12 Things I Don't Give A Sh*t About Anymore | Be F-ing Awesome Today google4228e52aa5dfebc8.html

12 Things I Don’t Give A Sh*t About Anymore

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We hang on to a ton of “junk” that no longer fits our life. But once we have the courage to clean house, life gets a lot lighter and leaner.

The song “Let It Go” from the movie FROZEN should be the anthem of every adult. All the problems and worries that kept us awake at night as younger people are replaced by hot flashes and restless leg syndrome.

Which I wish would just GO.

Facing mid-life makes you take stock. What’s really important as you slide down the other side of the mountain? You’d better figure it out because…

The ride gets faster.

Time whizzes by.

Gravity works against you.

What are you ready to let go?

Pick and choose what matters. What you’ll keep and what you’re willing scrap. Seriously, make a list.

In no particular order these are the 11 things I don’t care about anymore:


It’s a means to an end, that’s all.

Easy if you have plenty. Or a wealthy old auntie who sends checks regularly. Not so easy if you’re 9-5ing to eat.

Personally, money and I have never had a good relationship. I’ve made money. Lost money. Saved some. Spent too much on “junk” now piled in the basement that at best gave momentary joy.

When I stopped working just for the money, my bank account trickled away but my happiness quotient overflowed.

It’s an easy math problem people.

Replace worrying about money with a side hustle, or try to sell some crap you’re hoarding.

We kept a small boat under the porch for fourteen years because “someday” we were going to fix it. I’m all for short burst side jobs to help pay the electric bill and allow me time to write.

There are endless ways to make a few bucks to support your wine habit. I buy A LOT of wine.


I truly believe kindness will always change your corner of the world.

That said, I don’t care if you have purple skin with green polka dots or march to the beat of your own drum. If you’re nice to me, I’m nice to you. If you’re an asshole to me, that’s one less obnoxious 10 page Christmas letter in my mailbox.

I gave up people pleasing and bending like bamboo. I don’t care what anybody thinks of my hair color, wall color or healthy shake color. “Gray” is the new beige.

Your opinion doesn’t matter to me any more than mine should to you.


In your twenties sex is the center of your universe. You forgo food and sleep to act like bunnies and make babies. Young love…so sweet.

You’ve been around the block long enough to know what the backseat of car looks like. Seen stars under the stars. Singed hair by a roaring “romantic” fire. Rolled around a cold bathroom floor. Did it in the ocean, a pool, a shower, a tub.

Twisted and knotted like pretzels.

I’m guessing you’re tired now.

Swinging naked from the chandeliers and running through the house playing catch-me catch-me keeps you out of the emergency room only if you’ve been faithful to practicing yoga. Otherwise, sex is dangerous. It’s best left for 7 p.m. commentary just before falling asleep on the couch.

Safer to laugh about it and move on. If and when it happens, consider it a perk.


I’m probably a rare woman who has a walk-in closet with empty shelves. T-shirts, jeans, flannels and two black dresses. One short. One long. Perfect.

Some of the highest achievers in modern times (think Mark Zuckerberg and Steve Jobs) eliminate decision fatigue (it’s a thing) by sticking to a kind of uniform.

I’ve sort of adopted this idea.

After leaving the real work world I donated my corporate clothes. Freelancing allows for wearing flannel PJ bottoms and t-shirts every day.

If I must venture outside, I break down and wear jeans and shoes. This keeps the supermarket manager from flagging me as a nursing home runaway.


Mostly because it makes me fat, but I’ve more or less giving up eating white sugar.

The exception being Twizzlers are on sale, and there’s a buy-one-get-one coupon for the 4 pound bag.


The gift I give to myself is an annual doctor’s visit.

My head’s up high in anticipation of a comprehensive lab report confirming I’ve got the body of a twenty-year-old. Which by any over-achiever’s measuring stick is a joke.

By the time the appointment is over, I hear the choir of angel’s calling me to death’s doorstep. Armed with a wad of prescriptions — to lower blood pressure and cholesterol — and a list of “exploratory tests needed at your age” they do little for my self-esteem.

From here on out the only numbers of importance will be a winning lottery ticket, all the local pizza shops and 9-1-1.


Acceptable body fat is when I’m able to tuck the folds into the elastic of aforementioned flannel PJs without the use of artificial compression materials.


It’s not possible to eliminate it in a house of shedding people and a dog.

My motto is: “If you don’t mind my mess, I don’t mind your company.” You’re welcome to bring a Swiffer.


Someone very brilliantly sang “wrinkles will only go where smiles have been.” Thank you, Jimmy Buffett. I have laughed. A LOT. And it shows.


I don’t know what’s hot or who’s “in” or “out”. I can’t keep up and I don’t want to.


I believe in God. My country. Paying it forward when possible (hint: it’s always possible).

Life isn’t always fair. Pull up your friggin’ pants. And be grateful for what you have and don’t stand there with your hand out whining about what you don’t have. (See below “Getting Older”).


It’s a privilege I hope to have for a really long time.

I love unflappable and unfiltered octogenarians. Combine that with the loss of hearing and incontinence, and they become two year olds with pensions.

The older folks in my circle came through life as hard-working, conscientious, Depression survivors. They’ve earned the right to yell at us and bitch about a four dollar cup of coffee. Seems like an appropriate payback for the country they paved for us.

So what happens when you stop giving a shi*t about things?

Life gets less complicated when you stop taking on so much. Some ways life changes:


You no longer navigate a road cluttered with debris.

If there ever was a pick-up truck driving down the highway with a bed full of other people’s shit, 99% of the time it flew off in my direction.

Think about that a while.

Without flying debris the rest of the ride is smooth(er).


You learn quickly that not everybody you know will be a fan. I’m regularly loathed and applauded, sometimes at the same time.

People you might never have considered become drawn to you because you’ve made space. They may enhance, enrich or challenge your lifestyle. Sometimes for the better.


The average person speaks about 10,000 words a day.

When you stop spending time on stuff that no longer matters, you tend to listen more. And learn more.


The less burden you carry the taller you stand. It’s like an extreme weight loss program for your mind.


My circle of friends gets tighter as I get older. We make time to see each other whenever possible. Mostly because we’re too lazy to write. And we share a love of Cabernet and stinky cheeses.


Hearing myself whine and complain about the same drivel over and over even turned me off. Giving up worry and people and situations I couldn’t change, actually made me more attractive — to me. I can sit for hours and work on a project, dig in the garden or take long walks on the beach at sunset and be quite happy.

What I know is that when we houseclean the parts of life that no longer serve a positive purpose, the air flows better.

You’ll  breathe deeper and feel calmer.

Sure there might be temporary flashbacks to things that were, but let it all go my friends.

Pick and choose the things that interest you, or don’t, and recognize that time is your greatest asset.

Finally, it’s hard to adopt an I Don’t Give A Shit attitude without coming across as crass or rude. But we’re doing this to improve the quality of our life, right?

All together now…”I don’t give a shit”. How liberating is that?

BE F♥CKING AWESOME TODAY! (and every day)

Original graphics: Stephanie DelTorchio


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