The Three Voices and the Succubus

Somewhere around the time I was finishing college, my Grandpa jotted a line on a sticky note and handed it to me. Small enough to tuck in my wallet, simple enough to almost miss, but weighty enough that I carried it for years.

“When preparation meets opportunity, you’ve created your own luck.”

I lost the paper somewhere along the way, but the message never left me. At first, it felt like one of those fortune-cookie lines you keep around because it sounded wise, and of course, a note from my GP.  The significance would hide from me for decades. It didn’t click until later—until the GÜD Life began, and GP wasn’t around to explain it anymore.

It was in the lonely fight with doubt that his words finally unlocked.

Doubt isn’t just a nuisance. She’s a heartless mistress. The kind that pulls you away from yourself until you don’t recognize the guy in the mirror anymore. She’s that girlfriend who cuts you off from your friends, tells you she’s all you need, and convinces you to hand over every ounce of who you are.

She’s a succubus—beautiful enough to lure you in, poisonous enough to strip you bare. I’ve smelled her before, and I know the cost. I’ve lived through my own rehabs and recoveries. And I refuse to go back. Still, the addiction of doubt never dies easy.  She calls when you’re tired. She calls when you’re alone. And she even calls when you’re standing on top of the mountain—at the very moment you should be celebrating the climb.

That’s where my three voices come in—the heart, the brain, and the gut. 

They’re not perfect, but together they’ve got street smarts.  The heart is usually what earns the opportunity—people feel your heart before they trust your skill. The brain delivers on the opportunity—planning, strategy, follow-through. And the gut? The gut is the tension. It wrestles with doubt louder than the others, asking the question: was that skill… or was I just lucky? And on its worst days, it digs deeper, whispering: maybe you’re a fraud.

Here’s the truth I’ve come to see. When all three voices are engaged, luck stops being this mystical coin toss. It becomes the byproduct of showing up, caring more, and refusing to let doubt be the loudest voice.

And when that happens—when the voices carry you through and the work is executed well—what shows up on the other side doesn’t feel like luck. It feels like skill... even when you've measured four times and still cut twice.

When the three voices hold steady, luck isn’t a coin toss.

It’s preparation.

It’s opportunity.

It’s skill.