Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,

The Rochester Zen Center…

Has a mouse problem.

We’re losing this war badly.

These mice are completely unafraid.

The softies here at the center are out of their element.

They hate killing.

As Buddhists, we believe in living in harmony with all sentient beings.

And the mice love us for it.

Sometimes, I see them scurrying around in broad daylight.

I’m remembering that old movie, Joe’s Apartment.

Except the roaches are swapped out for rodents.

Every night, I go to sleep…

That’s when the stage lights come on…

They start singing a number…

And they line-dance over the counters.

The next day, they leave a trail of poop behind.

One staff member calls them “Fred.”

“Should we leave a snack out for Fred tonight?” he jokes.

Another imagines one mouse bragging to his friends about the team of professionals who cook him a five-star meal every day.

Everyone here is a conscientious objector.

Nobody will even eat meat.

We’re far too kind-hearted to do what’s required.

So the lethal options are off the table.

No poison.

No cats.

And the traps don’t work.

Dozens of them. All empty.

It’s like they know exactly what it is, and they know to avoid it.

Not even peanut butter tempts them.

One night, I walked into the staff kitchen…

And saw a mouse, ass up under the toaster…

Eating crumbs like it owned the place.

Like Nero at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I had seconds.

I grabbed a towel.A box.

It spotted me and ran behind the bread basket.

I waited.

It came out the other side.

I dropped the towel, pinned it, grabbed it…

And slammed it into the box.

Caught.

For once.

I kept it there overnight.

Nobody wanted to kill it.

Of course not.

If we let it outside, it would come right back.

One guy offered to take it home for his cat.

Fine.

He gets home…

Opens the box…

Reaches for the cat…

And in that tiny window—

The mouse escapes.

Starts a new life there.

That’s how it works.

Nobody does what’s necessary.

So the problem survives.

Then it multiplies.

And eventually…

It owns the place.

We locked everything down.

Tupperware. Sealed containers. No food in rooms.

For a moment, it looked like we’d won.

They got skinny.

Then they found other food.

At night, they slide under my door.

I hear them scurrying.

I wake up feeling violated.

Like a burglar was just in my house.

So I bought thick foam to block the gap.

Now I hear them chewing at it.

In the morning, there are bits of foam outside my door.

For now, they haven’t gotten in.

Nothing leaves me feeling more broke…

Than having mice for roommates.

TonyEditor-in-ChiefPermission to be Powerful

Dear Permission to Be Powerful reader,

I went on a date.

Before it even started, I told her:

“I feel nervous.”

That was enough.

She stormed out.

Canceled immediately.

And just like that, the whole thing collapsed.

Not after a fight…

Or anything dramatic.

Just… the presence of a need.

At first, you want to explain it away.

Maybe she’s guarded.Maybe she’s not that invested yet.

But then you look at the pattern.

Every time I wanted anything at all…

The answer was always no.

Even when it was small.

It was as if there was an unspoken condition from the start:

I was supposed to show up with no needs.

No friction. No weight. No interior life.

Just usefulness.

And the moment that wasn’t true?

Everything shut down.

I’ve seen selfish before.

I’ve dated selfish.

I’ve been married to selfish.

Even then, there was at least a flicker of recognition.

A moment where someone looks at you and asks:

“What’s wrong?”

Here?

Nothing.

Not once.

No questions.

No pause.

No adjustment.

Just a steady, unbroken focus on herself.

You don’t need deep emotional support on a first date.

But you do need something.

A flicker.

That’s the floor.

And when it’s not there, something becomes very clear:

For this to work… you have to disappear.

Become wantless…

Needless…

Invisible.

One minute, you’re abandoning yourself in seemingly harmless ways.

The next, the other person has taken over your life.

Because from the outside, it doesn’t look extreme.

She can seem:

SoftKindAttentive… to other people

I’ve seen her across the room. Watching me. Smiling. Warm.

From a distance, it looks completely normal.

But up close?

There’s no space for you.

The mechanism is simple.

Your needs don’t register as:

“This person matters.”

They register as:

“This is getting in the way.”

Not consciously. Not maliciously.

Just… structurally.

So something as small as:

“I feel nervous.”

isn’t received as connection.

It’s received as friction.

And the interaction ends.

I could have played along.

I know how.

Be easy.

Be useful.

Don’t ask for anything.

Be grateful for whatever I get.

Stay light.

Stay accommodating.

Never shift the focus.

And yeah—I could’ve had her.

But I know what that gets you.

Crumbs.

Just enough to stay.

And in exchange, you give up something slowly:

yourself.

You abandon yourself just by being in the dynamic at all.

Some people insist on it.

I’ve lived that.

To the point where I lost entire years of my life.

To the point where therapists told me:

“That wasn’t a relationship. You were completely subjugated.”

I moved countries.

Disappeared.

Built my life around someone who had no room for me.

So when I see the pattern now—

I don’t debate it.

I recognize it.

My body rejects it before my mind gets to have a say.

Before I get tempted to go back to the familiar.

There was a pull.

There always is.

She reminded me of someone I once loved deeply.

Someone who treated me with quiet contempt.

And my body still remembers that.

But I don’t follow it anymore.

So I didn’t chase.

I didn’t escalate.

I didn’t perform.

I gave her nothing.

Not out of spite.

Out of recognition.

Because the real decision isn’t:

“Is this person good or bad?”

It’s:

What version of me does this dynamic require?

