LOFB - NoaI have never really gotten anything done exactly right. I manage to fuck it up somehow.

In the last month, I have:

  • Torn a muscle in my calf, requiring rehab and bandaging/bracing
  • Broken a toe on a bathroom wall because I didn’t see it
  • Broken a toe at a bar on a chair because I didn’t see it and also was not drunk yet.
  • Gotten my car broken into because I parked in a super-scary place
  • Gotten in a shouting match with two strangers because they were such dicks you guys

I am a human disaster. I fuck things up all the goddamn time.

And I hate that, mostly. I hate screwing things up because it means people are mad at me, for whatever reason. I hate screwing things up because it means I’m not perfect. I hate screwing things up because it means, deep down, that I don’t have the kind of control over my life and circumstances as I like to think I do.

In short: I’m just fine.

I’m totally fine. I screw things up all the goddamn time and that doesn’t just make me normal, it makes me good. It makes me want to work harder, want to be better next time. It makes me realize that everyone screws up, and that we need to be a little easier on each other if we’re ever gonna really grow at all.

It makes me grateful for the things I have in spite of all the times I’ve fucked up, and because of them as well.

We’re gonna fuck things up. Some little, some big, some life changing, some so insignificant you’re really the only person in the entire world who knows you did it. Mistakes make us human. Mistakes make us great.

And even though it’s hard to cop to mistakes sometimes, isn’t it more important that we’re good people who acknowledge our mistakes and learn instead of wallowing in the pits of self-loathing?

Fuck it, I’ll do better next time.

Fuck it, I tried.

Fuck it, I learned.

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If ever there was a woman who said, “Well, Fuck It,” it was Julie D’Aubigny.

An opera singer from 17th Century France, she took up with a fencing master. When he killed a man, they fled the city and starting giving Fencing expos at Taverns and Faires. Then she got bored, and just joined up with an opera company.

Then, she did this, as a direct quote from Wikipedia:

“Eventually, she grew bored of Sérannes (her fencing master) and became involved with a young woman. When the girl’s parents put her away in the Visitandines convent in Avignon, Maupin followed, entering the convent as a postulate. In order to run away with her new love, she stole the body of a dead nun, placed it in the bed of her lover, and set the room on fire to cover their escape. Their affair lasted for three months before the young lady returned to her family. Maupin was charged in absentia—as a male—with kidnapping, body snatching, arson, and failing to appear before the tribunal. The sentence was death by fire.

Maupin left for Paris and again earned her living by singing. Near Poitiers, she met an old actor named Maréchal who began to teach her until his alcoholism got worse and he sent her on her way to Paris.[4]

In Villeperdue, still wearing men’s clothing, she was insulted by a young nobleman. They fought a duel and she drove her blade through his shoulder. The next day, she asked about his health and found out he was Louis-Joseph d’Albert Luynes, son of the Duke of Luynes. Later, one of his companions came to offer d’Albert’s apologies. She went to his room and subsequently they became lovers and, later, lifelong friends.”

So, just in case you ever felt like you were going too far with a “fuck it” idea in your life.

You’re wrong.

Dawn LOFB BadgeThere have been bright, beautiful moments in my life.  Moments that explode with energy, moments that make it feel like life is bursting through every cell of my body.  They are full-on, Technicolor moments, beyond anything in Oz, that blind me in comparison to the colors of most days.  These moments are precious, and they’re far from ubiquitous.
The specific moments I’m thinking of happen most often when, with heart-racing clarity, I realize I have to take a chance and dive head-first into something, usually something I’ve been tentatively considering, flirting with mentally.  Suddenly, it becomes clear that this thing, this thing I’ve been avoiding or holding back from out of fear, this thing must be conquered, or dealt with, or done, and done in a fuck it, balls-to-the-wall, 100% committed way.  That diving in opens up a whole new world and drives me to learn, reach, fail, grow, become, fight, and, eventually, soar.
I’ve been through periods in my life when I didn’t feel that.  I just went about my business, living life (living a good life, I think) but with muted shades, in perpetual dusk.  I didn’t even realize that feeling was absent, until something crept up on me and presented itself, as it so often does:
Me.  I’m the thing you need next.  I’m the thing.  Pay attention to me.
Dance did that for me when I was I child.  It happened when I learned to sing.  It happened with improv.  Oh, boy, has it happened with improv.  But it’s not just the immediate, strobe-light, “oh fuck, what the hell am I doing?!” feeling that I adore so much.  It’s also the subtle brightening that’s only visible when I look back over time.  It’s as if the contrast on my whole life is turned up by these experiences, like seeing a slow-motion sunrise.  It’s life as it’s meant to be, all in and full on.
My hope is that everyone experiences these moments.  Yours may come from deciding to go back to school and all the trials and victories that entails, or from the moments of joy that come from watching your child grow, or from learning to scuba dive.  It may be as simple as working up the courage to make a new friend.  Whatever your thing is, grab it by the balls, take a deep breath, and declare to the world “FUCK IT, I’M IN!”.

LOFB - NoaDid you guys know that Fuck is one of my favorite words?

First of all–it’s fun to say. It has a nice crack to it that adds so much niceness and pepper to sentences otherwise bland.

It’s simple. Quick. Easy. You need to be sad? Fuck. You need to be happy? FUCK! You need to be mad? FUCK.

Fuck is there for you whenever you need it.

It’s one of those words that depending on how and when you say it, it means something completely new and different to every single speaker. Fuck it could mean giving up, it could also mean diving in. It could mean that you’re done, it could mean that you’re just getting started.

I love that. I want to examine that phrase this month, and what it means to each of us individually. When I say, “Fuck It,” something comes to your mind, doesn’t it?

Here’s your quick-start guide to the Most Badass Way To Goal-Set.

Finish this phrase with the first thought that comes to your mind. Don’t think, don’t judge, just say it.

“Fuck it, I’ll ______________.”

What did you say?

Was it big? Small? Scary? Exciting? Are you quitting your job? Are you diving into a relationship you were questioning, or diving out of one? Trying something new?

  1. Write it down. Think about if this is something you’ve said to yourself before or not. Is it something you were willing to admit? Willing to do? Sometimes just saying, “Fuck It” can give ourselves permission to do something that frightens us.
  2. Think about why you want that thing. Are you fed up? Happy? Bored? Write it down!
  3. Think about why your life will change if you do the thing. WRITE IT DOWN.

Let’s think about this all month. Let’s say Fuck It together.

Let’s go.

It’s never too late to find a new road.

You’re never too far down your road to start over and cut across the forest to a new one.

You’re never, ever, ever going to be done forging your path until the bitter fucking end of it all.

Don’t let your brain or your heart or your friends or family or pastors or gods tell you that you’re done. That you’re too late and you can’t go back and retrace the roads not taken. That you’re done. That you’ve made your bed and now you have to lie in it.

That’s all bullshit. BULLSHIT.

Grandma Motherfuckin’ Moses started painting at 78.

Laura Ingalls Wilder started writing Little House when she was 65.

Golda Meir became PM of Israel at 70.

Julia Child was 49 when her first Cookbook came out.

Diana Nyad was in her 60′s when she set a distance swim record.

Stan Lee was 43. Jack Kirby? 44.

Don’t live your life with Roads Not Taken.

It’s never too late. Do what you need for you to be you.