I recently had a young, hopeful colleague come to me asking for advice. I eagerly said, “sure”, assuming it was some deep knowledge or expertise I possess. What she asked, made me laugh, and take stock of where I am in my journey.
She straight-faced said, “I need to know how to not give a f—.” . . .
It wasn’t exactly what I’d expected, but it gave me pause for reflection.
Settling deeply into my 50s (ugh), I am learning to ignore the weight (literally) of the force of gravity and obvious changes to my body, while recognizing that those changes have no effect on my mind and spirit. It’s funny how your teenage years feel so recent, and yet are undeniably decades in the past. And all of these changes and realizations and acknowledgements have led to that one defining statement: “I Don’t Give A F—.”
Much to my mother’s chagrin, that “F” word has too easily flowed from my mouth for far too long. I maintain that it has always been with profound purpose and emphasis. And in my more seasoned years it has become my personal check-in. I listen to peoples’ opinions about me, politics, social justice issues, excuses for their choices or what the Kardashians did for summer fun, and I ask myself if that person’s statement holds truth, insight or weight in my life. And if not (which is more often the case) I find myself taking an internal reflective moment and determining…”IDGAF”, and then freeing myself and my life for things with value.
It’s freeing! I spent years upon years, heartache upon heartache and failure upon failure concerned about what other people thought of me and continuously altered how I lived in the world to please someone else…mostly everyone else. During those younger years when I didn’t trust who I believed I was, I let everyone around me play a role in who I became. I believed them more than I believed myself. Even when I knew better. And every time I tried to be someone other than myself, I failed. I’m not exaggerating. I made colossal mistakes and choices. But I kept trying, because I wanted to be something/someone, other than who I really am. For some reason, she wasn’t “good” enough or pretty enough or smart enough or athletic enough or…or…or…the list goes on, and it changes over time. New failures get added to the pile. Some personal beliefs get tossed, others put in their place. But the list seems to stay…
…until wisdom wins.
As I have survived and thrived and repeated that pattern throughout the years, I’ve come to realize that none of my failures have killed me. And when I began to learn to own my failures; honestly and without shame, I learned that every failure offered me greater strength, courage. . .and wisdom. The truth, as difficult as it can be to acknowledge and address, is the only path to becoming who we are meant to be. When we own our truth, we free ourselves from someone else’s projection of blame and shame upon us. When we own our mistakes, admit that we’re doing the best we can and we want to do better, we free ourselves from the projections that we are less than, or incapable. We give ourselves permission to learn and grow and space to be human along the way.
So my response to my colleague was that her perception was a bit off. It’s not that I don’t give a “F—“. It’s that I so deeply care about truth and possibility that I don’t have room for games and manipulation and disguises in my life anymore. Wisdom has taught me that I don’t have time to figure out what someone’s agenda is or what someone wants to take from me in order to make themselves feel or look better. I don’t have room for someone trying to step on me to get something they think they deserve that I don’t. Wisdom has taught me that I am better than my worst mistake, that there is an abundance of all of the important things in life. And that I matter, no matter what.
So what IDGAF about, is anyone trying to get in the way of my living my life.