Some days I care about everything I do and am: my work, my looks, my influence, my demeanor or whatever else comes into play. Then there are days that I wish I could just crawl under my sofa with a flashlight and put a “Privacy Please” sign on my forehead. Well, today’s one of those days. Ever have one?
If I’ve written one writing curriculum, I’ve written 33. I still redo and redo. Why do I give a damn about a certain fill-in-the-blank, or a sentence, or a section of my workbook? Do my clients care? They don’t know the difference. They don’t see the sweat, minute, nuance and minutia that I put into the work, they just want and appreciate the outcome. It’s like any project that we labor over; it’s the result not the road.
Even though I profess not to give a damn, I guess I’m just tired. I do care, deeply how my work is perceived and how the results help others prosper. Why do you put so much time, energy and thought into a proposal? To get the job? Absolutely. Then, once we get the job, we have 10x the work, and we love it. I think.
How about what we look like? My dear neighbor won’t even go to Costco with me if she hasn’t put makeup on and had some time in front of the mirror with a certain miracle comb. Why? Who will she run into? What if she runs into her old classmate? What then? Does she run into another aisle so she won’t be seen? I sent out a video to a friend whom I haven’t seen in 40 years. Now these webcams are not the property of Glamour Shots, Inc. Not a chance. But he’ll get the idea that I look relatively the way I did 40+ years ago. That was one reason to send the video, the other was to personalize a “hello.” I did give a damn about my looks; I took a shower, washed my hair and dressed in “business” attire, compared to my normal sweats. I know he was impressed!
Some people I come in contact with during any given day don’t give a damn about themselves, much less anyone else. I was at the gas station and the person next to me was listening to his ear phones, not paying any attention to the line of three cars waiting to get gas; he just whiled away an extra :10, so he could listen to the end of his song – I imagine. He was in his zone and no one was going to intrude in his space.
My yard needs raking – again. It’ll need it after I rake this weekend too; the final fall of the fall hasn’t fallen. I really don’t give a damn about my dead plants that desperately scream at me to end their ugly misery and throw them into dead-plant heaven. When it gets too overwhelming to my sense of pride and my neighbor’s glare, I’ll pluck them from the hearth of life and toss them.
Well, I have to return to my 38th edition of a one-day seminar workbook. The Give-a-Damn conscious is out in force.