“Fuck it” My New Mantra: Is This Worth My Peace?

Why do some people think vulnerability is a sign of weakness?

I need to do a little, well, a lot o’ ranting about my new “fuck it” mentality. Purple soapbox time. About feelings, being responsible for our feelings, and acorn heads taking advantage of my human beings’ vulnerability.

On the real, I’m real tired of the vulnerability vultures. Shoo away from people I love, vulnerability vultures. This is old shit I’m processing, new shit I’m processing.

This is also about releasing your pain, so it isn’t sprayed all over, intentionally and unintentionally, on people who didn’t hurt you to begin with.

I am a writer, so I write.

Please bare with me. I hope there is something in here that may help you today. It helped me, getting it out. Thank you for being you, real ones. You are my heroes and my inspiration, everyday.

I promise I will write my best, and polish this, the best I can. And whenever I write. My intention behind my words is always love. Perhaps some pissed off bitch pot Jenny, but I write this with peace and passion.

I will probably invest hours and hours in doing so with just this piece, as I do. (Yup, I have.) And will probably not result in any financial gain, okay. But it’s a long happy and a joy for me to do so. A gain which can not be put into any number value. It’s a heart value gain for me.

This one is long, I can already tell it is going to be, as I sit in this Now to write. Would it make more money if I broke this down into bite sized pieces and had for sure words through the month? Yeah probably, but I’m not gonna.

This is about the message and whomever may come across my words today.

Fuck it.

I write!

If there’s no time in your day to read it, because however long it becomes, is too much for you today, I totally get it.

We only have so much time. I want YOU to invest in your time where it is important and beneficial to you. I am grateful for any time you share with me here. I do know people overlook longer pieces of mine, but here is also where I am at.

So, fuck it.

Oh, yeah I started a sentence with so. I learned grammar rules, and became an English teacher, so I can bend them, break them, mold them, create them.

Please PN me with your complaints.

So, here and now tell me what is worth your peace?

What is worth your peace?

Really take a minute, maybe come back to this long ass piece throughout the day because, yeah, it’s long. Perhaps write down a few things worth losing your peace over.

Or not.

Fuck it.

Yes, I know some one will tell me this is too long in a response. What else is new? I am aware, thank you. I am aware my pieces that are 3 minutes long people actually do read. And anything longer seems to be discarded.

I love words. I love wording so much.

So, fuck it.

I’m writing it.

Even if no one can get through it.

Fuck it.

Breathe, just breathe.

I’m making pennies on Medium again. I feel sad.

Two months of being able to pay two bills was glorious. I was giddy and grateful to be able to do so.

Who isn’t making pennies at this point?

Bots?

People banding together in groups to game the system, apparently. Thanks for the update here, Robin Wilding 💎 you are rad.

So who else is making money here? I know of one way.

Grandfathered in referral marketers. And some of these “writers” are really good at it. I’d call them marketers but potatoes/pickles.

See this, if your referrals stay on for years — just so you are aware dear writer reader — there are some people here who can keep their membership, never again engage in the community, and are making 400, 500, 600 dollars A MONTH in grandfathered referrals ONLY.

Fuck it.

It will be okay. It is already better than okay. There were times in my life I could not say that.

I’m making friends for life here. This community has deep heart value to me.

Your words have immense value to me. They are daily gifts. Your words have changed my life. Your beautiful kindness has changed my life.

The people I have met here enlighten my days and my nights.

I am so grateful. And I hope you know this.

Maybe I’ll take all these long-ass pieces, and put them into a book that people can hold. A book that can go in libraries someday.

And maybe people will carve out enough time in their lives to sit for half an hour, and just chill. Maybe learn something new, or gain a new perspective on life from another human’s mind.

Seriously whichever, fuck it.

Remember, to think about what is worth your peace? As your attention floats away because —

I did say this was going to be a long piece.

Fuck it.

Remember:

What is worth your peace?

My freshly brewed, nearly perfect ratio of ice cube to coffee, milk to cup, three teeny spoon scoops of sugar, placed too close to my white wicker rocking chair caught the edge, and spilled all over to our table and right on off it.

Oh, past and present tense?

