I’m just going to say it – I don’t care about stuff. I don’t care about image. And I don’t care about who likes me or doesn’t like me. I just don’t have the time for that shit.
What I care about is connection. I am curious about the world and I’m not scared to put it all on the line and ask the hard questions because, well, if you don’t like me for asking them then refer to paragraph #1: I don’t have time for that shit.
At the same time – and this is what makes me so special 🙂 – I feel this enormous weight that comes with not giving a shit, because while I don’t give a shit about the drama that goes with peoples’ opinions, I very much give a shit about the person on the inside. I don’t give a shit because I want them to like me. I give a shit because I am generally concerned (and, I’ll admit it, curious) about what makes someone wounded. I want to know why they bleed and why they laugh and what makes them scared and what makes them fearless.
And then (this part always makes the wounded person crazy) I want to TALK about it. I want to sit with them and tell them it’s going to be okay. That in facing their demons they are really admitting that they are not perfect. That they don’t have to be. I want to tell them I don’t give a shit about their insecurities and I’m certainly not going to walk on egg shells around their cuts and bruises. But I will hug them and tell them that they are not the first person to feel so alone.
And maybe I want to do this because, full disclosure, I want someone to do that for me. I want someone to tell me that all the things that crowd my brain – concern over head shakes and my new job and my family dynamics and my new dog and my husband’s new job – none of that really matters. I want them to embrace me and say, “Andrea, I’ve been there, and guess what. I don’t give a shit. But I do care about you.”
That’s all I have for you today. Even though I don’t give a shit, I love you all.