For the last year or so, I’d been building my life around a single, strange idea — I was going to be on Survivor. I wasn’t just appying for fun, I was ready for the whole drawn-out process — the audition videos, the psychological screening, the video call with Jeff Probst. I’d mapped it all out.
And then came the physical.
The death knell.
I studied the game like it was philosophy: strategy patterns, social psychology, power dynamics, even jury management. I trained for endurance, grip strength, balance, and fire-making. I built my Survivor persona the same way I build websites — with equal parts vision and obsession.
And for a while, it worked. I felt alive again.
🪶 The Dream
It wasn’t about fame or money. I wanted a clean test of character.
Could I keep my composure when stripped of comfort and certainty? Could I outthink people who were trying to outthink me?
In a way, Survivor was never just a show. It was the purest metaphor for everything I’ve fought my way through — growing up tough, building resilience, learning when to speak and when to stay silent.
The idea of stepping into that arena felt like redemption. Like a life audit with torches.
⚙️ The Grind
Once I made the decision, I went all in — because that’s what I do.
I built a plan to train my body.
I rehearsed opening lines and potential alliance pitches.
I even had a closing line for the audition tape that tied into my personal brand color — purple — because even my strategy had style.
“And if there’s any chance I could be on a purple-shirted tribe, that would be grand.”
It wasn’t a fantasy; it was a system.
And like most systems, it eventually broke down when reality caught up.
💀 The Truth
The spirit was willing. The body wasn’t.
I kept telling myself I could push harder, train smarter, get fitter — but somewhere deep down, I knew I was lying.
Not out of weakness, but honesty.
My body had been through injuries, surgeries, arthritis — a lifetime of earned scars. And while my mind still ran marathons, my joints filed for early retirement.
There’s a point where wanting something deeply collides with what you’re physically capable of — and pretending otherwise isn’t strength, it’s denial.
🧠 The Shift
Once I admitted it, the disappointment came — but so did clarity.
I realized what I actually loved about the Survivor project wasn’t the island, or the competition, or the million-dollar carrot.
It was the purpose.
The structure.
The creative energy of having something worth chasing.
When I let go of Survivor, I didn’t lose a dream. I traded one kind of purpose for another: building websites, writing books, crafting things that last longer than any tribal council memory.
“Maybe I didn’t outwit, outplay, or outlast anyone — but I finally outgrew the need to prove I could.”
🔥 The Takeaway
Survivor didn’t reject me. I outlived it.
The spirit still wants the test. It just wants it in a different arena — one where endurance means consistency, not starvation.
Where fire-making means creating, not surviving.
Where the goal isn’t to win the game, but to build something worth being remembered for.
I didn’t make it onto the island. But I finally made peace with the man who wanted to.
And that, I think, is a better kind of victory.
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