Earlier this year I tried to fill out one of those yearly planning workshops and I answered every question: “Fuck you.” It was sickly gentle, and I needed a little more fierceness. But I remembered this clip Wednesday night, on the eve of my 30th birthday. Perhaps my word for my 30th year is TAWANDA!
And my song, now and forever, but especially for my 30th year, is “Natural Disaster” by Zac Brown Band.
I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Now my loving is running toward my life, shouting,
What a bargain! Let’s buy it!
How to come to terms with your attraction to fat girls.
I always took these comments as them trying to do me a favor—like, I’ll call her curvy, not fat. But I don’t see fat as a bad word, and I don’t see the point in avoiding it.
I mentioned this to a guy recently, after he called me “curvy” in bed. “Just call me fat,” I said to him. “I don’t mind—it’s what I am.”
His response to this took me surprise. “Trust me, you’re not fat. I’m not attracted to fat girls.”
That’s when it all hit me: Oh, you’re not doing this for my sake. You’re doing it for yours. This guy, and probably a lot of the others, didn’t want to come to terms with his attraction to a fat woman.
The empathy trap, and how to avoid it.
Reining in overempathy requires emotional intelligence; its underlying skill is self-awareness. You need always to be prepared to explore and meet your own needs. Since you’re not used to thinking about them, you might not even be fully aware of what those needs are. Whenever your empathy is aroused, regard it as a signal to turn a spotlight on your own feelings. Pause (taking a deep breath helps) to check in with yourself: What am I feeling right now? What do I need now?
Once you know what you need, you can make a conscious decision about how much to give to another and how much to request for yourself. Of course, it helps to nurture relationships with people who are mindful of the needs of others.
The subtle art of not giving a fuck. An awesome analysis of what a lot of us want. As you might expect, the language is pretty profane.
What we don’t realize is that there is a fine art of non-fuck-giving. People aren’t just born not giving a fuck. In fact, we’re born giving way too many fucks. Ever watch a kid cry his eyes out because his hat is the wrong shade of blue? Exactly. Fuck that kid.
Developing the ability to control and manage the fucks you give is the essence of strength and integrity. We must craft and hone our lack of fuckery over the course of years and decades. Like a fine wine, our fucks must age into a fine vintage, only uncorked and given on the most special fucking occasions.