Though Jerome “Jay” Isip now enjoys the success of being a professional MMA fighter, entrepreneur, and author, he is no stranger to the feelings of self-doubt, depression, and lack of direction that many people – young and old, male and female – struggle with at one point or another in life.
I am a nobody who became a somebody to nobody but myself. All in all—I’m just another washed up Mixed Martial Arts fighter that was addicted to drugs and alcohol and decided to make a change in my life.
My daily regimen is always up for grabs where I basically plan nothing, and if I do have plans—they usually get thrown out the window because I get distracted by an idea; or a dream that I felt as if it was real life. I focus on the dream to see if anything unlocks the code to my confusion and spend about thirty minutes contemplating if the dream can translate into my future or show me any sign of purpose. The feeling of the dreams are so strong—almost real—to the point where I can’t decide if my dreams were actually a reality.
Eventually I snap out of the façade and realize it was only a dream and a moment in space perhaps where the stars shine like pulsars. A place I could never physically reach unless I close my eyes and dream again. This place is so wonderful and is the closest feeling to paradise where I am alone in my thoughts, alone in my dreams and wish I could share this moment with everyone I love—so I do. I carry my dreams everywhere I go and try my best to make ease with others by making it a reality because dreams unfold into our reality, until we let them go.
So after I let go of my rambling brain, I strap on my running shoes, plug in my headphones and blast some solfeggio frequencies that almost rupture my eardrums—to the point where my entire body vibrates with elation or I’ll freestyle rap over an Eminem instrumental pretending I’m B-Rabbit in 8 Mile. Either way, I’m losing myself to the music (no pun intended). I spew my words out of my shit talker to release any demons that may lie inside of my cerebral cortex. It’s kind of like blowing morning boogers out of your nose to clean your passage ways.
After my light jog, I place myself in a grounding environment—usually the park or the beach. I take my shoes and socks off and stick my Barney Rubble feet deep into the earth soils (or sands). My feet absorb the earth’s electrons that supposedly run through the molecules that hold my physical being. Keeping my eyes wide shut, I can visualize a world that hugs my emotions so tight it occasionally squeezes out a few tears. Once again, there is no better place and there is no better feeling than being connected to the earth. It is a place I never want to leave—but eventually I have to because I have to get back to “reality.”
I roll my socks back over the dirt and worm defecation that’s stuck in-between my toes, but I don’t mind because I want to bring a part of my happy place with me. I strap my ASICS back on my feet and head back to my home—or my brain. This is the best morning of my life; I want to repeat this morning—every morning. I want to carry this soulful essence with me throughout the duration of my human existence. This way, I can live my dreams and share them with the world.
Two hours later after my soul searching reflection—I write.
After I write—I write more.
After I write more—I learn something more about myself.
Writing is my therapy, my new addiction, my new dream and if I stop I may go back to taking acid; or drinking myself into a belligerent asshole; or go back into the MMA cage to get my faced punched in.
Writing will d0 for now—until I close my eyes and grasp a new dream.
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