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The Art Of Not Giving a Fuck

July 17, 2017

Inspired by The Subtle Art of Not giving a Fuck by Mark Manson (Well done mate)

 

 

So the other day a friend of mine called me up damn near close to tears. She was upset because some of her work colleagues were claiming that she was a prostitute. I like to consider myself empathetic when the moment calls for it but I don’t feel this occasion was one of them. I told her exactly what I was thinking in the same flippant tone that I was thinking it …“ why do you give a fuck?”
 
Now before you brand me as the ‘inconsiderate friend’, let’s just back up and add a little perspective here. Firstly, my friend is a stripper (and contemporary dancer) - she’d tell me off if I didn’t mention that bit. Anyway, my point is that her work colleagues are strippers too, trying to moralise on who the good lord will cast first into the flames. Clearly they'd never heard the story of Mary Magdaline:)
 
Secondly, and more importantly - who gives a fuck. Easy for me to say I hear you scoff given my line of work. Granted, if she was as Office Administrator and her colleagues were saying the same thing I’d probably see it a little differently.
 
Now this got me thinking, what if I was the Office Administrator who was having these rumours spread about myself. How would I feel? (You see! Empathy:) But to be honest, I still wouldn’t give a fuck…and if you want to call bullshit on that last statement again I’ll add some more perspective.
 
A few weeks ago I left a business that I'd poured my blood, sweat and tears in to without a penny to show for it. I don't want to be too dramatic here but for the last 4 months I’d spent at least 14 hours a day, 6 days a week going hell for leather building a business and a fucking awesome team …and I loved it. Low and behold, my business partner turned out to be a little ummm, how can I say this - “emotionally unstable” and behaved in a manner that wasn’t conducive with my reality so I packed up my shit and left. It didn’t take me long to realise that I’d gained much more than I’d lost by leaving because I’d acquired the knowledge needed set up my new venture. I also learnt about the type of business relationship I was not looking to be a part of. So all things considered, I got a bargain.
 
Having said that, I’ve got bills to pay just like everyone else and I’m far from rich despite what they print about me in Marie Claire;) but just like to told my good friend ‘T’ when he insisted that I was crazy, I value my freedom and peace of mind above pretty much everything else besides a few close family members and friends. Unfortunately, sometimes you can’t help but stress when the people you love end up in shit.
 
Now according to the popular consensus among my circle, I’m wired a little differently to most. My life is anything but linear and I’ve been through my fair shear of difficulties because of this. But who ever said life was meant to be (and to quote the orange 'me me' in the Whitehouse) "tremendous and fantastic" all the time. Sorry, hold up, do you believe Trump actually said, and I quote “I know words, I have the best words”, he actually said that - look. Lol, sorry, I need a minute...
 
Anyway, I think I’m well underway to achieving a zen like peace of mind as it becomes more and more apparent to me that we give way too many fucks about shit that really doesn’t deserve it. Think about it, how many times have we stressed over shit that wasn’t nearly half as bad as it turned out to be. We try so desperately to avoid the hard times, that we end up stressing ourselves into even harder times.
 
My reality is that the less fucks I give, the more peaceful and content I am with life. I’m free to do as I please so long as I don’t hurt anybody and I have very little to lose in the grand scheme of things.
 
Point in case, I finally created a Facebook page for my escorting business (shameless plug but I don’t give a fuck;) and within an hour I had received a bunch of phone calls from old friends and flames who had no idea what I was up to these days. They all seemed to have this intervention style approach when they asked how I was doing? “pretty good” I said, why I was doing it? “I enjoy it” I said, and how my daughter would feel if she found out? “She was one of the first to know” I said.
 
The irony is that one of the friends who called me was actually an escort herself when we’d dated back in uni over 15 years ago. Her heart was in the right place but it’s the same brush that most sex workers get tarred with due to societies warped assumptions that we must all be emotionally damaged, living on the streets and itching for a fix like Pookie. After 9 pm when it’s still light outside it’s perfectly acceptable to show extreme violence on TV but me posting pieces about my sexual activities on my Facebook page is taboo. (Fuckers actually banned my other account…lol)

 

 

Related blog post: The Maturity of Acceptance

 

 

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