Imagine this: you’re on a long overnight flight and the pilot announces that since everyone on the plane is over age 18, the in-flight movie will be hardcore porn. The movie starts and you take exception. It’s not your kind of entertainment. The flight attendant says maybe you shouldn’t be such a prude, it’s only sex, and maybe you have a problem you need to deal with. I have a feeling there’s going to be a scene, yes? A bit of a roshambo.
On a number of occasions lately, I’ve had someone tell me that my distaste for seeing and hearing Donald Trump is a problem with me. I should “toughen up.” I’m too stressed out and uptight about him. And I have a civic duty to consume all the news about his crimes and incompetence that I can feast my eyes on. I try to explain that the only person in charge of what goes in and out of my brain is the same person who decides whether I watch porn. Me. And I choose No.
The Clown Prince Covfefe is a horror show. He’s a con man, a misogynist, a megalomaniac, a national shame, and a waste of carbon. He’s also the national obsession. Not since Watergate have the people been so addicted to such a national shitstorm, or wasted so much of their lives on something so stupid. And on a daily basis, entirely meaningless to the average American.
Being obsessed with the nightly news minutia of the daily clusterfuckery of the so call president is not a sign of good citizenship, it’s a sign of obsession. Obsessed is as obsessed does. So I’m here to tell you that if you want to get on with your life and think about the things that add value to your existence, and the people who brighten your path through this land of grief and exultation, I’m with you brothers and sisters. Check back with us later about this deal. Trump is not your problem.
Trump is a problem for a very small number of people who can solve it; for the rest of us, he’s a situation. A problem, by definition, has a solution. If you can’t solve it, it’s not your problem. For further reference, see The Serenity Prayer. You probably know it.
Most of the time, I don’t give a f–k about Trump. I did for a long time, but I said here on this blog even before the election that he wasn’t worth our undivided attention, and I’ve said it since. So eventually, I carefully considered the fact that there are a limited number of things about which I can realistically give a f–k on a daily basis, and Trump isn’t one of them.
Giving a f–k means you care. You’re willing to give a certain about of your time, energy, money, and spiritual and mental resources to the subject. If you are willing to do this for Trump, then great. It’s your life. Respect to you. But I am deliberately trying to declutter him from between my ears. I’m throwing away something that adds no value to my life – the 24/7 Trump Show – in favor of concentrating on things that do. That’s my free choice. That I elect to feed my mind and soul on better things, things that add value to my brief existence, that’s the sign of a human mind at work. It’s not a sign of weakness.
Sorry but I’m not sorry. It’s my brain and I get to decide what not to give a f–k about, then not give a f–k about those things. I’ve tried being honest and reasonably polite and if that doesn’t work, I’ll try communicating differently. But since I’ve been honest and clear about this, I don’t have to be sorry.
Beyond the appropriate expressions of resistance, including voting, worrying about Trump is optional. He doesn’t know that he doesn’t matter but I do. Now you do too. And it’s important because having a problem that’s obviously beyond your control and not freely chosen is the definition of suffering, in a world where real problems are inevitable and happiness comes from solving them.
We can’t always choose what happens to us. Most of us didn’t choose for Trump to happen to us. But we can always control how we interpret situations and how we respond. I’ve decided not to be obsessed with the daily ritual of inhaling the fumes of our national dumpster fire. I need just enough information on an occasional basis to be ready to resist when resistance becomes actionable and realistic.
So I don’t watch MSNBC every night. I don’t listen when Fuckface Von Clownstick is talking, or any of his minions. I don’t watch videos of his putrid Velveeta visage wobbling around on screens. I read weekly magazines, with words printed in them. Old school? Yeah, works for me.
“Giving too many f–ks is bad for your mental health. …The key to a good life is not giving a f–k about more; it’s giving a f–k about less, giving a f–k about only what is true and immediate and important.”
– Mark Manson
In other words, life is too short for this shit.