12 - No Flying Fox
One of my favorite shirts was found at the Denver Comic Con, and perfectly captures the essence of who I want to be. It is a beautiful, indifferent fox, looking over her shoulder. The caption reads, “I GIVE ZERO FOX.”
I am told by pastors, speakers, and YouTubers that no one cares about me or is considering me. Everyone is too wrapped up in themselves; they have no time to think about or ridicule me. It’s all in my imagination. Ha! How I wish that were true! They are judging me. I’m not being judged every single second by every single person. But judgement is still a very real human activity.
I am currently at the least judgmental stage of my entire life. I haven’t been more accepting or open at any other time. I am very proud of this fact. And yet…
As an introvert, I tend to look at the floor a lot. That causes me to notice shoes. I do not now, nor have I ever, recognized brands. I just notice what I like. While waiting in line at the base pharmacy, I see a pair of black shiny clogs that I love. If only I had the nerve to ask where she got them. I notice a lot of comfortable orthopedic shoes. Do they make any that are stylish? When I need them will I wear them? Probably not. I wear a lot of shoes that are uncomfortable just because I like the way they look. I see sandals with socks. I see old, worn tennis shoes. I see fancy stiletto boots.
I also notice purses. A lot of different styles and many were very worn. Maybe I don’t need to stop using a beloved purse just because it’s showing signs of wear. Then again, I love any excuse to buy a new one. One purse is wrapped around the body like a sling bag. Was that ever a thing? Is it a travel bag that she likes so much she uses it every day? It had rhinestones.
I listen to a lot of people grumbling about the wait and what is causing it. I am constantly trying to figure out if those talking are friends already or if the shared pain of waiting in line has bonded them. I watch a lady complain to the volunteer behind the counter, telling her they need to fix their phone system because it is broken.
One older gentleman is having a loud conversation on his phone about having to wait in line. Another gentleman is having an impromptu reunion with another man who just walked in. The lady at the window is having a hard time scanning the ID card.
These are examples of judging other people. I would like to think I wasn’t judging harshly, but I was judging. This is important to understand, I am being judged as well.
The key is not to care.
When I started going to therapy, I had a lot of things to work through. Near the beginning of going, I was asked who I was, who I wanted to be, what I wanted to do with my life, what my dreams were. I had no idea!
I spent a lot of time thinking about that. I was a wife. I was a mother. But who was I apart from other people? Was my entire existence wrapped up in the fact that I was married? Was my entire purpose in life to raise these four children? For a long time, I thought the answer was yes. I was to support, raise up, inspire and lead my family so that they, in turn, could go out and make a true difference in the world. I honestly thought I was the pedestal on which they could stand to shine. I don’t mean to sound like a martyr. I truly thought my God-given gift was to guide them to greatness. I still do. But that is not the entirety of my purpose. I have a purpose and place in this world that comes from deep inside my soul. A divine destiny that I am meant to fulfill. A dream that needs me to stand up and be the true me, the only version of me that can achieve what God has placed inside of my heart.
This evolution, the one where I am striving to be an authentic version of myself, has taken years and I am still working on it. The journey to finding my purpose has taken time and effort. I have consciously chosen to look for my place in this life and sift through the garbage that is not mine to own. I have to be me and not care what anyone thinks about who that “me” is.
Along the way I have found approaches that help me not care as much what other people think. One of those ways is to buy snarky shirts.
Sometimes they express who I am:
Overthinking and also hungry.
Hold on let me overthink this
I may seem quiet and reserved but if you mess with my daughter I will break out a level of crazy that will make your nightmares seem like a happy place (spoiler alert: I have)
Some are just cute:
Save the chubby unicorns
Save the floaty potatoes
And some express who I want to be:
I give zero fox.
That’s why I bought the fox at Comic Con. I wanted to learn how to give zero fox. How could I do that when I was created to be an emotional, empathetic person? I don’t want to give zero fox about everything, I just wanted to learn how to give zero fox about the stuff that didn’t matter.
I never wore that shirt out in public. I was too embarrassed. I wore it as a pajama shirt and would smile every time I put it on. I give zero fox. I give zero fox. I give zero fox. It was a mantra that I was working on believing.
It’s amazing how much my fox meter needed to be calibrated! I either gave too many fox, or not enough fox. I couldn’t find a middle ground for moderate fox distribution. I watched a lot of inspirational videos on YouTube and read books and Pinterest posts and really tried to figure out how to not care so much. I worked with my therapist and eventually all those things slowly began to sink in and stick. They changed my perspective and challenged me to choose what deserved my attention.
