When The Passion Diminishes

“He tells himself it’s because he’s getting old. Every time something is repeated, it loses a part of its meaning. Or rather, it gradually loses its vital force, that vital force which automatically, inherently, presupposes meaning.”
The Book Of Laughter And Forgetting by Milan Kundera

A couple readers dropped some serious wisdom in a post last week.

From Mike:

After a certain age, around 30, if you’ve had good success with women they just no longer have the same ability to energize you and attract you. At first I struggled against this, but now I just accept it. It could be a physical libido thing, or a psychological thing (once you’ve been fairly successful at it and see what it’s all about, it no longer seems like such a big deal. At first you’re really curious about what a really pretty girl might be like, then you find out, repeatedly, and it’s good but not that special, and you no longer have anything to prove to yourself), or a combination of both, but be aware, Roosh, that you might never get the same old frenetic interest in girls back. It might be gone forever.

From West LA:

When one exhausts an old passion, the common tendency is to try to revive it, but this tends to be futile and wasteful. Better to move on to new passions, keeping the old one in your life in a reduced way, as an enrichment, an enhancement, but not the main thing. You want to avoid stalling into entropy. You want to keep progressing as a person, improving your place in the world and your capacity to get whatever you want (in this big world of diverse options).

It seems the feeling we actually value most is way below the surface of the particulars of the endeavor at hand. Finding yourself becoming indifferent to an old passion (which used to run your life) can be liberating, which can be refreshing, even exhilerating, as you are free to focus on new stuff and get absorbed in it, unfettered by your old obsession.

When I first got into the game most of my pickups were from dance approaches (to hip hop or house music). As I learned talking game the number of dance approaches I did went down until finally I stopped doing them completely. Instead I’d wait for a girl to stop dancing before I engaged her because I could make a stronger connection that resulted in less flaking. Then one night I went out with an old friend who was still into dancefloor game and he pushed me to grind with a couple girls. I couldn’t help but feel lame. I don’t know why but something I did so many times before, and got so much enjoyment from, was impossible for me to do again. So I stopped.

In Rio I had a line that would open girls 90% of the time. Because it was so deadly I got lazy and didn’t try to come up with new material. After a couple months I started to feel like a hack. Even my Danish roommate begged me to stop using the line, though it helped him on a couple occassions. The line worked, and was getting the desired result, but suddenly the process became important—how I succeeded became more important to me than if I succeeded. There had to be some art to it, because I’ve done it without art so many times that I’m merely duplicating past efforts. So I stopped using the line, experimented with several new ones for a month, and come up with something twice as fun that I packed with me to Argentina.

When you have sex enough times, the act itself loses importance. Sex doesn’t have too much meaning for me now but the story behind it can do ten times more to motivate me to keep chasing women than merely sticking another bar slut. Was it unique, different, or extraordinary? If I’m not dying to call my friend afterwards to tell him what went down and how I conquered insurmountable difficulties, then I know I just went through the motions to get my dick wet, that I took one little step closer to being a hack. I don’t know if there’s something genuinely wrong with that, but it’s inevitable that man will put in increasingly less effort into something that doesn’t inspire him.

There’s the often-used analogy that life is like a river, bending around obstacles, strengthening, weakening, always flowing yet eventually reaching a destination. When you try to repeat something you’ve done so many times before, you’re attempting to reverse the flow of the river, a painful and ultimately futile act. Yes it’s sad that something that gave you happiness no longer does so, but holding on will cause you to miss out on the next thing that could give you even greater happiness. Once you’ve squeezed all the juice from a fruit, it’d be foolish to eat the rind.

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