You’ve lost your swagger, my friend.
Opponents used to cower, knowing you’d be lurking. You didn’t care, because you knew.
But not now. And to be clear, it’s not your bad back. Your swing. Your clubs.
You still have ALL of the same talent you once had, but swagger means something real – something tangible – something that lets you plug into Goethe’s power of the universe – that nexus – the rewards of going ‘all in’.
It’s where talent – and you’ve got plenty of that – meets conviction.
When those ingredients combine, the universe conspires to help – it provides energy – that energy magnifies the talent – creates lucky breaks – and sends the Signal to the world that you’ve got it, so watch out – or not – because I’m coming…and there’s nothing you can do about it.
It’s where you become Teflon.
Hey, you fucked up.
There’s been bigger ones throughout history – trust me, you don’t dominate in the fuck-ups department. Not even close.
And you did the right thing – you apologized and took ownership. You paid the price, both publicly and privately.
So be done with it. Stop sagging those shoulders and running with the pack. Tell the media to go scratch. Tell the waves of schadenfreudic losers that they no longer get to feast on your carcass.
Be Tiger again.
Be bulletproof. Win without apology. Lose without excuse. Fuck the contrition that sits like a perpetual leech on you soul, always sapping your strength.
[Tweet “Be bulletproof. Win without apology. Lose without excuse.”]
Tell them all to fuck off.
Tell ME to fuck off.
Be Tiger again.
You need it.
We need it.
Just Do It.