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Part of me feels like the response to this could be a loud, resounding, “duh, dumbass,” but I’ve spent the past year of my life living by a new philosophy: If I don’t want to do it, I’m just not fucking doing it.
I feel like it’s the unspoken but necessary part of all the “follow your dreams,” “you can do whatever you put your mind to” bullshit that we’ve heard all of our lives. (Hint: Things pretty much never go as planned.) Sure, all of the overly-ambitious, starry-eyed expectations that we place on ourselves are great, but I’ve learned that it’s just as important to only subject myself to things that I actually like as it is to achieve things.
Example: You get a mass text invitation to your frenemy Alex’s birthday party. It’s at a club where you’re sure that you’ll be in the 1 percent. (Not the wealthy, privileged 1 percent, but the 1 percent of people in the club who are desperately trying to cling to their mid-twenties — fuck-you-I’m-still-in-my-mid-twenties-you-don’t-know-my-life.) Alex and all of Alex’s friends fucking suck. You know you were only invited because Alex didn’t want to be called an asshole afterward, when you say, “Alex is such an asshole. How come I wasn’t invited?” So you go to Alex’s bitch ass party, you get way too drunk so that you can deal with Alex’s God-awful friends, and you drunk text your ex — normal stuff. The next morning or afternoon, you wake up with a hangover, no shoes, a bedmate who you instantly regret, and a story you hope no one ever tells your future children.
It’s happened to everyone, and if you say you’re an exception, I say you’re a damn liar.
I say NO MORE to that bitch Alex and any situation that involves me exposing myself to shit that I honestly don’t like.
Why the fuck would I go through another night like that when I can drink myself under my own table, stream TV shows from sketchy websites, and drunk text my ex from the comfort of my Ikea bed? Plus, that scary, awkward feeling in my stomach that could result in literally anything the following morning is far more bearable in my own apartment.
That lame birthday party? Bail! That church wedding involving someone who you know is a total slut? Nah! That annoying bitch from college who pretends she has an awesome life on social networks? Unfollow!
I value my eyes, and I’m sure that rolling them as much as I have in my young (mind your business) life can’t be good for my health.
For me, one of the best parts about only being concerned with what I want is that there’s no more stress about thinking up good lies to avoid people and situations. I’m totally unapologetic about it, because fuck you.
Disclaimer: This quarter-life revelation that I’m sharing isn’t meant to encourage anyone to start fucking around at work because you just don’t give a shit. I’m accepting exactly zero responsibility for you losing your job, and I’ll be damned if I let you sleep on my secondhand couch.
I think I’ve mastered the art of IDGAF, and it has resulted in some of the most meaningful, genuine happiness I’ve ever felt. Getting old is scary and inevitable as hell, and it’s important to make sure you spend every moment that you have doing something that makes YOU feel good (no YOLO).
Use your best judgment and try it out.
P.S.: This doesn’t apply to shit that my mom asks me to do, because she’ll definitely kick my ass, adult or not..
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