GET THE F*CKING GAS

I realized on Monday morning that I might actually be a dumbass.

I was driving to class, half-awake, mentally arguing with people in my head like a champion of imaginary conversations. Having a full-on Walter Mitty moment.

If you don’t get the reference you should check out the movie, its awesome.

Anyways….

The low fuel light had come on the night before, but I did what any self-respecting idiot does: I lied to myself.

"I’ll get it in the morning."

"I’ll remember."

"Future Me’s got it.”

Future Me did NOT have it.

Present Me got in the car the next day and completely forgot. Didn’t leave early. Saw the gas light on upon starting the car. Didn’t think about the gas again until I was halfway down the interstate when it finally hit me….  a quiet, soul-crushing voice that said:

“Hey bro… you’re about to be a pedestrian.”

I looked down and felt my stomach drop.

It wasn’t “low.”

It was “you’re-a-breath-away-from-calling-your-wife” low.

Panic sets in.

There’s a special kind of embarrassment that hits when you disappoint yourself and there’s nobody around to witness it. Because you know damn well you could have prevented this situation.

 The car sputtered into the gas station like it was trying to teach me a lesson.

And that’s when it landed.

Get the fucking gas.

THE LIE WE TELL OURSELVES

We all do this.

We all pretend Future Us is some highly capable, deeply motivated, squared-away version of ourselves. Like that dude is waking up at 5 a.m., making a protein shake, and knocking out tasks like a Navy SEAL on a mission.

Meanwhile Present Us is standing in the kitchen staring into the refrigerator like it's a complicated math problem.

Here’s the truth:

I overestimate Future Me because Present Me keeps ducking small responsibilities.

I procrastinate.

I lie to myself.

I operate like motivation is going to fall out of the sky and smack me in the face.

And sure, I always get the job done. The results are usually good, too. But my life could be so much easier if I’d stop handing Future Me the equivalent of a burning bag of dawg shit.

Get the gas now.

Not later.

Now.

THE SHIT WE AVOID (EVEN THOUGH IT WILL SAVE US)

Mental health?

Up and down like a pogo stick.

Working out?

Started again…. yesterday. Not exactly a hot streak.

(Update, lets say its not good….)

Communication in my relationship? Let’s just say Amber is a patient woman who deserves a ton of praise but also skips getting the gas at times.

Content creation?

Some days I’m unstoppable. Other days I’m waiting for divine intervention. I have ideas flooding my brain and absolutely none of them get executed. I started this blog last week and had the first and second draft done on day one, and here we are…

And then there’s school and specifically my production binder.

I knew for months that it needed to be done. But I pushed it off. Told myself I didn’t really need it yet because I was shooting “test” footage. Which is technically true, but spiritually complete bullshit. That footage will 100% be in my documentary. But I digress…

Then my professor brings it up, which he should. However, the way he asked made me feel like my classmates had thoughts about me shooting without my binder being done and had voiced those concerns to him.

Suddenly I’m pissed.

Suddenly I have opinions.

Suddenly I’m thinking of my classmates:

“Don’t you worry about what the fuck I’m doing.”

Especially if you don’t want to work with me to begin with.

But the reality is this:

If I had just gotten the gas along the way, none of that annoyance, frustration, or self-inflicted drama would’ve existed.

My binder would’ve been crisp.

Buttoned up.

Untouchable.

And I could’ve told anyone talking shit, firmly and politely to blow me.

Instead, Future Me had to pull a two-day document marathon like I was trying to rewrite the Constitution.

If I had just gotten the gas, if I’d done the basic work earlier, none of that frustration exists. No scrambling. No second-guessing. No two-day binge of document creation that made me question my life choices.

But I didn’t get the gas.

WHAT “GET THE FUCKING GAS” ACTUALLY MEANS

It's not about fuel.

It's not about cars.

It’s about self-honesty.

Getting the gas means doing the simple shit now so it doesn’t become a crisis later. It means not putting Future You into an impossible situation because Present You didn’t feel like dealing with it.

It means protecting your own mental health by not letting tiny tasks turn into avalanches.

It means giving yourself room to breathe, feel, and live without constantly playing catch-up.

It means loving yourself enough to say:

“Handle your shit before it handles you.”

Because the more gas you get along the way, the more space you have to actually exist.

THE VETERAN PART OF THIS

This is the kind of message you’d hear in the smoke pit.

Your buddy looks at you, flicks ash off the end of a Marlboro, and says:

“Hey man… you’re fucked up. But so am I. Now let’s fix it.”

That’s all this is.

Not a sermon.

Not self-help bullshit.

I’m not above any of it.

We all do the same dumb shit.

That’s why I’m writing this.

GETTING THE GAS

Whatever your “gas” is… that workout you keep dodging, the conversation you’re avoiding, the assignment you know damn well is coming, the content you should’ve made yesterday, go handle it.

Get the gas.

Do it for Future You.

Do it so your life stops being a series of preventable fires.

Do it so you stop coasting into metaphorical gas stations praying you make it.

I say this with love.

The kind of love only veterans can deliver.

Get the fucking gas, brothers and sisters.

Don’t be like me, rolling into a Speedway on fumes while the universe looks down and says:

“Look at this dumbass.”

Now go handle your shit and…

GET THE FUCKING GAS!