Not Caring is a Gift, Not a Curse
Image by Gemini AI
For me, the early ‘90s were filled with doubt.
Finances whipped across my back like a switch wielded by a sadistic school ma’am too long at her job.
It was hard times. I was losing ground. Having trouble keeping jobs that paid the bills. I could do the work, no problem, it was the sound of my life spirit being flushed down the toilet that stalked me day and night.
Even the shadow that walked behind me wasn’t mine, it was borrowed and payments were falling behind.
I couldn’t stop caring.
I couldn’t stop paying attention because the Universe, with its big bass drum, was marching round and around telling everyone I wasn’t very good at being a husband or a father.
And then one day, that didn’t look much different than any other day, it all stopped.
Like the Grim Reaper getting a phone call just outside your front door that his quota had been met. Onto the next neighborhood.
The pain that was there on Sunday, was still there are Thursday, I just didn’t care anymore.
Those needles stuck into my self-confidence, and my self-respect were still visible, they just stopped hurting and as I sat in my car one morning, on my way to a job, I didn’t like, I realized I had dodged a bullet.
Not a real one from some overpass above an LA freeway, but a metaphorical one.
Life had been taking cheap shots at me for a long time and though I had done a pretty fair imitation of Mohammed Ali in avoiding most of them, I still suffered from those that landed.
I had become tougher and I missed the moment when things turned.
1993 was infinitely better than 1992 and I couldn’t give you one laudable reason to support that. I just knew that the number of tears shed, was reduced by half and the moments of sheer desperation with my head leaning against the wall, whispering prayers to a God I had doubts about, had all but come to a halt.
I was alone in the world and yet I wasn’t. And if I had been confused about this concept in the past, I got over it.
I didn’t care.
It wasn’t a 100% conversion. A sudden awakening into a new realm. It was more basic than that.
Like realizing you had been putting the wrong grade of fucking motor oil into your car and now that you changed it, all the knocking, all the shuddering moments on the freeway that sent you into a panic were gone. Life was more stable.
Not better. There was more work to be done.
Not more purposeful. That’s something I still needed to return to.
It was more the seeker in me seeing the well-worn trail more clearly, instead of winging it through the brush. I started seeing more of what was in front of me.
Okay, not something you stand up at a barbecue and announce to all your friends, but for me, not caring, was a milestone.
It was no longer hearing voices from the past, banging on about responsibility as pain and punishment. No longer pointing to someone elite in the parenting department, even if their kids weren’t all fans, at least all the grown-ups were.
I felt the fixed ideas and enforced habits, not exactly falling away, like a launch module from the capsule. But a gentle snap – as the ties that bound began to break.
Not caring meant I didn’t have to seek meaning in the meaningless bullshit that this world creates in abundance. I didn’t have to worry about what bosses thought – I just did the job well and left all the Dr. Phil crap at the curb.
Not caring. Pointing out a boundary to a friend, colleague or pain-in-the-ass neighbor was liberating. Don’t go there.
I learned that the silence I had been practicing all my life was actually a superpower because it put people off guard. With my eyes focused on theirs and my will unwavering, I had unknowingly fended off more assaults on my character and well-being than I could ever count and this all came back to me.
That quiet, thoughtful little boy, who didn’t miss a fucking thing, annoying the crap out of every adult in my circle, became a man whose presence sometimes intimidated others for no reason other than - I secretly didn’t care what they thought.
In that moment in 1993, that secret was exposed. I already didn’t care, so, what was I thinking? I had just forgotten.
And all the quiet thoughtful moments, the long walks, the love of words, and the desire to use them gracefully had been my way of steeling myself from a cruel uncaring world at times.
From the onslaught of bad news, bad vibes, and bad people doing bad things and thinking it was all pretty damn cool.
I had come to realize that not caring was a gift and not a curse.
It was like that moment when a little boy, who was mercilessly teased for having longer fingers on his right hand, realizes he can throw a fucking unhittable curveball.
The world didn’t stop at that moment and offered up a minute of silence for me. My financial woes didn’t disappear as I dreamt of the winning numbers for the next Lotto.
Nothing like that. It was just me peeling away layers of camouflage that I inadvertently covered myself in years before that were no longer needed.
Not caring, a selective attitude not to be confused with not giving a shit, came upon me at the right moment in my life. A moment when my imagined long list of things about myself needing correction, fell away with only a few items remaining.
It was a gift that kept on giving as they say. And to this day, I try to celebrate that time. Not with cake or candles or a neatly wrapped present I give to myself.
But a moment of remembrance of the person I was before.
Fare thee well, old friend.