I began to imagine I was carrying around these “Give a Fox'' cards that were to be used for important, Fox-worthy situations. I envisioned carrying a very limited supply of fox cards in my wallet, and no one except for immediate family knew of their existence. I didn’t broadcast it to the world through my obnoxious shirt. When something frustrating happened, and my days were filled with irritating circumstances, I would consider whether or not it was worth wasting a card. I had such a small quantity.
Why do I actually care about so many things? Why do I get so worked up? For me, it is the daily, unexpected events that life throws at me. The child who is unexpectedly sick. The computer that breaks during English class that unexpectedly necessitates buying a new one. The car that stops working. The tire that goes flat. The prescription eyeglasses that break. The pet that stops eating. The stain created by a spill on the carpet. The roof that was damaged by hail. The broken arm. The cracked window. The man who picks a fight with me because I’m driving a big truck. The upstairs toilet that backs up and overflows, at night, and ruins the carpet, the wall, and wood floor in the lower level. The mail that is marked as delivered, but not in my box. I am a living, breathing, daily example of Murphy’s Law.
The two key words in the last paragraph are daily and unexpected. In order to embrace an imperfect world and give zero fox about things that do not deserve my fox, I need to expect the unexpected every single day. But not in a negative, pessimistic way. I did that. It doesn’t work. I need to learn how to change gears.
An example would be when my son broke his glasses. No problem. Wear your old ones until we can go tomorrow to have them fixed. The store is near my planned doctor appointment. It all works out. The next day, when we go to the eyeglass store, it is closed for lunch. That’s fine. We’ll go after my appointment. After my appointment we find out that the prescription expired last week. Last week. Last. Week. Laaaaaaaaaaast week. He needs a new prescription.
It had been a rough afternoon. On the way home he asked if we could get some fries. A tiny way to salvage a difficult day. Look on the bright side and do something fun! On the way back to the main road, a man wasn’t paying attention and almost ran into the side of my car. I honked to grab his attention. He yelled at me and gestured wildly. Umm…sorry you almost hit me?
The car was quiet as my son and I continued our journey home. After a few minutes he asked if I was ok. In my head I had been talking to myself, saying that the man did not deserve a card. Out loud, I said, “I’m fine. That man doesn’t deserve a fox from me!” It was quiet for about five seconds. Then, as it sunk in, we both started laughing. I was embarrassed, but the hilarity of what I had just said out loud to my 13-year old son was priceless. He knew about my imaginary fox cards. Did he know the other meaning of what I had said? Oh, yes, he did!
Just to be clear, I didn’t make any cards, nor did I keep track of what I had or hadn’t spent them on. Just the mere idea of the cards, and the imaginary fact that there were very few to use per day, was enough to change my outlook on life. Plus they were funny.
Old me would have replayed all details of the bad day ad-nauseum and inserted different ways to react. I would whine that the glasses hadn’t broken sooner so they could be replaced for free. I would wonder if I could have persuaded the salesclerk to make an exception just this once. How much better would it have been if I didn’t stop for fries? What if I had stopped at a different fast-food restaurant? What if I had gone inside instead of the drive thru. Was I a mean person for honking? I meant it only to grab his attention. Had he thought I was being rude? Did he freak out because it frightened him, or was he a jerk? There was a woman in the front seat. Did she have to hear him rant about it the rest of the night? Is he still talking about it now, about the lady who dared to honk at him?
The idea of the cards and my conscious effort to change my thinking is making a difference. Yes, my immediate physical response is fight or flight. But I can choose what I do next. Give in to the adrenaline? Hide in my room? Stop going out? Have zero contact with the outside world? I could try and do that, and for years I did try. I wasn’t living. I was existing. I no longer want to live that way. I want to choose to enjoy my life. That means choosing not to give a fox about people or things that do not deserve my fox.
For me, a large portion of accepting and embracing and surviving these life events is a newfound humor in and for the ridiculous. Joking about the fact that I could never publish our daily lives, because no one could possibly believe them. It’s fun not having to exaggerate or unnecessarily build up any of my stories. I had so many that I considered publishing a book titled, “OMG! You will not believe what happened to me today!”
But silly books aside, humor really has helped me. I have made it into a game, sometimes, where I actually can’t wait to see what happens next.
Each moment of my life, I have the opportunity to choose how I behave, choose how I act or react to everything and everyone around me. Ignoring it is a choice. Being irritated by it is a choice. Even the movie or soundtrack that runs in my head telling me how I don’t deserve this, or it shouldn’t be happening this way, or what is that person’s problem? That automatic showing in my brain is a choice. I can choose to change it the same way I choose to turn the radio to a different station.
