Who are you trying to prove? A deep interspection.

My second wife, Marie, was a relatively successful person for a woman. She used social media to recruit friends and family into a business opportunity selling beauty products before parting ways with the company to sell eyelashes and sweatshop wares. She would proudly gloat that she earned "surgeon money." Bless her heart.

I admired Marie a lot. She had a drive that I've barely seen in other women before, a dedication to the grind that so few possess. She was always hustling from her phone, showing up every single day to take it to the next level. No exceptions. She worked on Christmas, she worked in the evenings, she would work during her niece's recitals. Every social gathering became content, an opportunity to sell the opportunity. Every single penny she earned was splurged on semi-luxury items so she could show off what her hard work earned her. 

Her drive, despite what many would assume, wasn't to become rich and successful- it was to prove to others that she had what it took to become successful. You could say it was her why. It motivated her more than money itself. More than time freedom and the splendors of life. She needed to prove she was special. She needed to prove she was special to someone in particular. But who?

One evening, while sitting in front of a fabulous dinner in an expensive restaurant and taking some selfies for her page before promptly leaving, I asked her who her content was for.

"For my followers of course," she responded quickly, focusing on editing her face. "Uh, can we maybe take that again? I think those first twenty photos look weird."

"Yeah, but which followers?"

"All of them because they give me money. Anyway can you take this for me?"

"Even the haters?"

She gave me the coldest death stare. It was true, she had a lot of haters, mainly jealous people who weren't earning surgeon money like she was. They enjoyed spreading lies and rumors about her like she was a racist because she used to have a Jainism tattoo and she got fired for getting into a drunken brawl. While she was a wild party girl still well into her late-30's and could certainly get a little colorful in her language, she was the sweetest angel I knew. She only threw insults towards haters, you know, people who deserved it.

"They keep the metrics up, so yeah, they help earn me money," she said defensively. "But who cares what they think, right? I'm more successful than they'll ever be, so I'm not bothered. Totally not bothered. Here! Can you take just one more? Thanks! Actually maybe another four of five. Then let's get outta here before they try and make us pay!"

She was right. It was obvious that she was never bothered by the haters. She posted about it all the time. She mentioned it frequently in real life too as she wept in a drunken stupor on the bathroom floor, make-up smudged and hair matted. Just another Tuesday evening. She worked hard and she played harder. She was the life of the party, the loudest in the room and she made sure of it. She was never there to mingle with the crowd, she was there to show the crowd who she was- Big Boss Marie!

Her unbotheredness proved the haters were never the problem. If she wasn't trying to prove herself by asserting dominance over them, then who was it she was trying to dominate? Who was her real beta?

Then one evening, as she was healing from another heavy night on the town on the cold bathroom tiles, she mentioned someone called Katlyn, a name she'd never mentioned until this point, despite being a millennial. She wailed in between slurred rants about Katlyn and how much of a bitch she was. Her crime? She got married in the Bahamas.

"Ah fuggin' hae dur! Dah bish go' marr'd an' ssssshe invided all zuh cool kidsh frah shool!"

It all makes sense. She wasn't trying to prove herself to her haters, her followers, her friends or even herself. She was trying to prove herself not to her haters, but to the girls she herself originally hated in high school! After two decades, her primary motivation for success was to prove to her former peers, who she knew for a total of six years, that she was the coolest girl in high school- a relatable desire of many of us in the hustler world.

After asking about Caitlyn the next day, she immediately moved out and told me to never talk to her or mention the name ever again. I've never seen her move so fast with a hangover like that. The passive aggressive posts about how much she enjoyed the single life and how much she was healing were her primary form of content for many months, usually shared at 3am when she'd get home. She remarried within a year. She really showed Caitlyn!

Marie made me introspect on my own motivations. Who am I actually trying to prove? Do I yearn after the high school glories I was unjustly denied? Am I ultimately just an unsatisfied overgrown teenager? I pondered on this thought for some time, meditated on it and prayed about it. I asked the Lord to guide me on this journey and I welcomed His wisdom.

Then the Lord told me that I am doubting my own confidence and to stop letting a feeble woman making me question my motivations and devotions to Him. The Lord is always right. I thanked the Him and slept like a baby that night. My ego was restored.