Editor's Note: This article has been lightly edited from its original version.
In my life, I have given a d--- about many people and many things. I have also not given a d--- about many people and many things. And those d---s I have not given have made all the difference.
People often say the key to confidence and success in life is to simply "not give a d---." Indeed, we often refer to the strongest, most admirable people we know in terms of their lack of d---s given.
Like, "Oh, look at Susie working weekends again, she doesn't give a d---." Or, "Did you hear that Tom called the company president an asshole and still got a raise anyway? Holy s---, that dude does not give a d---." Or, "Jason got up and ended his date with Cindy after 20 minutes. He said he wasn't going to listen to her bulls--- anymore. Man, that guy does not give a d---."
Chances are you know somebody in your life who, at one time or another, did not give a d--- and went on to accomplish amazing feats. Perhaps there was a time in your life where you simply did not give a d--- and excelled to some extraordinary heights.
I know for myself, quitting my day job in finance after only six weeks and telling my boss that I was going to start selling dating advice online ranks pretty high up there in my own "didn't give a d---" hall of fame. Same with deciding to sell most of my possessions and move to South America. D---s given? None. Just went and did it.
Now, while not giving a d--- may seem simple on the surface, it's a whole new bag of burritos under the hood. I don't even know what that sentence means, but I don't give a d---. A bag of burritos sounds awesome, so let's just go with it.
The point is, most of us struggle throughout our lives by giving too many d---s in situations where d---s do not deserve to be given. We give a d--- about the rude gas station attendant who gave us too many nickels. We give a d--- when a show we liked was canceled on TV. We give a d--- when our coworkers don't bother asking us about our awesome weekend. We give a d--- when it's raining and we were supposed to go jogging in the morning.
D---s given everywhere. And for what purpose? For what reason? Convenience? Easy comforts? A pat on the d--- back maybe?
This is the problem, my friend.
Because when we give too many d---s, when we choose to give a d--- about everything, then we feel as though we are perpetually entitled to feel comfortable and happy at all times, that's when life d---s us.
Indeed, the ability to reserve our d---s for only the most d---worthy of situations would surely make life a hell of a lot easier. Failure would be less terrifying. Rejection less painful. Unpleasant necessities more pleasant and the unsavory s--- sandwiches a little bit more savory. I mean, if we could only give a few less d---s, or a few more consciously-directed d---s, then life would feel pretty d--- easy.
What we don't realize is that there is a fine art of non-d----giving. People aren't just born not giving a d---. In fact, we're born giving way too many d---s. Ever watch a kid cry his eyes out because his hat is the wrong shade of blue? Exactly. D--- kid.
Developing the ability to control and manage the d---s you give is the essence of strength and integrity. We must craft and hone our lack of d---ery over the course of years and decades. Like a fine wine, our d---s must age into a fine vintage, only uncorked and given on the most special occasions.
This may sound easy. But it is not. Most of us, most of the time, get sucked in by life's mean trivialities, steamrolled by its unimportant dramas; we live and die by the sidenotes and distractions and vicissitudes that suck the d---s out of us.
This is no way to live, man. Get your d---s together.
Subtlety #1: Not giving a d--- does not mean being indifferent; it means being comfortable with being different.
When most people envision giving no d---s whatsoever, they envision a kind of perfect and serene indifference to everything, a calm that weathers all storms.
This is misguided. There's absolutely nothing admirable or confident about indifference. People who are indifferent are lame and scared. They're couch potatoes and internet trolls. In fact, indifferent people often attempt to be indifferent because in reality they actually give too many d---s.
They are afraid of the world and the repercussions of their own choices. Therefore, they make none. They hide in a grey emotionless pit of their own making, self-absorbed and self-pitied, perpetually distracting themselves from this unfortunate thing demanding their time and energy called life.
My mother was recently screwed out of a large chunk of money by a close friend of hers. Had I been indifferent, I would have shrugged my shoulders, sipped some mocha and downloaded another season of "The Wire." Sorry, mom.
But instead, I was indignant. I was pissed off. I said, "No, screw that mom, we're going to lawyer up and go after this asshole. Why? Because I don't give a d---. I will ruin this guy's life if I have to."
This illustrates the first subtlety about not giving a d---. When we say, "D---, watch out, Mark Manson just don't give a d---," we don't mean that Mark Manson doesn't care about anything; on the contrary, what we mean is that Mark Manson doesn't care about adversity in the face of his goals, he doesn't care about pissing some people off to do what he feels is right or important or noble.
What we mean is that Mark Manson is the type of guy who would write about himself in third person and use the word "d---" in an article over 100 times just because he thought it was the right thing to do. He just doesn't give a d---.
This is what is so admirable — no, not me — the overcoming adversity stuff. The staring failure in the face and shoving your middle finger back at it. The people who don't give a d--- about adversity or failure or embarrassing themselves or s---ting the bed a few times. The people who just laugh and then do it anyway. Because they know it's right. They know it's more important than them and their own feelings and their own pride and their own needs.
