t feel alone. This time it feels like I have angels watching over me who believe in me and believe that I can achieve anything. I have a duty to them — but mostly to myself — to do what I know I can do. I just have to keep myself accountable to my actions, day in and day out, and make sure I don’t deviate from my journey.

Easier said than done.

A few weeks ago, I quit my job. I had this job for a little over two years, and like most jobs, it had its ups and downs. It’s also where I met her, and we also had our ups and down. For most of the time I’ve lived in Montana, all I’ve known have been that job and her. Now they’re both gone. A part of me wants to cheer and scream that this is a great opportunity to just start over. I have this clean slate to work with and the possibilities to design and live a new life are endless. But the other part of me wants to cry and scream that I have to start over. Again.

Two weeks after moving to Montana, I found the job. Before that I lived in San Diego with my mom. Except for a few brief months as an enumerator for the Census in 2010, I was unemployed for four years. From August 2008 — a few months after graduating from USC — to April 2012, I had no job. Thankfully the few months as an enumerator provided a source of income I desperately needed, and after the job ended, it helped me get accepted for unemployment benefits, which helped pay my monthly student loan payments. I was able to keep busy during those four years, creating habits and routines that resulted in reading hundreds of books, finishing my first novel, and losing over 70 pounds of fat. But it also made me hate job searching. I hate applying for jobs so much, and now I have to do it again.

Last week I interviewed for a job that paid a few dollars more than my last job, but instead of working 40 hours a week, I would work only 24. I thought I nailed the application, and when I received the call to setup the interview, I was ecstatic. Maybe this time around my job search would end quickly. I interviewed with my potential future bosses, and afterwards, I felt like the interview went well. I don’t like selling myself for some reason, but I felt like I sold myself enough for them to hire me. I waited a whole week before finding out today that they were “unable to offer [me] employment at this time.” Back to the drawing board.

I quit my job because I hated it. I couldn’t stand the thought of going back there, and during the few months I was out in nature, in forests fighting fires, and on mountains camping out, all I could feel was happiness and joy. That is what someone should feel at their job. Not hate and agony. So I quit, hoping it’ll force me to demand better for myself. I want to become a personal trainer and be my own boss. I want to earn my EMT license so I can become a fire line EMT next year and earn even more money. And I want to rewrite my damn novel (or write a new one) and convince someone to pay me money for it.

But I have to start believing that I deserve more than I think I do. And that’s the real struggle.

I miss my friend. I found myself daydreaming about her. I imagined her walking up to my front door and knocking on it. When I went to run some errands today, I found myself scanning all the cars in view in hopes that she may be there on the road with me. At the Walmart parking lot, I scanned to see if her car was maybe parked outside. Inside, I hoped to run into her. Same thing at Safeway. The parking lot. Inside. Nothing. She wasn’t there. I have to learn that I may never see her again. That I may never hear from her again. That’s the way life works sometimes. It sucks, but it is what it is.

Moving on is hard. One thing that helps are distractions. Focus our mind on something else. During my errands, I stopped by the Starbucks inside Safeway and bought a pumpkin spice frappuccino. I brought my laptop with me because I thought that maybe I’d slow down, stop, and maybe get some work done. I did. I didn’t work for long, but I was able to finally clear my OmniFocus Inbox, which was getting long and potentially unwieldy. I created a few new projects that I hope will help me in the future. At Walmart I bought a few frames for my pictures and my Holstee Manifesto poster. Tomorrow I’m even considering going back to Walmart and buying a lego set or two, something to keep me busy and provide a fun decor for my bland, minimalist studio apartment. We’ll see.

I can’t look back, though. Distractions are nice, but I have to live with my memories of not only her but of everything else I’ve lived and gone through. I haven’t craved a drink for three days, but I may crave one tomorrow. I’ve worked out for three days straight, but the excitement of starting again may wane tomorrow. Even this blog can potentially die tomorrow and sit abandoned on the internet forever. I have to take each new day in stride. Each day is a new possibility to work at becoming the man I want to be. I want to be a published author. I want to be healthy and fit and look good naked. I want to be happy, and I want to find a girl that can help me get there. None of this is easy, but none of this is impossible, either. I can do all this. Maybe not all at once, but if I do a little bit every day, if I continuously improve on myself and my habits, then maybe I’ll get there eventually.