Fuck it.

Drip drip drip down every corner of the small square tiled topped surface, onto the floor, onto the rug, onto the shoes I had just left there.

First action of the day really, besides making said coffee.

I watched it all happening. And went:

Okay, hmm, fuck it.

Just got a towel, cleaned it up and the table was even cleaner than before. Went back in, and made another nearly perfect ratio of iced coffee, sat down, and enjoyed my day as follows.

But I got to thinking today in the shower about how there are a few people here who misjudge me, based on slices of pieces they have read. And they do so like to tell me about it.

Judgment of me without knowing me?

Fuck it.

Write it out!

Yes, I’m woo. Yes, I’m really fucking open. Yes, I’m vulnerable. Yes, I’m about love and hope and light. But I’ve also lived in the mud, and also chose to live in said mud. I’ve had my face stepped on in the mud.

And I also see the importance of the mud, too.

I am all about peace and love. We need more of it in our world.

I write for peace. I live in as much peace as I possibly can. Despite my overwhelm and frustration sometimes, there’s still peace.

I have created this peace.

If you know me, you will know I will say over and over again, until the Universe starts its next infinity loop — ♾️

Make your inner peace your top priority.

But I’m far from peaceful all the time. Especially at certain times of the month, and situational feelings.

Because, usually, unless you’ve got the trusted beloveds (and even then) other people ain’t going to make YOUR inner peace THEIR top priority. They need the time and space and care to make their peace their top priority.

Oh, there’s capitalized words in a paragraph?

Fuck it.

Let’s make this very clear.

The ah, fuck it humantality doesn’t mean I am indifferent about life. Calling experiences, bad and good “happenings” does not mean I am minimizing the horrificness of what you have gone through.

Some shit is just fucking bad. It’s still a happening.

When I say it’s a privilege to get old, it doesn’t mean I don’t give a fuck about people in war.

When I say I write for world peace, it doesn’t mean I am going into a hot war country to spread my word of peace. I’d like to stay alive, thankfully, to write from here.

I tried to off myself too many times to put myself in there.

Doesn’t mean I don’t care. Doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t bleed for all of those waking up in violence. Also doesn’t mean I am a toxicly positive human being.

Toxic positivity is escapism.

I face my shit.

It’s time you did too.

Toxic positivity, toxic spirituality — are forms of escapism, like drug addiction, like food to cope addiction, like love addiction.

The list goes on. If you are avoiding your fears by worrying about things way beyond your purview (or doing jack nothing about things in your capability) or even more of an insidious escape, creating problems for the escape of it, that’s another addiction. People will seriously create problems to avoid other problems. And have zero clue what they’re even up to.

Heavens, you could be addicted to anything, you can escapism into anything, and right away from you.

You could be obsessed with ostriches.

Great, cool yo.

But if you are studying every ostrich around the globe for funsies. And are following every ostrich on Instagram and know their names by heart — whilst your health and mind are in the dumpster — you may be an escapist.

We use being helpers as escapism too. I’ve done it. Guilty!

If you’ve got your stuff to work through, but are instead drawing pictures of the Sun God Ra all day, while your life is crumbling around you — time to reflect on where the fuck your energy is going, and why you aren’t looking at whatever is going on. And how you gonna change that.

Oh, there’s italicized words in a paragraph?

Fuck it, I like bold and turned.

Your self wellness is your responsibility! It belongs to no one else! Get help, please, yet, don’t expect someone else to do it for you. Why you only outsourcing what you can do for yourself too?

Okay, so why are we escaping?

Usually it’s fear. If it’s a big goal, it’s fear of failure. Okay, but you attempted success — um, how is that not success? At least you didn’t sit in fear doing absolutely poo poo nothing because it wouldn’t be perfect.

Any progress is key.

Usually it’s fear. What will that person think of me, if I confront them about something that is raging war in my mind while I “keep the peace?”

By the by that’s not keeping the peace, that’s you already warring with yourself, or preparing for war, in your mind.

Speak your mind. Say your peace, for your own peace. For the peace of all those around you who have to deal with your jerky self. Because you are afraid to have a human conversation with someone whose behavior is affecting your life.