They say "d--- it," not to everything in life, but rather they say "d--- it" to everything unimportant in life. They reserve their d---s for what truly matters. Friends. Family. Purpose. Burritos. And an occasional lawsuit or two. And because of that, because they reserve their d---s for only the big things, the important things, people give a d--- about them in return.
Subtlety #2: To not give a d--- about adversity, you must first give a d--- about something more important than adversity.
Eric Hoffer once wrote: "A man is likely to mind his own business when it is worth minding. When it is not, he takes his mind off his own meaningless affairs by minding other people's business."
The problem with people who hand out d---s like ice cream at a god--- summer camp is that they don't have anything more d---worthy to dedicate their d---s to.
Think for a second. You're at a grocery store. And there's an elderly lady screaming at the cashier, berating him for not accepting her 30-cent coupon. Why does this lady give a d---? It's just 30 cents.
Well, I'll tell you why. That old lady probably doesn't have anything better to do with her days than to sit at home cutting out coupons all morning. She's old and lonely. Her kids are d---heads and never visit. She hasn't had sex in over 30 years. Her pension is on its last legs and she's probably going to die in a diaper thinking she's in Candyland. She can't fart without extreme lower back pain. She can't even watch TV for more than 15 minutes without falling asleep or forgetting the main plotline.
So she snips coupons. That's all she's got. It's her and her d--- coupons. All day, every day. It's all she can give a d--- about because there is nothing else to give a d--- about. And so when that pimply-faced 17-year-old cashier refuses to accept one of them, when he defends his cash register's purity the way knights used to defend maidens' virginities, you can d--- well bet granny is going to erupt and verbally hulk smash his d--- face in. Eighty years of d---s will rain down all at once, like a fiery hailstorm of "back in my day" and "people used to show more respect" stories, boring the world around her to tears in her creaking and wobbly voice.
If you find yourself consistently giving too many d---s about trivial s--- that bothers you — your ex-girlfriend's new Facebook picture, how quickly the batteries die in the TV remote, missing out on yet another 2-for-1 sale on hand sanitizer — chances are you don't have much going on in your life to give a legitimate d--- about. And that's your real problem. Not the hand sanitizer.
Way too many d---s given.
In life, our d---s must be spent on something. There really is no such thing as not giving a d---. The question is simply how we each choose to allot our d---s. You only get a limited amount of d---s to give over your lifetime, so you must spend them with care.
As my father used to say, "D---s don't grow on trees, Mark." OK, he never actually said that. But d--- it, pretend like he did. The point is that d---s have to be earned and then invested wisely.
Subtlety #3: We all have a limited number of d---s to give; pay attention to where and who you give them to.
When we're young, we have tons of energy. Everything is new and exciting. And everything seems to matter so much. Therefore, we give tons of d---s. We give a d--- about everything and everyone — about what people are saying about us, about whether that cute boy/girl called us back or not, about whether our socks match or not or what color our birthday balloon is.
As we get older, we gain experience and begin to notice that most of these things have little lasting impact on our lives. Those people's opinions we cared about so much before have long been removed from our lives. We've found the love we need and so those embarrassing romantic rejections cease to mean much anymore. We realize how little people pay attention to the superficial details about us and we focus on doing things more for ourselves rather than for others.
Bunk Moreland, not giving a d--- since 2002.
Essentially, we become more selective about the d---s we're willing to give. This is something called "maturity." It's nice, you should try it sometime. Maturity is what happens when one learns to only give a d--- about what's truly d---worthy. As Bunk Moreland said in "The Wire" (which, d--- you, I still downloaded it) to his partner Detective McNulty: "That's what you get for giving a d--- when it wasn't your turn to give a d---."
Then, as we grow older and enter middle age, something else begins to change. Our energy levels drop. Our identities solidify. We know who we are and we no longer have a desire to change what now seems inevitable in our lives.
And in a strange way, this is liberating. We no longer need to give a d--- about everything. Life is just what it is. We accept it, warts and all. We realize that we're never going to cure cancer or go to the moon. And that's OK. Life goes on. We now reserve our ever-dwindling d---s only for the most truly d---worthy parts of our lives: our families, our best friends, our golf swing. And to our astonishment, this is enough. This simplification actually makes us really d--- happy.
Then somehow, one day, much later, we wake up and we're old. And along with our gum lines and our sex drive, our ability to give a d--- has receded to the point of non-existence. In the twilight of our days, we carry out a paradoxical existence where we no longer have the energy to give a d--- about the big things in life, and instead we must dedicate the few d---s we have left to the simple and mundane yet increasingly difficult aspects of our lives: where to eat lunch, doctors appointments for our creaky joints, 30-cent discounts at the supermarket, and driving without drifting to sleep and killing a parking lot full of orphans. You know, practical concerns.
Then one day, on our deathbed, (hopefully) surrounded by the people we gave the majority of our d---s to throughout our life, and those few who still give a d--- about us, with a silent gasp we will gently let our last d--- go. Through the tears and the gently fading beeps of the heart monitor and the ever-dimming fluorescence encapsulating us in its divine hospital halo, we drift into some unknowable and und---able place.
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