I have been fly-on-the-wall to all those arguments that to a man with no kids seem utterly ridiculous; I tut-tut and shake my head in disbelief at it all. The wrong type of mince in spaghetti. Going to bed earlier than eleven PM.
I then remember that I was exactly the same. Probably worse.
As a pre-teen and up to the age of about sixteen I carried with me a bone deep certainty that I was specially singled out for some great deed or heroic destiny, and as such I conducted myself with an arrogance and whiny spitefulness that makes me cringe to think back on. I was by no means a bully, but I was a little bugger and an uppity brat to everyone I thought I could get away with it with. I tried to shroud myself in an aura of mystery, and fancied myself as some hero-by-night that no one could truly understand.
I was unique, just like everyone else.
The arguments with my parents were stupid; my sense of entitlement gave me the gall to tell my mother and father that I didn’t like what they were cooking or that what they bought me for Christmas was not good enough. The self-pity I felt when I was asked to tidy my room or pick my coat up or feed the cats. The despairing unfairness of it all that caused my blood to boil. I spent 6 WHOLE hours at school, mother, and NOW you ask me to put the oven on? HOW DARE YOU. You can’t possibly understand what I’m going through right now. None of you can.
Hmm.
The high-pitched whine pierces the door to my room again like a hail of crossbow fire. My first thought is to sally forth and throttle the little bugger, but then, wasn't I just the same as him? Wasn't I the one pouting at the request to put the cat out? Wasn't I the one that spent my teenage years thinking why does this only happen to me? So I don’t. It’s not my place, and it’s not my business. And so I smile, take a swig of Cider and hold the gift that I found a couple of years ago that has made my life a hundred times better than anyone else’s.
I Just Don’t Care.
I spent most of my life, as a lot of other people have and still do, caring so much about what other people thought of me that I had no real identity. I bounced from one persona to the other, trying desperately to impress people I didn't really know and in many cases I didn't even like. I felt, wrongly, that the amount of people who liked me was a direct measure of my self worth, and it nearly killed me.
A lot of people feel like, after a period of great stress or grief that a ‘great weight’ lifts from their shoulders, like the throwing off a lead coat. This feeling is real. Simply realising the big so what is sat in mile-high letters on the horizon is as wonderful as drinking unicorn giggles. It lowers your inhibitions and gives you a huge amount of confidence. Now I can write stupid and narrow-minded blog posts that may come across as crass, dumb and unfeeling. So what? I get to be loud and stupid and say what I think at work. So what?
Trust me: wheel out the old so what at least once a day.
You’ll be glad you did!
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