I don’t care. Really. I just don’t give a rat’s ass about a lot of things these days. I suppose it is a function of age, a function of being increasingly aware that I am closer to the end of my life than I am to its beginning.
I don’t care about my looks. It’s not that I am deliberately setting out to scare little kids with my days-old beard and my near-scull-close haircut. I just don’t want to waste the time needed to shave each morning, the time required to shampoo, dry and comb my hair. It’s too much bother for me. I have better things to do with that time.
I don’t care if I never have to drive an automobile ever again. Really, I’d be content to spend the rest of my life moving about on my own two feet, my recumbent bicycle or the back of a friendly horse. Polo ponies are particular favorites in that last category. Working out on a polo field with my late friend Henry Trione was the most fun I’ve ever had on horseback, and I’ve also spent some time on a cutting horse (thank you Janet Trefethen).
I don’t care much about clothing choices. Most of my life is contentedly lived in sweat pants and a tee shirt (or shorts and a tee). I have two pair of “dress blue jeans” and am now on a self-tied bow tie kick but, other than that, I don’t go out of my way much to impress anyone. I’m okay with me, and that’s pretty much the end of it.
I don’t care about insignificant things at all. Don’t waste my time. You see, I don’t have all that much of it left, and I’d like to spend that time actively engaging with my family, my friends, and the intellectual and spiritual pursuits that make their way into the blog posts I am deliriously happy to share with you.
Yes, there are things that I do care about. It is very painful for me to follow stories of the willful meanness that continues to insinuate itself into our world. I cry inside when I read of people intentionally trying to deny girls the right to educate themselves. My blood curdles when I hear of societies persecuting societal differences, be they of gender, of sexuality, of religion (or lack thereof), or of color.
I shudder at the plight of the dispossessed and the displaced, be they in Europe or right here in the Western hemisphere. Human lives should not be at risk for simply existing, anywhere. There are the genocides of southeast Asia and the religious wars of, well, pretty much everywhere it seems.
Top all that off with our wonton ignorance of the climate calamity that is increasingly announcing itself with hurricane horrors and the one-by-one displacement of polar bears from their ice floe havens. What are we thinking? Why are we not thinking? I don’t get it.
And then there are those who believe that guns are more valuable than human beings. Really? When did we get to that nadir of civilization? Scrapping the Second Amendment isn’t the answer. Making it work the way it was intended is. Well-regulated militias, yes. Everyone armed with assault rifles, no. How hard is that?
So, it seems that I do care. More than a little. But it’s the big things that I care about, not the small stuff. You remember the book title, right? Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff. (It’s All Small Stuff.) Yep, that about sums it up.
©2018 Richard Paul Hinkle