It’s humbling to admit that a vast amount of my time is spent fretting about how I’m perceived and whether or not people like me.
I know, I know, I say this shit over and over.
I’ve done things that have lost me friends.
I have stuck to principles and been left behind as a result.
I’ve been flat lazy in putting forth the effort to make and keep friends.
But I’ve thought a lot this weekend about how and why I worry so much when all I can control is me (completely apropos of nothing. No reason prompted).
But how and why did I ever get the idea that the way anyone else behaves reflects on or effects me?
So I’m kind of finished caring. I can focus on me and on the love I put out into the world around me, but I can’t fix anyone else.
I can’t make you like me, be nicer to me, or respect me. I can’t convince you to love me more, laugh with me, or care about the world I inhabit.
And that’s fine. I’m finding that being me and being the way I am is enough for me.