
In 2001, I, a somewhat taller than average, somewhat more attractive than average, slim American white guy with a deep voice who’d been called “the man” and “bad ass” by the coolest kids in high school and had been chased for dates by the prettiest and most popular girls (and cheerleaders) in high school went to work in a tire store.
There I met Jim, a short, fat, swarthy Puerto Rican tire salesman with a higher-pitched voice who lived in a ramshackle rented single-family home that was really only good for throwing parties.
Jim was the first guy I ever met who was an out-and-out player. He was constantly sleeping with good-looking white girls, such as our boss’s over 6’ modelesque cousin when she visited from England (she had a good 7 inches on him at least). That girl messaged him furiously after returning to England that she couldn’t sleep with her boyfriend anymore because she wanted only Jim now.
Meanwhile, of course, Jim was happily sleeping with more, new girls… not to mention his sweet blonde girlfriend, who went out of her way to bring him sandwiches for lunch at the tire shop.
I’d never been on a date in my life at this point, and despite the attention I got in high school had no idea what to say to girls. I didn’t watch Jim with envy… more like perplexed wonder.
How did he do it? What exactly was he doing to score all these girls?
I never asked him, because I was too proud to ask. Plus if I admitted that I couldn’t get girls I’d look weak. (even though he clearly knew right away anyway)
But I can tell you now, the #1 factor that differentiated 18-year-old Chase from 25-year-old Jim:
I had a ton of limiting beliefs, but Jim had none.
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