And I’m not becoming that person again.

Now, to be clear—

This is my interpretation.

She’s not here to explain herself.

But I’ve spent years studying my own life closely.

Because I had to.

I lived in a world where people took from me constantly—and I didn’t even see it.

Waking up from that changes how you see everything.

These dynamics aren’t rare.

They’re just quiet.

Most people stay.

They justify it.They hope.They wait for something to shift.

It doesn’t.

TonyEditor-in-ChiefPermission to be Powerful

Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,

I burned my life to the ground.

Again.

Let’s review…

The past two years have been the hardest of my life.

Two straight years of nuclear winter.🥶

It started when Tony Robbins fired me.

I had no income…

And yet, I refused to go back to freelancing.

If I were going to pull this off, I would have to draw on every insight I’d earned over fifteen years writing for the best in the business.

Everything.

Keep in mind:

I was a new immigrant.Freshly divorced.Alone.

Not even an “in case of emergency” contact.

The buck stopped here.

No safety net.

And I was a freelance copywriter in the middle of the AI apocalypse.

There was nothing to go back to.

So I locked myself in a room for a year.

And built something that still humbles me.

An email list of 93,000 subscribers.

From scratch.

While waiting to find out if the U.S. government would deport me.

I was agitated as f**k.

ICE was in the headlines.

Kicking in doors.

I felt like a fugitive.

Because of a little bit of paperwork.

I’m from St. Lucia.

A small island.

I got my green card in 2021.

Divorced in 2022.

That timing is not ideal.

At one point my mindset was simple:

I don’t care if I’m homelessas long as I’m homeless on U.S. soil.

There’s a strange power in having nothing left to lose.

When annihilation seems certain…

You stop pulling your punches.

You abandon every ounce of restraint…

I understood what this mission required.

I would have to be willing to go broke.

Willing to lose everything.

Because the thing I was building was going to demand everything.

I pushed myself to the edge of sanity.

Night and day, I thought about one thing:

Growing my list.

I was done selling my talent to someone else.

Done waiting for loyalty from people who never believed it went both ways.

Fifteen years working behind the scenes.

This time, I would step into the light.

To build this, I used every skill I’d acquired.

When money dried up, I became a janitor at a Zen Center.

I meditate for hours a day.

It’s a strange thing to scrub toilets in the morningand write to tens of thousands of people at night.

Some people here don’t understand it.

One of them thinks I’m lying about the size of my audience.

Everything I own is in storage.

Every emergency fund is gone.

Most of it went into building this list.

Ninety-five percent of that money went into trial and error.

Learning the hard way.

I can’t tell you how hard it is to willingly spend everything you have on hope.

My mind wants closure.

I miss being a freewheeling dancer.

And I have scrubbed more toilets than I care to do ever again.

I’m down to my last few thousand dollars.

Closer to the flames than I feel comfortable.

The house is on fire.

I’m still inside.

But there’s hope.

I have leverage.

For the first time in my career.

I set the terms.

I own the infrastructure.

I’m speaking without a client’s approval.

No borrowed voice.

No pretending to be someone else.

No asking for permission.

And I can feel the difference.

I’ve finally begun monetizing it.

I launched a Patreon called The Vacation Vault.

I have 35 paid subscribers.

1000 pays for the lifestyle I want.

I am close to securing my first paid advertiser - a former client, no less.

For now, this is what matters:

I built something no one can fire me from.

To do it, I had to evolve.

From copywriterto founder.

Now the risk is mine.

So is the upside.

TonyEditor-in-ChiefPermission to be Powerful

Dear Permission to be Powerful Reader,

Imagine being this sick f**k.

Imagine…

You’ve spent your whole life at the very top.

Invincible.

Above the law.

It’s even worse than you think.

This motherfucker thought he could rape children and get away with it.

He used all of that f*****g power and money that he never earned…

To be a f*****g child molester.

The chickens have finally come home to roost.

These are the same people who built much of their wealth through oppression and enslavement.

Yet the media keeps telling us to look up to them.

That they are noble.

But what if the guy we’ve been told for decades was a good guy…

Was really a monster?

No different than any predator on a sex offender’s list?

By the way—

I am deeply fascinated with people who experience massive swings like that.

It’s not uncommon.It goes with the job.

Big names with horrible endings.

Kings who were executed or imprisoned:

Charles I of EnglandBeheaded in public.

Louis XVIGot his head lopped off.

Edward II of EnglandMurdered in his jail cell.

Maximilian I of MexicoTurned into Swiss cheese by firing squad.

What do all of these people have in common?

They lived lives you and I couldn’t begin to fathom.

They lived above the law.

What do you see when you look at Andrew’s face?

I see a man who thought the law didn’t apply to him.

A man getting a taste of reality for the first time in his whole goddamn life.

This man sucked the Queen’s tits, bro.

In his mind, his mommy “owned” an entire country.

That’s how his life started.

All your life, the entire world keeps telling you you’re special for no reason.

You have an army of butlers and servants and guards.

People worship the ground you walk on.

Not because you’re special…

Or talented…

You’re not Usain Bolt or Whitney Houston…

There’s nothing special about you.

You didn’t earn your success.

Your wealth was largely gained from looting and plundering other countries.

You can have anything.

Do anything.

With no limits.

Someone like that would have such a warped sense of reality.

They could very well be insane.

TonyEditor-in-ChiefPermission to be Powerful