This isn’t a scam, but it’s also not a guarantee. Falling in love isn’t as easy as society claims. It’s less about happenstance and more about being intentional. I’m giving you the tools to get out of your own way and make genuine connections.
Now before you go and try to get your money back, here’s the disclaimer: This isn’t a magic potion. These twelve steps aren’t going to make someone fall in love with you who isn’t meantfor you. It’s not made to change your mind about someone you’re on the fence about. If you want to cut out at step three or six or even at step twelve, do it. If you’re not all in, you’re already out. Take a break. Hit up the BetterYou series or schedule a coaching call, then get back out there with step one.
This program isn’t only for men. There are no “his and hers” sections. Love is love, and all parties must make an effort. The Ford Method isn’t even just for single people seeking partners. It’s a great way for couples to fall back in love with each other. This plan is for everyone.
Each step in The Ford Method is formatted to take one week, but you can spread out the program as long as you like. Don’t think of the steps like a checkbox. Think of them as challenges. Go as hard and deep—ayo!—as you can. It’s not about completing the step as fast as you can and moving on to the next.
FYI: this also applies to foreplay.
Remember what I said about a fling? If you race through, you’ll find yourself stuck in the shallows.
“But Ryan, I don’t have a lot of money to win over the person I like.”
Get out of here with those excuses. Everyone deserves love and companionship, which is why The Ford Method doesn’t require a big budget or any budget at all. It costs something far more than your money. It costs your time.
If you’re not ready to make the commitment to pursuing forever, there’s no shame in stomping on the brakes. Props to you for being self-aware and knowing what you have the capacity to handle. Head to the BetterYou page for free resources that are created to help you get to the starting line.
If you’re ready to take control of your love life, take it slow and be intentional. Oh yeah, and remember to send me a wedding invitation when you findthe one.
Ryan Ford
Creator of The Ford Method
3
AUTUMN
SECOND-HAND SPAGHETTI
Pounding echoed in my ears as my eyelids lifted.Oh my God. I tried to force them shut again, but the carnage of yesterday was too horrifying to look away from.
The seltzers were empty, the cans tossed on the hotel room desk. A box of wine I procured immediately after the panel was empty and tipped on its side. The paper coffee cup I used as a wine glass sat beside it.
My stomach lurched as I shifted on the mattress. Something hard cut into my stomach. I felt around my thighs and ass and realized I was still in the fitted slacks I wore to the Rom-Con panel yesterday.
Falling asleep in hard pants was the worst.
I shifted again and felt the underwire of my bra strangling my boobs.
Saturday played through my mind like some kind of slasher flick montage. A sharp jab of regret accompanied each cut to a new scene. Getting up and grabbing coffee with the girls—tea for Whitney. Crowding in Wander’s hotel room to get dressed and primped for the Rom-Con panel. Heading to the convention space to mix and mingle with the attendees during the morningworkshops and brunch. Hanging out in the backstage lounge and talking shit about…
Oh God.
I threw the covers back and bolted for the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet before I lost the contents of whatever questionable takeout I inhaled in my inebriated state last night.
Apparently, it was spaghetti that was eaten in a hotel room bubble bath, if the takeout container perched on the edge of the bathtub was any indication.
Was this rock bottom?
I didn’t have time to consider it before the spaghetti made a reappearance.
There was something to be said about throwing up during a hangover. It was awful in the moment, but it did make me feel the slightest bit better.
I flushed the toilet and elbowed my way up to the sink. My skin was pale and my hair was a pink tumbleweed. I hadn’t bothered to take my makeup off when I started drinking. Streaks of eyeliner, mascara, and smeared lipstick were all over my face.
Suffice to say, I had royally fucked up.
It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.