Maybe. We’ll see.

I went to WalMart today. My friend Sam works here, and I ran into him. A few days ago I wrote a Facebook status update where I bemoaned my loss of my best friend — the friend that cut me out — and Sam referenced this status update when we ran into each other. He told me I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. I told him I shouldn’t drink anymore because then stuff like that post happen. That and ruining great friendships.

I’ve been told before that I’m too. I should “get a life”, someone once told me. So, recently, around the beginning of summer, I eased up on a few things. I began to allow more unhealthy foods into my diet since I’ve been cutting them out for so long. Simply, stuff not Paleo approved. I began eating a lot of fast food. With the increase in fast food came the increase in alcohol consumption. My best friend at the time — yes, her — saw me without my shirt on and told me I was too skinny. Lets put on a few pounds, I thought. So I did. And I didn’t stop for a while. In the past two months, I gained over 10 lbs. That’s unacceptable. I used to work out regularly, as well. I’ve completed both Insanity and the first volume of Insanity: the Asylum. I stopped that, too. Finally, I stopped packing my days with work. For a while there I was transcribing the Great Gatsby by hand. I stopped doing even that. And as a so-called writer, I didn’t write.

Today I worked out again. I did the Plyometric Cardio Circuit from Insanity. Guess what? I felt great. I felt so good that I’m going to keep working out for as long as I physically can. If I could point to one habit change that can improve my life the most, it’s the habit of working out. I love sweating — and with Insanity I sweat a lot — and the act of sweating releases endorphins, which makes me feel amazing. I did and still do feel amazing.

Being better can’t happen overnight. Being better is a slow process, a continuous process that requires dedication and hard work. I don’t know if my ego and perfectionism can ever move aside to let me feel like I’ve gotten there, but if I just focus on the journey, on the moment to moment happiness that living a truly honest and hard fought life brings, then maybe, one day, I’ll believe that I am at my best.

I’m just not there yet.

Hi, my name is Mario Villalobos, and I’m flawed. Super flawed. Undeniably flawed. I’ve made and will make many mistakes as I live my life in this tiny sliver of time. I’m supposed to be a writer, but I don’t really write all that much. I finished my first novel last year but it’s a huge mess, and I’m confident it’ll never see the light of day. I’m planning to rewrite it, though, but that plan is still lurking unfinished in an OmniFocus project. I’m also a wild land firefighter whose third year has just ended. It was fun.

I don’t consider myself an alcoholic, but I don’t like who I turn to when I drink. The things I do after drinking — things that seem and feel right to do at the time — are the mistakes that have cost me friendships, relationships with people I’m always going to miss. My memories of them will always be tainted with a tinge of regret. Always, and that will never change. It saddens me.

I have trouble moving on. How many people find it easy to move on? What’s their secret, I wonder. Our time is so short and limited, and the thought of never again spending time with someone I used to care about hurts. I wish I could express that pain more clearly, but… I’m supposed to be a writer. Ha. It simply hurts that I can’t see them anymore, that they cut me out of their lives and are themselves moving on. But I have to. I have to.

I’ve always wanted to write a blog, and I started (and stopped) a few over the past decade or so (oh yeah, I’m 28 years old), but none of them stuck, obviously. And when Twitter and Facebook started, they became convenient vehicles for me to express myself that negated my (then) need for a blog. But there’s something about a blog that always appealed to me and also frightened me. I always thought I wasn’t important enough to write so personally to an audience beyond just myself. That’s my goal, though, one I hope to see through.

My purpose of this blog is to move on. I’m not sure what that means, exactly. In one sense, to move on from the people who no longer want anything to do with me. In another sense… I don’t like who I’ve become recently. Something changed this year. Maybe it’s been growing for a while, but it definitely manifested this year. I became someone I don’t like. There’s always the possibility that I didn’t become this person but instead have always been this person. If that’s true, then I need to change. How?

Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?