I recently picked up a copy of The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fck* by Mark Manson at the airport while travelling to Franschhoek with guests. I started reading it on the plane and was hooked from page one.
After sharing a few giggles about the book with a friend whom I respect deeply, he asked me a simple question.
“But on a serious note, I’m curious. Why are you interested in this book, or books like this?”
My knee-jerk reaction was to give him ten vaguely acceptable answers. The kind we all keep in our back pockets for moments like these. Instead, I decided to think about it properly and give him an honest answer. Three days later, I still don’t have one. So, as I do whenever my thoughts and emotions become a tangled mess, I started writing.
Let’s start with why I noticed the book in the first place. The bright orange cover amongst a sea of muted tones caught my eye, followed by the title. It is the kind that either shocks you or makes you laugh out loud. I fall into the latter category. However, the question was why I was interested in reading it.
One possible answer is that I’m going through perimenopause and simply don’t give as much of a f*ck as I used to. Let’s blame that one on dwindling oestrogen levels.
Another possibility is that I’ve spent most of my life giving far too many f*cks about what other people needed, wanted, or expected from me.
A third possibility is that I’m turning fifty next year and, if I’m completely honest, I still don’t quite know how I fit into this world.
Then again, maybe the past decade has simply been hard.
Raising children. (I see all the parents out there nodding and sighing)
Being a stepmom. (I get to have all the responsibility, without the recognition)
Navigating family politics. (Part and partial of being a stepmom)
Building our safari business. (This one falls into the positive category)
Losing myself somewhere in the middle of all of it. (The issue at hand)
On the bright side, we moved to a farm—a direct result of the Covid pandemic—and that probably saved my sanity, even though building new businesses from scratch has been a killer financially.
If I explore further back to childhood, I will say that I’ve always had an unusual ability to learn and excel at almost anything I put my mind to. I say that without arrogance. Grasping a new concept or mastering a skill has simply always come naturally to me. I see the exact same trait in my son. The challenge with this ability is that other people notice it too.
Partners notice it.
Bosses notice it.
Friends notice it.
Before long, you become the person everyone turns to when something needs to get done. Most often, it isn’t even something you particularly want to do. Over the years I’ve helped many people build their dreams while mine quietly disappeared into the background. At this point, I’m not entirely sure what my dreams even were. I do remember wanting to be a marine biologist growing up. My father’s reaction to this was “we don’t live near the ocean”. Mom was a homemaker, therefore opted for no comment.
I’m not blaming anyone for my lack of direction. It’s merely an observation.
I just can’t seem to pinpoint that one thing Mark highlights very early on in his book. What am I willing to suffer for. This is because life keeps pulling me in different directions.
I’ve worked in environments where I hated every minute of being there, yet somehow managed to outperform most of the people around me. Heck, I once landed a four-week temp job as an XML coder, whilst living in the UK during my early twenties. This despite having absolutely no coding experience. It was a misunderstanding by the placement agency. I was a nervous wreck. I had no idea what I was doing. I repeatedly asked them to send a replacement. Yet somehow, I figured it out, and the supervisor kept telling me I was doing a great job. I got paid a whopping £12.50 per hour!
What I do know is this:
I don’t belong in the corporate world.
The hierarchy. The politics. The endless red tape. I break out in hives just thinking about it.
I don’t do well when I’m put in a box with no room to move.
The other dilemma is that I seem to sit somewhere in the middle of the creative, practical, and analytical spectrums. Throw in an appetite for adventure and you’ve got yourself a rather confused human being.
The only places I’ve ever truly felt at home are all out in nature.
Cities make me miserable. Shopping malls are my personal version of torture.
I love going for long runs on my own, travelling to remote places, experiencing different cultures, tasting unfamiliar food, and learning the history of places. I love meeting travellers with kindred spirits – the free spirits of the world. The people who share stories around campfires and mountain paths. The people who choose to not be confined by the trends and expectations of society. The souls who impart wisdom one moment and make you laugh until you cry the next. The only problem is that collecting these encounters requires a certain amount of travel, and travel requires money. Sadly, no long-lost millionaire uncle has seen fit to leave me an inheritance.
On the upside, we do run a safari business, which allows me to spend time in nature and experience our magnificent Africa through the eyes of our guests.
My other great loves are music, reading and writing. I’ve been an obsessive reader since about the age of five. In recent years I’ve had less time to read with work, home, and children’s schedules in the mix. Yet strangely, I’ve written more than ever before.
But I digress.
The question remains.
Why am I interested in books like this?
Perhaps because I’m finally ready to look myself in the eye and be honest about who I am.
No bullshit.
No pipe dreams.
No ifs, ands, or buts.
I’ve made some major pivots in my life—in relationships, careers, and places I’ve chosen to call home.
Looking back, I question many of those decisions.
Not because they were wrong, but because I don’t think they were made from a place of deep self-knowledge.
Many were reactions to circumstances.
Reactions to jobs.
Reactions to relationships.
Reactions to not truly knowing myself.
And quite frankly, I’m exhausted from living like that.
Maybe that’s why this book and others like it, found its way into my hands.
You get honest.
And perhaps, if you’re lucky, you find your way home.
“When you finally get tired enough of your own bullshit, you find the courage to stop running.”
Wild Soul Notes 