Wingin’ It: The Ultimate Path To Inner Peace
Hi, I’m Derek, and I’m a self-improvement junkie. Years of yoga, meditation, journaling, gluten-free keto, Crossfit, Soul Cycle, Stoicism, Buddhism, Confucianism, neo-Platonism, Creationism — all the “isms” really — have provided me with a rock-solid grip on reality.
Or so I thought.
In light of my profound wisdom, self-knowledge, and washboard abs, I have always felt that I’m still somehow missing something. I can gladly say, however, that I’ve recently discovered a self-improvement plan that is destined to make me whole.
The plan is called “Wingin’ It” and it was developed by my recent guru, Wade Chisby, a roofing contractor and undeniable alcoholic, who I met at Cadillac Jack’s Bar and Grill. Master Chisby teaches in mysterious ways, often delivering cryptic lessons and veiled messages. He has not formally structured his methodology, so I’ve taken it upon myself to document his teachings below:
Lesson #1: Nobody Fuckin’ Cares
Upon meeting Master Chisby, I broached my usual small talk: Continuous blood-glucose monitoring, Wim Hof breathing, blue light’s effect on circadian rhythm, etc. It was during this introductory conversation that Master Chisby impressed his first lesson upon me.
After listening silently for over an hour, with his head hung low over the bar and pounding an impressive number of MGDs, Master Chisby said with Zen aplomb: “Blah blah blahhhhh. Nobody fuckin’ cares!”
While there is a conventional, explicit meaning to his words, what I really think he meant was, “Improve for yourself, nobody else.”
Lesson #2: Stop Being a Little Bitch
One Thirsty Thursday, after Master had just ordered an exceptional number of Tequila shots from the tab of a corporate party, Master Chisby provided his second great lesson.
He commenced with an act of immeasurable kindness: offering me one of the four golden shots that remained in front of him. When I invariably denied it, pointing to the Michelob Ultra I was accustomed to drinking, he spoke these sage words: “Stop being a little bitch.”
My world was turned upside-down, not only because the tequila caused the room to spin violently, but also because I was beginning to see what a “bitch” I had been. My addiction to self-improvement, Master Chisby implied, was me admitting that “I’m not good enough.”
The next day, with my newfound wisdom and a massive hangover, I noticed that I had no desire, nor ability, to meditate, do yoga, or even attend Crossfit. I was opening up to a new possible existence — an existence in which I was not a little bitch.
Lesson #3: Just Fuckin’ Wing It
It was half-priced wing night, and I was explaining to Master Chisby how I began using the Bullet Journaling method, combined with the Pomodoro technique, to plan and execute my day in precise, 20-minute increments. As usual, Master listened rapturously with his face buried deep in the palms of his hands.
Once I had explained BuJo Indexing methods thoroughly, I asked what he thought of my journaling, and whether it jived with his teachings. After a long pause, he asked in response, “Did you say something?” Clever, I thought. His words were a Zen Koan: Are any of us really saying anything?
But what he said next was, in my opinion, his most profound lesson, and thus the namesake of this philosophy. He said, “Stop wasting your time and just fuckin’ wing it.”
As he spoke, he waved a Buffalo wing in his left hand, to provide a visual metaphor for the path he was guiding me along. Buffalo sauce dripped onto my khakis, to imply that it was I who needed to wing it.
Master Chisby ate 27 wings that night, to really drive home his metaphor.
Lesson #4: Hire a Good Attorney
After his seminal lesson on “Wingin’ It,” Master Chisby really opened up to me. It seemed that I had crossed a major milestone in his teaching, and he fully adopted me as a disciple. He became more impassioned in his teaching, and — by that token — more cryptic.
One of his most fiery lessons was the importance of “hiring a good attorney.” Over and over he’d wail about finding a better attorney so that he didn’t “lose everything.” He stressed that I better start looking for a good one too, because “you never fuckin’ know.”
To be honest, I haven’t deciphered the metaphorical meaning of this lesson, though he repeated it so often and fervently that I attribute it the utmost importance.
Lesson #5: Continued Education
On a dark and stormy evening, Master Chisby delivered his final lesson — one about continued education.
After our third shot of Goldschlager, I noticed Master grow sullen. I sensed that our time together was coming to an end. After a long moment of reflection, Master Chisby lamented, “It’s been real, Dirk, but I’m late for a meeting with my probation officer.”
Though he had never mentioned it before, it seems my master had someone looking after him as well — a guru of his own! I was dumbfounded. This entire time I had viewed him as fully enlightened. From the outside, it seemed that he had it all figured out and that he was able to “wing it” effortlessly. In this final lesson, however, he made it apparent that everyone needs a guide.
I watched as he teetered off of his stool and staggered out of the bar — clearly exhausted from delivering his final sermon. That was the last time I ever saw Master Chisby.
Now, six months later, every time I throw back another shot of tequila, I silently thank my Master for helping me fill the gaping void in my life, once and for all.
