“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”
One of the books I have enjoyed re-reading over the past few years, again and again, is The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck.
I’m approaching the ripe old age of 25. I feel in the groove. Not groovy — in the groove like a Swiss skier descending a lush white Aplinian mountain slope. I feel submerged, submerged in life.
I do not recognise the person I was 5 years ago. And if you or I did, then then we should be worried.
Whereas I once did, I now disagree with Mark Manson. Not giving a fuck is the easy way out. That is why his book is a success. It appeals to the mass of people who seek a confirmation bias.
Maybe this is what turning 25 feels like: it’s not about not giving a fuck — it’s about giving more of a fuck than I ever did.
About health.
About finance.
About relationships.
There is nothing wrong with giving a fuck.
The reason people fear giving a fuck in life is that we stand to lose something. When we give a fuck we have a responsibility and our primal instincts reduce the circumference of our sphincters, so we run and hide, and hope the truth doesn’t catch us.
But truth is liquid. The truth will come whether you like it or not. Like water slowly carving away at the porous rock, truth will seep through your life and find it’s way to you no matter what.
The earlier you start giving a fuck, the earlier truth finds you, the smaller the dragon. The later you give a fuck (some never do), the later truth finds you, the bigger the dragon.
So start giving more fucks.
“Start," in a David Whyte-ish wiry Irish voice, “Close In.”
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