Wishing for a Lame 2025
Some lessons take time to be learned
It’s been a while since I’ve published, but while 2024 was shitty in many ways, it also had its share of memorable moments. I think it deserves a final post.
In 1995, while Jeff Bezos was getting ready to sell his first books online and Michael Jordan was coming out of retirement, I was heading out on my first big school trip.
A three-day stay on the other side of the country was something thrilling for that 13-year-old boy.
My life at school was easy because I was good in the classroom and even better on the football field. Back then, being good at a sport was enough to be popular.
Teachers liked me, the other kids liked me—everybody liked me. And now, I was about to board the bus for my first weekend away from home, where my popularity would finally be used for important matters. And by that, I mean... girls.
It was going to be epic.
The Trip
At the bus, the boys talked loudly about football, while the girls sang corny songs and laughed out loud (LOL was becoming a thing). I sat quietly with my headphones on, probably listening to Nirvana, Pearl Jam, or Bush, though there might have been some cheesy stuff too that I’ve blocked from memory.
I noticed some girls whispering and giggling while blatantly staring at me. I pretended not to see and kept listening to my music, humming along to the chorus and pretending to know the rest of the lyrics.
I liked playing the role of the “cool kid”. At least I thought that not acting like the others would make me look that way, because self-exclusion is cool, contrary to being excluded by others.
After what felt like two days on the road (probably just 5 hours), we finally arrived at our destination, Portalegre, a small historic city in the interior of Portugal.
The Weekend
Our “hotel” was actually a boarding school. 60 kids went to their rooms: large dormitories with 5 or 6 bunks each. Boys on one side of the building, girls on the other. Teachers took turns patrolling the corridor, making sure no one tried to sneak across to the other side, which many tried but failed.
The next morning, we went to visit some museums and historic places, and after lunch, there was a football match between the boys.
My team won, I scored the winning goal with a beautiful long shot from right midfield. Even the teachers got up to applaud, and some girls started chanting my name.
Danny! Danny! Danny!
I was ecstatic. All the boys were complimenting me on my game, and the girls couldn't stop smiling at me.
It was only a matter of time before they came to talk to me, and then I could choose the one I liked most. So I waited, playing it cool and not showing interest, because, you know, that’s cool.
The rest of the day went by, and surprisingly, no girl came to flirt with me.
“Okay…” I thought to myself, “Tomorrow is a new day, new places to visit, lots of time on the bus… it can’t go wrong.”
The Next Morning
With the sun still shy in the sky, off we went to the bus. I sat at the back and waited for some girl to sit next to me.
In less than a minute, after some kids occupied most of the back seats, I saw a cute girl coming in my direction, walking through the middle of the bus. I hadn’t met her yet, but she was cute—dark hair, brown eyes, a sweet face—everything looked good to me.
As she approached, a wave of anxiety hit me. My face grew warm, and the blurry reflection in the window revealed I was blushing. Still, I tried to keep my cool, avoiding her eyes even though I could feel her gaze fixed on mine.
She was almost next to me when, at the last moment, she turned and sat in the front seat. I hesitated, confused. “Should I sit next to her? Would that make me look desperate?”
About ten seconds later, a kid stood up and slid into the seat next to her—right in front of me.
"The fuck!?"
They immediately started talking, and he must have told a couple of jokes because she was laughing. I was confused. I didn’t know what to do.
He was a nice kid, I talked to him occasionally, and he was funny, but he was skinny, a bit geeky, with curly hair on his forehead, and wore braces. He didn’t play sports. He wasn’t one of the "cool kids".
And yet, as I sat alone, wondering why the girl hadn’t chosen to sit next to me, I watched through the gap between the seats in front of me as he made his move toward her.
Boom. He kissed her!
"But... he’s not popular and I am! Why is she kissing him!?"
The Lesson
I wish I could say that I learned a valuable lesson at that moment and that the rest of the trip was me taking action, making smooth moves, and getting all the girls, but that didn’t happen.
Not on that trip. Not on that week. Not even on that school year.
If I had half the intelligence I thought I had back then, I would have realized that looking cool means nothing without action.
It’s the psychological equivalent of indexing your value to the number of followers you have or the likes your posts get. It’s an interesting wrapping paper for a box full of nothing. It’s a facade.
Sitting and waiting for good things to come doesn’t work, we need to get up and fight for what we want. We need to earn it.
But I guess I was too busy looking cool to realize that.
It took me almost a year after that trip to get my first girlfriend. We kissed before exchanging a single word. We broke up a month later because I didn’t know how to be in a relationship. She made the first move, and she ended it.
All my relationships after that had that commonality: zero effort on my part to start them, and little more to maintain them.
Over a decade passed before I changed that behavior, and I’m not even sure if it was me who changed or if it was love that changed me. I’ll never know, because we’re still together, and we’ll be forever.
The Outcome
But while I may have overachieved in matters of the heart, in every other aspect of my life, I’ve kept repeating the same mistakes, as if that Sunday morning on the bus echoed throughout my adulthood. That field trip wasn’t just about a missed kiss; it was a glimpse, the seed of a weed that grew relentlessly, its roots spreading and keeping me stuck in the same place for decades.
This mindset is so deeply ingrained in me that it borders on absurdity. As I write these lines at my desk, a framed quote hangs on the wall beside me:
'Write it, and they will read.'
I asked my girlfriend to create it for me a couple of years ago as a motivational reminder. Now, I see it for what it truly is—another manifestation of my passive approach to everything I want to achieve.
The Learning
I used to believe that being cool, talented, or cute was enough. It’s not. Because while I sit on the sidelines, some skinny, geeky guy with braces is taking action and getting the girl, metaphorically or not.
Life doesn’t reward the passive observer. It rewards the one who shows up, takes risks, and makes things happen.
It pisses me off that I’m publishing this on New Year’s Eve because the cool kid in me thinks it’s lame—'new year, new me, blah blah blah'—but being cool means nothing if all you’re doing is just waiting for life to happen.
Cool is overrated. Action is what makes things move forward. If that’s lame, I’m ready to embrace it and make that my word of the year.
So, my friends, I wish you all a fantastically lame 2025!
-Danny
Thank you for the feedback and ideation on the first draft. 💪
Thank you for the feedback, editing, and continuous support. This post will be a 2024 one because of you. 😉
Thank you Write of Passage community for the incredible years. Today, a fire is extinguished, but its flames will spread in every direction.
Hope to read more of your lame self in 2025 <3
Loved the message here Danny, but appreciated your skillful storytelling just as much. I'm not returning your wish for a lame 2025. I mean please do keep your sense of humor, but I hope the world hears a lot more from you next year, we need your clear voice and bright spirit.