Earlier today I read an article entitled The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. It was excellent. It was thought-provoking, well written and unfortunately has sent me into a bit of a tailspin. Why? Because I don’t want to end up being that old lady fighting with a cashier over a .30 coupon because I have nothing else in my life worth giving a fuck about.
The article (you really should go and read it if you have not already) takes the time to differentiate between not giving a fuck and being indifferent. Which for me, was a useful use of time. Because I often find when I’m busy trying to not give a fuck about things that I force or feign indifference and that is counter-productive and soul crushing – to me and those around me. I’m not indifferent about things, but I have also not been brave or strong enough to give a fuck where it matters, opting instead to give a fuck about thousands of things that don’t count for shit.
Needless to say, in this, my life of one breakdown and breakthrough after another, I again feel like it’s time to take stock and make changes. Because as I’m coming to find out, it’s not about my diet, my weight, my wrinkles, my hair, my dry skin or if my floors are vacuumed and laundry folded. *I* am more than that. *I* am not here to make sure that I look right, act right, do the right things *for everyone else’s benefit at the expense of my life*
I’m not ok anymore with putting in time, trying to do everything right and follow all the rules and taking only the safest of chances. I am not ok with trying so hard to be accepted only to realize that I don’t actually have any control whatsoever over others’ acceptance of me and that people will accept or reject me in spite of my best intentions or efforts to ensure the outcome of my choosing. And I can’t own all this shit anymore.
So do I need to eat to hide, hide to eat, dress up or down, have ‘the right’ stuff? Or can I just let it all go (no Elsa jokes, please – My Ms. Moon is obsessed with Frozen, like 90% of little girls and sings ‘Let it Go’ morning, noon, and night, but I really was using the phrase long before we all fell in love with Olaf and Sven) and stopping waiting for ‘the right time or place’ to happen before actually changing my future.
Can I just let all of that go, after carrying it with me for all of these years? Can I release the shame, the guilt, the uncertainty and self-hatred. Can I decide to stop giving a fuck about absolutely *everything* and just give a fuck about things that actually matter? Like myself, my family, my friends and my cat? Can I stop being worried all the time about failing or not being good enough (for who?!?) and can I start to just DO things that I WANT to do because they matter TO ME? Can I go to the gym just because I want to and not because I feel like I should, or because I’m too goddamned fat or because it’s what I would have done when I was younger? And can I eat a one-pound peanut butter cup without feeling like a fat, gluttonous pig and instead just not give a fuck and enjoy it and really, honestly just not care of someone, anyone, chooses to judge me for having eaten it?
It would seem, that for me, not giving a fuck (or giving too many fucks) and fear are conjoined and that what I need to do is 1) figure out how to stop being scared of everything (what if they don’t like me, what if I don’t get the job, what if my kid hates me, what if this person doesn’t love me, like me, need me or want me, what if I get fatter, what if the person I’m speaking with thinks that I’m stupid or irrelevant, what if no one cares about what I have to say, what if I embarrass myself, what if they give me that look, what if I’m WRONG?) and 2) how to button down those previously given fucks just start giving a fuck about only those things that matter the most to me and letting the other shit take care (or not) of itself.
Writing this post is actually painful. Because I’m admitting inner-sanctum shit that I never admit to – either to myself or others – but what is the point of writing bullshit? And since it’s just you and me here, I figure that this is as good a place as any to stop lying to myself and to stop being complacent in my self-built house of fear and self-deception.
Truth: I love my life. I love my family, both the one I came from and the one that I have created. I love writing, music, reading, photography, eating, sleeping, and being quiet. And sometimes I love being dorky and ridiculous and talk non-stop, about shit that matters and shit that doesn’t matter, and beyond that, I’ve suppressed myself for so long, out of fear, habit, or the beliefs of others, that I no longer really feel like know how to dream, big or small, let alone make my dreams become my reality. I have let myself down. I’m like a fatter, older, duller, diluted version of myself and I’m waking up now realizing that I really don’t want to live a half-lived life. I don’t want to waste time of things that don’t matter or won’t make a difference. I don’t want to exhaust myself, spinning my wheels and getting nowhere. No. I want to exhaust myself doing things that I love to do. And yes, I know what some of them are, but I know that there are so many other things that I have yet to discover. And I want to discover them – even if they fall outside of the ‘comfort zone’ that I have so carefully constructed around myself.Â
Fucks – consider yourself on notice. Far fewer of you will be released by me into the universe. So the ones of you who are tossed out there, be ready to go hard because you’ll be working for all of those left behind.
