I went to Miami Beach for spring break in my senior year of college. It was the year 2001 and I was 21 years old. A friend sold me into going even though I couldn’t really afford it. He urged me to put the trip on my credit cards, saying that I’d surely pay off upon getting a real job after graduation. He made it sound like it was the opportunity of a lifetime and if I didn’t go then I’d regret it forever.
I had been out to clubs a couple times before, but I had absolutely no game, no style, no confidence, and no money. All I had was hope that I’d get lucky. My mom helped me pack my wardrobe, including two fine pair of brown slacks, and I was off.
For some reason, guys think it’s easier to succeed with women when they are far away from home, that you unlock some type of cheat code that places you in a parallel universe where women are ten times more attracted to you. I thought no different. I believed that stepping foot in Miami would reveal the Casanova that was always bubbling underneath. I even took a couple boxes of condoms.
It become very clear early on that I would not succeed. I was a helpless little minnow in an ocean far bigger and more competitive than my University of Maryland lake. Me and my slacks were utterly unable to compete, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t try. I approached at least ten girls that week, my first approaches ever, and actually got a number from one (I remember calling her from a pay phone). I also talked to a “hot” girl for about fifteen minutes. I was proud of myself. Though I didn’t come close to getting laid, or even kissing a girl, it was the moment I first dipped my foot into the pool. The water wasn’t as cold as I had thought.
I get nostalgic when I think about that trip. I was just a sexually frustrated guy who wanted to bang a couple girls until finding a nice girlfriend. Back then I fantasized more about cuddling and romantic trips than aggressively loosening a woman’s pussy. I had no clue I would become who I am today, a guy who fucks just for the sake of fucking with no higher aim in mind.
I thought that learning game would be a means to the end of helping me get a girlfriend, but I didn’t know that within my nature was a man who viewed the game as the end itself. Now I look back at poor little Roosh of 2001, and remember how he had to gather the powers of Zeus to approach just one woman.
Then I wonder why men become who they become.