Not Giving A F*ck Isn’t Sexy, It’s Survival

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Everyone else makes not giving a f*ck sexy. I, however, do not.

NGAF is hard for me. But I had to. It was necessary to move to the next level of my life.

You see, I always knew I’d do something big.

I remember Christmas the year I first moved out to LA after graduating from college. I ran outside to take a phone call, in the Southern California warm weather, no snow, no trees, no colorful lights to be found, feeling very foreign and very non-Christmas.

I was on the phone with my then-best-friend who had called me about her latest life crisis. During this discussion, she stopped freaking out long enough to ask me, “How do you know you’re going to be successful? You just seem to know. How?” And in a split second, without even thinking, I responded, “I just know. I know I’m going to do something on a large scale. I’m supposed to. I don’t know how else to explain it. It just is what it is.”

She continued to grapple with her self-worth, while I subconsciously believed my way through a decade of my own uncertainty and self-doubt and superficial relationships and unworthy dates and bad bosses and not-quite-what-I-wanted jobs.

“I just know. I know I’m going to do something on a large scale. I’m supposed to. I don’t know how else to explain it. It just is what it is.”

And then, as it happens, I was 31. And gave fewer f*cks.

Well, it wasn’t so much that I magically bounced out of bed on December 28, 2014, whipped it out and defiantly gave fewer f*cks.

It was more that I mentally, emotionally and physically couldn’t afford to give any more.

I was completely, utterly, truly and totally devoid and incapable of caring about that which no longer mattered. Another word for it: Defeated.

And that’s how I got focused and started going HAM with my biz.

Let me back up about two years, when I was in the midst of a pay-what-you-can-afford Mastin Kipp online workshop promising to help me get radically clear on my life’s purpose.

The sh*t worked.

He led us through a meditation where I envisioned the three points in my life where I was the happiest and most joyful. Strangely, what popped up for me was:

  1. Being an about-6-month-old in my mother’s arms (weird, cuz mom and I didn’t really have the brightest of relationships), squirming around, waving my arms playfully and looking up and her and smiling because I could see the joy on her face as she looked down upon me.
  2. Fifth-grade ice skating lessons. I was skating around the rink with my coach, as my mother watched. She was proud to see me mastering a new move, a new spin, jump, or landing (clearly, I have mother issues).
  3. Standing at the altar with the guy I then-loved, hand in hand, not 6 inches apart, as the pastor proclaimed to the church how blessed and significant it was that he and I were standing here, and the mountains that had been moved in order for this day to have come. (The quick background: There would had to have been a HUGE, GIGANTIC, MASSIVE shift in this man’s consciousness in order for him to have gotten to this point. I'm talking large.)

Then Mastin asked us to derive a common theme throughout all visions. From that, we arrived at our life’s purpose.

Mine: To express God’s love through bringing joy to myself and others through movement.

(You had to include yourself, duh. Bringing joy was kinda part of the deal. The “God’s love” bit was due to Mastin’s Christian Mystic belief system. For those of you at home, feel free to substitute agape, the Universe’s love, unconditional love, just pain ol' LOVE, etc.)

In my meditations, movement included: My squirming, physical laughter and smile that brought joy to my mother’s tired eyes. My physical ice skating that brought her pride. And my ability to emotionally move and influence a fellow man to a point of self-love that would allow him to love another wholly.

That was it. Movement. From the physical (dance, sports, bodily), to the emotional and mental (shifts in consciousness, learning how to self-love, learning how to love unconditionally), to the massive (societal, cultural, global).

From then on, I couldn’t focus entirely on anything that didn’t support my life’s mission. I finally had words to describe what it was I was here to do. Anything less than that was bullsh*t.

Plus, the "less-than" barely even paid my bills.

Obviously, it took a while to develop the confidence and vision I needed to start acting on it in the way I wanted. So I kept working in not-quite-what-wanted jobs until I did.

And then I stilled stalled. Because, life. The regular fears that come up – how am I going to ensure I won’t be homeless, does anybody even care about what I’m doing, who the f*ck am I to be doing this? Et cetera.

Quickly, though, all that continued to matter less and less.

The only thing that kept mattering was that mission. It was the thing that kept pounding away at my insides, motivating me to wake up in the mornings (mornings aren't my thing), moving forward, and finding ways to connect what I was doing in my regular life to my vision of an extraordinary life.

Eventually, that wasn’t enough. My life, my being and my body demanded more.

Also, I was losing my hair. And I was convinced it was directly tied to the fact that I was ignoring what I was supposed to be doing and who I was supposed to be being.

And so I did it. I dove head-first into my purpose. And created a business concept around it.

No magic. No mentor. No money.

Simply a must. A must for more. A must for meaning. A must for movement.

That, and a knowing. A knowing that was even stronger than it was 10 years ago.

Because that’s the thing about knowings. They never go away, no matter how much you try to silence them.

CareerJuliaComment