There are no trophies
It wasn’t a profound statement, but I felt some of the pressure release. As a 50-year-old woman, let me just say one piece of wisdom that I’ve learned. There are no trophies in life. Said one of my colleagues at work.
I don’t have to give a fuck about anything. Rules aren’t real. Everything is permitted.
I was a vegan for ten years. I don’t get a trophy. It’s sold as something that will save the world, but since our world leaders are starting WW3, fuck it. Fuck everything. Not to sound nihilistic. It just feels a little liberating. I don’t need to give a fuck. You don’t get a trophy for it. Maybe I’m in my villain era. I don’t need to be anything for anyone. This principle is starting to apply in other areas of my life.
Anytime there is a shift in my fragile little world, I have an identity crisis about it. That is one of the epiphanies I had this year. I don’t want to maintain an identity. I can’t serve two masters. I made this pact with myself in 2018. I’m not a gender; I have a gender. I’m not an ethnicity; I have an ethnicity. I’m not a creed, I’m not politics, etc. I’m just an individual consciousness having a temporary human experience. I found myself having an identity crisis about potentially introducing bison to my diet, and that made me rebel against it. My diet, that is. It’s medicine, at this point. I’m collecting data to see if I get any improvements in my gut health battle. I want to rebel against all the other identities I built around myself. Tear it all down. Nothing matters. Fuck me. Fuck you. Fuck everyone. Nobody gets out of life alive. I don’t have to care anymore.
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