At first, it’s like the radio in my car is messed up. I consciously turn the channel, but next thing I know, it’s back. How did that happen? I don’t even know exactly when I returned. I consciously turn my thoughts to positive ones. A little bit later, I’m arguing in my head again. What? When did my frustration turn to arguing? How long have I been doing this? I navigate my thoughts to something I enjoy. What do I enjoy? Do I enjoy anything? All happy images have run away, and I cannot focus on anything that brings peace.
For me, the best strategy for these frustrating, “going off the rails” moments, is to plan ahead and slow down. I take several (as many as it takes) deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. I get away from the irritant as safely and quickly as possible. Often, that is slowing the car down, turning to take a different route. Or moving to a different part of the store. Or walking to my room.
In the beginning I would repeat, “You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok,” over and over until I was ok. Later, I would say things like, “That isn’t going to mess up your day.” I would have quiet little conversations with myself until things calmed down.
Then, things started changing.
When I started letting go of everyone’s expectations and really dug into the person I was supposed to be, a funny thing happened. No longer willing to erect walls of fantasy to show to the world, or pretend I had my life together when I didn’t, I let it all hang out. And it showed itself in a really weird way. I started cussing.
If you knew me before just a few years ago, you would’ve rarely heard a swear word. Practically overnight I began to drop F-bombs like they were pixie dust. One for you, one for you, and definitely one for you.
One night, after an especially long day of house reno that ended with my husband and I tiling the kitchen, I was frustrated. I was cutting the tiles and he was laying them. We were working on the corners, the hard part. AND, the tiles were little, 2”x4”. After an especially difficult cut that turned out to be wrong (try using a circular tile saw, that uses water, in a freezing garage, at night), I let fly a string of expletives that can only be described as sailor meets long haul trucker. It was shocking. I finished and turned around to go back to the garage to make the cut again, but my son, barely a teen, was standing behind me.
I will never forget, as long as I live, what happened next. I apologized and he said, “You know, mom, I don’t even notice anymore.” Now, if we were talking in person, I would do air quotes to emphasize that that was a direct quote. From my most introverted, quiet son. That’s me, ‘Mom of the Year.’
In this weird, wild way, that was a monumental moment for me.
If you think I didn't care about what I said in front of my son, you would be wrong but also missing the point.
Up until a couple of years ago, I spent all of my time bending and twisting myself into my perception of what I thought other people wanted to see. I had spent my life trying to be the perfect everything: daughter, student, friend, girlfriend, wife, mother, volunteer, driver, shopper. The list goes on and on.
When I let go of that, and was just me, I was happier. Some people liked it, some people didn’t, and some people didn’t notice. But finally, I didn’t care. I was happy. Me.
And if you think I was a horrible mom to cuss in front of my kids, you are welcome to your opinion. But what they really saw, and I know this because we’ve talked about it a lot, is a woman who is imperfect, but trying her best.
I laugh, I cry, I do good things, I lose my shit, I mess up, I apologize, I love.
If I could help my kids become stronger individuals, sooner than I did…
If I could help my kids see the potential in themselves, sooner than I did…
If I could help my kids dismiss what everyone else is doing and focus on what they are supposed to be doing, sooner than I did...
That is my real goal. Not to show them perfection, but what imperfection looks like. Not to show them success only, but also what it looks like to fail. Not to show happiness always, but also what sadness looks like.
The cussing was unleashed as I was tearing off the old persona of who I was pretending to be. It was the result of holding back 40-odd years of appearing composed. It was like a sneeze that could no longer be contained.
Ha ha! Think about that for a moment. You have to sneeze. It’s coming, but you hold it back. You’re good. Oops, no. It’s coming again. You try to contain it, but it comes out in this forceful, ugly, snotty mess.
Do you know why you sneeze? It happens when something irritates the membranes of the nose and throat. As a result, your body sneezes to get rid of whatever is causing the irritation. That was my cussing phase. The removal of foreign ideas and ideals from my body.
None of us is perfect. No, not one. So get down off your high horse and think about how you react to the world around you. Do you cry when you’re happy, sad or things are unfair? That’s ok. Do you yell or cuss when you get angry or frustrated? That’s ok.
In trying to find your purpose, don’t get that confused with perfection. Perfection doesn’t exist. Don’t even go there. Let go of that lie!
Purpose is spending time in finding a reason to get up in the morning. Purpose is finding a way for your unique, individual parts to come together to benefit humanity, and yourself as well. Purpose will feed your soul, not deplete all your energy. Purpose may require a season of putting yourself into uncomfortable situations that result in growth. Purpose may require a season of withdrawing yourself to become better acquainted with (or discover) who you are at your core.
I don’t cuss quite as much as I used to. I guess I don’t need to.
I have finally, through a long, drawn out process, learned how to care about what is important. And dismiss the rest.
And if you disagree with me, that’s ok. I don’t give a flying fox.