Fellow blogger Joe Seeber wrote a piece about stress reduction that I read a while back. It deals with the art of not giving a fuck.
Alright now, boys and girls! I think we might have something here.
Can I do it when I go to work? When I’m running late and the boss questions me about my timeliness, should I present a lackadaisical attitude about the whole thing, maybe give a slight shrug to my shoulders indicating where I think he should go and what he should do with his concerns? That’d probably get my ass canned, which wouldn’t sit well with the misses.
Speaking of which, should I then go home and tell her what I’ve done and what she can then do with the bills that would surely mount up? Since I’ve got to sleep with her, I don’t think that’d be too cool a thing to do besides which my wife gives as good as she gets so if I tell her I don’t give a fuck, she’ll probably come back with an equally rambunctious, fuck it then! Then where would we be? As the man said, proper fucked, that’s where.
Maybe I can stop giving a fuck about money, or rather my lack of it. That’d only lead to me missing due dates and getting us thrown out on the streets. See, because landlords and mortgage companies truly don’t give a fuck, about me or any other Joe Blow out there and if I did something like that, they’d do a do to me and mine with the quickness.
Well, if work is out and home finance is out then maybe I can stop giving a fuck about my personal appearance, grow my hair long, keep it unkempt, maybe start to stink a bit, draw a couple of flies. Next thing you know, my wife would have some nice men coming to see me with a canvas coat, resplendent with accessory straps and everything.
No, as much as it sounds tempting to do so, I can’t because I do give a damn. I can’t help it that I care; it’s ingrained in me.
He’s right in that we’re all products of our upbringing and the experiences we’ve had, good and bad, along the way. It’s those experiences that shape us and allow us to determine what we address and what we let slide in our lives. And that’s the key, knowing when to flex and when to not sweat the small stuff.
Make no mistake, stress is a killer and managing it, or rather managing the ability to do so, is essential for any type of success in life. Hell, being able to do so is essential for survival. That being said, other outlets to manage this silent killer are needed. Like this exercise I’ve just engaged in.
I can’t tell you how invigorating it’s been to use these words in these paragraphs. I just want to go on an all-out “fuckapalooza”, I’m so giddy. My fingertips are tingling along with my lips as I proofread what I’ve written.
Seriously, all jokes aside, even if you don’t give a fuck, you wind up giving a fuck because you care about not giving a fuck, you see what I mean? I think it’s a round robin condition that we can’t escape as men and women. Even if we don’t care and want to be adamant about our apathy, the fact that we’re unyielding means that we appreciate our indifference and are seeking ways to keep it going.
Wow, who knew not giving a fuck could be so profound a proposition?