I don’t care what you think, as long as it’s about me.

Every day, maybe even on a minute-to-minute basis, my opinion as to whether or not I care what people think shifts, on a spectrum, from anywhere on the far right to far left (no political implications meant, so don’t read into that). Sometimes I even contradict myself based on what I want to believe and what I actually believe (cognitive dissonance?) and, therefore, your interpretation of the Freudian contexts between the lines of this post may differ from reader to reader.

Long story long, I’m sitting at the Tulsa airport on my suitcase next to the bathroom in a dress (with tights underneath for modesty) fumbling all over the place between my failures at trying to sport the boho-sunglasses-as-a-headband look, the indie-I-drink-hot-tea-not-coffee look, and the ever popular I’m-an-edgy-and-popular-techno-geek-who-can’t-look-up-from-my-phone-because-I’m-blogging-about-my-experiences-instead-of-living-them look. In other words, I’m that girl. I’m also wearing a beacon of a corally red dress, forgoing traditional gate-waiting seating for my suitcase because it’s literally -200 degrees in the seating area (and that’s in Celsius. Or Fahrenheit. Whichever is more dramatic) and merely -4 over here by the water fountain.

At this point, you should be deciding between whether I don’t care what people think, do care, do care but don’t want to, or don’t care but just like to hear myself talk (so to speak). There is no right or wrong answer as long as whichever one you choose makes you like me more.

I digress. (What else is new)?

Before I started this rambling, I was freezing in the waiting area overhearing a conversation (eves dropping is a rather nasty term) between a couple of people about flying to Boston or Fort Worth or whatever, and thinking to myself about this conundrum of the ever so popular “They’re all basically the same, so I don’t ask names anymore” limerick that becomes more applicable the more people I meet. And I thought to myself (yes, I could have continued that thought without the previous period, but I thought you could use a break), I thought to myself “Self, are you merely the culmination of a hundred thousand other people all rubbing off on one other and creating stereotypes and classifications?”

No lie, I actually thought that to myself.

So the question is: Nature vs. nurture? I’m not even sure that’s a real debate. At the end of the day, we’re all just a million different pieces of a million somebody elses contributing to our genetic code and operant conditioning. There’s only so many different combinations before we all start to remind each other of “someone I knew from somewhere.” Not to mention the widespread trend of knowledge sharing had made us virtually (ha!) one body with little need to retain any bit of individual knowledge because, heck, we can always just google it later.

Believe it or not, this is not a rant. It’s merely an observation of the power of influence and our innate desire to categorize one another for our own processing.

So, in a sense, it really shouldn’t matter what other people think. We’re all basically the same, and don’t necessarily represent ourselves but rather act as as extension of the people in our lives and, by proximity, the people in their lives. We can shirk responsibility and “blame it on the world.” Or, we can be adults and own up to our actions instead of passing it off on our parents or our status or our hair color or whatever. Up to you, I guess. You only live once.


So think what you want about this sunglasses-as-a-headband-wearing-hot-tea-instead-of-coffee-drinking-techno-geek-who-can’t-look-up-from-her-phone-because-she’s-blogging-about-her-experiences-instead-of-living-them.

Think what you want, because I (only sort of) (hypothetically) don’t care (a little).



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