About Giving Craps
Post 846:
Ever sit around and think about all the things that have been said about you when you weren’t there, from the highest praises to the most caustic critiques? Of course you haven’t. That would be unhealthy and show signs of insecurity, emotional impotence, a lack of growth, neuroses, and dare I say, humanity. That would be sick. You’re not supposed to care about what other people think of you. Get a grip, person.
I’ve always heard that. Whatever arena of life, whether it be art, social stuff, other stuff, it’s better not to care what people think. It’s one of those things, one of those ubiquitous mantras that gets passed around and creeps about and pops up every now and then, just so you won’t forget.
What? Maybe they mean you’re not supposed to care a ton—that makes more sense. Because not caring at all means being an enormous prick. We’re talking seven-year-old girl levels of me, me, ME. Quick example. I’ve decided I don’t care about the rules of the road. Stuff it. Mere impositions made by society. Whatever world, my driving is good enough for me.
Was that an overly simplified portrait? Yes, but I don’t care. Ha.
It’s a tough equation to crack honestly. There’s an attractiveness to the rebel without a cause types, the devil-may-care types, the too-cool-for-school types. Truth is, not giving a crap can work out sometimes, and it looks awesome in a leather jacket. But wait, says my unrelentingly stupid and yet unceasingly kinetic brain: what are the rules, here? I mean, are there parameters to throwing caution to the wind?
Before I go any farther, let’s be generous and skip the fact that heeding advice not to care is one of them things that sort of doesn’t—it goes against—defeats its own deal by its own deals—oh yes, snaps the laws of rationality and the law of non-contradiction harder than a moral relativist professor’s swan song lecture, the one where he almost finds the requisite strength underneath that vintage corduroy jacket to pound the podium, the perfect mix of sense and nonsense that blows all the freshman’s minds, man.
Yeah, we’ll skip all that.
So if you’ve ever met someone that truly doesn’t care, let me know. I’d like to meet that person, see how it works. It must be awesome.
For everyone else, we all fall somewhere between not caring enough and caring too much.
This is the part where I tell you the answer. Wrong. There is no answer. Ain’t talking numbers. Calculus is down the hall. I’ll say a few things, though, in case you’re in the caring mood. When your sure heart and sure guts can be overruled by the opinions of the mob or some bulsh you read about yourself online, that’s too much caring. I’m guilty of it. We all are, and by we, I mean the non-sociopaths.
Here comes the then again part.
Then again, if your heart and guts can’t be bothered to take a little criticism from the world, you don’t care enough. More than likely, you care but you’re overcompensating by pretending to be beyond it and above it and over it. This is a classic move, one that I’m also totally guilty of. It’s boring, but whatever. Not like the entire world and all the people in it could’ve possibly stumbled on something you hadn’t thought of.
I’m still after the perfect mixture. This is the hard thing about art. About anything, really. I know people that don’t give two dumps and just do their own thing—totally famous and successful. I also know people that play to the crowd from their head to their toes—also totally famous and successful. Yeah, it doesn’t make sense. All you can do is test it out, give it some thought, and try not to piss yourself or anyone else off too much.
I know. I felt the Shakespeare flowing through me on that last line.
Give a crap. Cheers and see you after.
