By definition, friends are people you take as is.

Everyone has their flaws, and when you find someone you click with, even if you don’t agree with everything they say or do, you shrug. To each their own, right?

When you have friends, you don’t exactly judge them… but you do wonder about them, and their quirks.

I have a friend who lives on the far side of the country. We talk all the time, but we rarely see one another.

My friend is an alcoholic.

He knows it, I know it, he jokes about it, I joke about it. It is what it is.

He met a girl, and they started dating. It became a relationship, and while I was happy for my friend, every so often, I’d wonder: “How does she deal with all the boozing? Doesn’t she get tired of it?”

After two years, I finally met her.

She’s fun, attractive, outgoing…

…and also an alcoholic.

The two of them party together and get along great. What I call a hangover they call “Wednesday morning.” Peas in a pod, they are.

The idea they might be perfectly matched had completely slipped my mind. I was so blinded by my lifestyle—I could never deal with the vice and all the issues that go along with it—that I was completely oblivious to the idea someone else out there would line up perfectly with it.

Which brings us to an old saying: everyone brings baggage into a relationship, you just need to find someone with matching luggage. This means there’s someone out there for everyone.

Which brings us to incels.

I learned what an incel was a few months ago, as did many people. If you’re unfamiliar, it stands for “involuntary celibate;” a man that wants to have sex, but can’t because no woman will sleep with him.

Here’s the problem with that description: I was in incel before being an incel was a thing. I was a teenager, which is when pretty much everyone is an incel.

Looking back on that period of my life, I easily recognize that my lack of female companionship was all my fault. I was a moody, anti-social teenager with a chip on my shoulder who wore black Metallica shirts and torn jeans.

And I had a mullet.

A mullet.

That’s never a good idea, especially not when trying to attract the fairer sex.

Then I got to college, and something changed: me.

I (eventually) got rid of the mullet, dialed back (for the most part) the anger, dressed better, and—and this is the big one—actually started talking to women.

It turns out, I was an “incel” by choice. My decisions were voluntary, not thrust upon me by the outside world.

That’s a huge distinction, and some people never make it.

Many people don’t see how their own actions effect how the world at large perceives them, which means they never grow or develop as human beings. Which, in turn, is the difference in humanity in general: some people lash out and blame others for their lot in life, some people look inward and make changes.

How you respond to a problem says everything anyone ever needs to know about you.

When I wasn’t getting laid, I made changes. Incels blame.

If all the “men’s rights activists,” incels and other guys who aren’t having sex looked inward and made changes, they could probably find a partner. Because, as said earlier, there’s someone for everyone. It doesn’t matter what your particular tastes are, someone out there will match it. Some people like thick bodies, others thin bodies. Some people like darker skin, others lighter skin. Some people like alcoholics…

There’s a joke that goes around every Valentine’s Day: Charles Manson got love letters in jail, and Hitler had a girlfriend. So if you’re alone, the problem is you.

The problem with incels, as I understand it, is in expectations.

They could probably land a girlfriend along the lines of Martha Raye, denture wearer, but they believe they inherently deserve Margot Robbie. That’s where their anger comes from; the feeling they deserve something not earned.

That’s not how life works.

The winner of the Super Bowl gets the Lombardi Trophy, the first car across the finish line gets the checkered flag, and those who make themselves desirable get the girl.

If you don’t like your lot in life, do something about it. If you don’t plan on changing, or improving, then shut up.

It’s that simple.

Want to learn more about my accidentally celibate ways? Check out my life story.

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