The Protocol
Printed and sent before day one. Everything to do, in order, with the reasons underneath.
Independence · The Last One · 30 days
You stop looking for the next person to explain your life to you. Including me.
There is one thing left, and it is the reason men stay in these arrangements for a decade: you have started to check.
You are running your own life well and still looking for confirmation.
You stop looking for the next person to explain your life to you. Including me.
These thirty days are designed to make me unnecessary. If they work you will not buy anything from me again, which is the intended outcome and the reason there is no second year.
Three hours a week. And thirty days at the end of which you write your own protocol — the one you will run for the rest of your life, without me.
The last week has no instruction at all. Seven days, nothing sent. Some men find it the hardest week of the lot. It is not an oversight.
Printed and sent before day one. Everything to do, in order, with the reasons underneath.
A bound logbook, one numbered page for each day.
One written instruction each morning. Three lines. They get shorter as you get better.
You write your own protocol. It is printed, bound with your name on it, and posted back. I write nothing in it.
No calls. No voice notes. No group. You will not meet me.
And nothing here is written for you specifically. This protocol was finished before I knew your name, which is why it costs a fraction of the year — it is a fraction of the year, the part that fits on paper.
If this is not your first, and you finished the last one inside thirty days, it is $800. That price cannot be bought, only finished into.
If this is not the one