Caring about things in life is obviously very important. But as I get older, I find that the list of things I don’t care about grows with each passing year. Well, maybe that’s not fair to say. It’s more like the list of things I used to care about is slowly being replaced with new things to care about, like paying bills on time, and having food in the house, and my resting heart rate.
I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m a Mom, or that I’m tumbling quickly toward the age of 40 or maybe a little bit of both. What I do know is that I don’t have the time, nor the energy, to waste on caring about anything frivolous.
So I’ve determined that I only have a limited amount of “caring” space in my brain, and I’m not going to waste it on things like this:
- The clothes I wear in public. I’ve never been one to get all dolled up before leaving the house, and anyone who knows me will tell you the same. But the “not caring” probably started in college when it became perfectly acceptable to go to class in wind pants and a t-shirt. Granted, they were cute wind pants and t-shirts at the time. That has slowly but surely devolved into whichever sweatpants (often charmingly referred to as “yoga” pants, but we all know what they really are) and t-shirts have the least amount of stains on them.
- My hair. Again, I was never one to “do” my hair, but I at least brushed it before I left the house.
- Blemishes. Yeah, you still get them in your 30’s. Who knew? The good news is, I’m no longer self conscious about them like I was in high school. I’ve come to accept that they are just a part of me.
- Tan lines. Really. Tan lines? I can’t believe I used to care about such a thing. Like the world was going to end if I had a farmer’s tan. Honestly!
- Sunscreen that hasn’t been rubbed in. In the past, I would have been mortified if I was at the beach with white streaks of sunscreen on my face or body. Now, I just figure the more sunscreen streaks, the less likely I get skin cancer in those areas.
- If my house is clean when someone drops by unexpectedly. If it bothers them, then they probably aren’t someone I need in my life anyway.
- If my house is clean, ever, apparently. I was never a “neat freak,” but I used to like being at least organized. I gave up on that long ago.
- Sand, all over everything. We live in a beach town, so we go to the beach a lot. I used to wash out the buckets and rinse the kids off every day before we left to go home for the day. Now, just like the blemishes, I’ve come to accept that sand is a part of me now.
- If our clothes are folded nicely in the drawer. There is literally no point in bothering about this. My opinion about folded clothes has landed on, “If I can’t see it, I don’t care.” Here’s a picture of my daughter’s drawer to further elaborate just how much I don’t care.
Also, balled up socks no longer bother me.
- What other people think. I’ve never gotten particularly worked up about what other people thought of me, but I was young once, and there is always an element of that no matter who you are. But now, I really don’t care. I’ll walk around in public dragging one kid behind me and yelling at the other kid to slow down, all the while wearing a child’s hat and sunglasses, and holding one or more of their stuffed animals under my arm like a football with one of their blankets wrapped around my neck like a scarf. Even on the rare occasion that I don’t have kids with me, I’ve been known to do one or more of those things, and it doesn’t bother me a bit.
Among other things I don’t currently care about are Pokemon Go, the Bachelor (or Bachelorette), and anything the Kardashians are doing.
I guess the point is, once you learn that caring about things that don’t matter takes away from the enjoyment of life, you’ll probably be a lot happier.
I know I am.