Just be yourself

I Don’t Give a Damn — And It’s Hilarious

I have reached the age where I do not give a damn what anyone thinks of me.

If you have a problem with me? I don’t care.

Do you?

No?

Good. Because I’m busy.

I am learning to be strong. Sure, I get weak — I’m human, not a robot. Four weeks ago I was struggling. Crying in the Safeway parking lot, eating crackers for dinner, wondering if the cocoon stage would ever end.

Today I am laughing. LOUD. In public. Teeth and all.

Life does that. It makes you tough. It also makes you funny, because if you don’t laugh you’ll lose your mind.

I used to care. Oh, I cared. Did they like my hair? Did they think I was too loud? Too quiet? Too fat? Too educated for a shelter? Too sheltered for a PhD program? I cared so much I needed a U-Haul just for the opinions I was carrying.

Then I turned 51. Soon to be 52. And my “care” budget ran out.

Now? You don’t like my curls? Cool. They’re not for you.

You think I’m too old to launch a website and a nonprofit? Watch me.

You think my Master’s degree and my shelter stay don’t belong in the same sentence? I put them in the same paragraph.

I don’t stay weak. I visit Weak, I have tea, I cry, I journal, I pray with the Quran, Bahá’í prayer book, and Bible on my nightstand — and then I evict Weak. “You don’t pay rent here anymore, sir.”

Four weeks ago: struggling.

Today: writing essays, going to Bahá’í picnics, planning a new church visit, and booking professional photos where I will pose like I own the camera. Because I do.

Not giving a damn isn’t mean. It’s freeing. It’s realizing that people who have a problem with you were going to have a problem anyway. You could hand them $100 and they’d complain it wasn’t in twenties.

So no, I don’t care.

I care about my calling. I care about women in their cocoon stage. I care about word before world and water before worry. I care about my 5 AM gym time and the library over parties.

But Karen from Facebook who doesn’t like my tone? Karen, be blessed. I’m too busy becoming a butterfly to explain to a caterpillar why I’m flying.

From shelter to scholar, from weak to “watch this,” from caring too much to cackling too loud — life made me tough. And tough is funny.

So if you have a problem with me? That’s a you problem.

I’ve got a nonprofit to launch.

— Cathryn M. Harris

Teeth and all. Curls and all. Curves and all. No-damns-given and all.