Breathe, just breathe.

Take a nap.

Eat a cookie.

Talk it out.

Breathe, just breathe.

Write it out.

Disconnect from technology.

Kiss a tree being.

Breathe, just breathe.

And please go choose some fucking joy.

And while we are at it: Own Your Happiness as my dear friend Jakefm writes about in his Nowism. Choose it too.

This is what I wrote to Jake:

I think sometimes we think feelings own us, that we’re like fish flopping in the feelings dinghy, floating to wherever they take us. When I learned I am not my emotions, I can control my destiny, my way, my choices — including choosing joy — instead of flopping around in the situational unhappy at that moment.

I became the ocean. I became the wind. I, too, became the fish.

I am all of it. (And so are you!)

I can choose to pick up a pen and write because that helps me. I can choose to sit in the sun for a few moments, and relish in the rays. I can choose to cry it out when I have feelings of sadness or anger. I can choose to walk away from a situation or person who is affecting my peace. I can choose compassion.

All of our feelings are there to give us direction, but we don’t have to follow them, we can feel through them.

We can take responsibility for our happiness, instead of placing that burden on another, or some entity not even on Earth.

Imagine if I said, dear alien in the Pleiades, please take away my sorrow. Maybe they can, who knows? Here I give away my power over my life. But I know a good walk in the fresh air, reaching out to a human being here on Earth sharing my feelings helps way more.

It’s not their responsibility to sooth my sadness, or to make me laugh. But knowing someone is there to care. Knowing I am the one who drives the way of my feelings. I am the one who can turn my day around. That has made all the difference in the world to me.

Thank you, Jake, for the inspiration.

Okay, will a person alter that behavior causing you harm, if you express how it is affecting your life, your well being?

Maybe. But it’ll be a giant NO if you’re over there in war with yourself, mute.

The ones who actually care about your peace, will, at the very least, reflect on themselves and go —

Okay, where might I be in the wrong here?

Where might I need to change?

Where am I in need of growth?

If everyone around you thinks you are a jerk, chances are you are acting like a jerky human.

Figure out why. Figure out what is stuck in your being that is causing your anger.

I feel anger is sadness, a lot of times. Unfelt sadness on steroids with a side of fear. Coming to the surface.

Where is your fear?

Insecurity usually comes from some fear. Plain as pie. False confidence, is also a huge, neon flashing light that someone is deeply insecure. In your face arrogance, having to tell everyone they are a great writer, or a great teacher, or a great mom — the greats don’t need to tell you they are great.

They just are.

And you know it through their actions.

Hollow words are convincing, sure. But some of us can see the facade of what you are desperately trying to push onto us. Behind that mask, you’re a bitch sometimes. You hurt other people because of your fears. You did hurt me. Take responsibility for the pain you’re causing others.

I mean, how many times do I need to hear someone is the greatest writer?

We know. You told us the last day that ends in day.

Am I getting brainwashed?

Is there some spell involved here?

Is this word hypnosis?

If you tell us every other piece you’re a fantastic writer, it’s really enough.

But do you lay your head on your pillow at night, and go I have been kind today? Or have you convinced yourself your actions of harm were justified?

If they say it enough does that mean they will believe in themselves?

I don’t fucking know.

I do know I’m not in competition with anyone about greatness, other than the person I was yesterday.

I am a constant work in progress. I have flaws up the wazoo and then back down again.

I get short when I’m pmsing. Well, I’m already short, but even shorter. Said the other day, wish they made a tea to counteract my bitch pot. Have to be extra aware when bitch pot Jenny tips her teapot.

Yeah, I cried into my pillow about stupid shit that didn’t even matter to this me now.

And I didn’t cry about stuff I really needed to cry into my pillow, or a shoulder about.

Now I am pausing and asking myself before getting into any reaction:

Is this worth my peace?

Will this affect the efforts, practice and energy I have put into my being, into my being peace, and is this action, is this reaction worth, not only my peace, but the peace of everyone around me who loves me?

Will this action return me to peace or take me further away from it?

If I’m ruminating about some random shit that has no solution in sight, is this worth my peace right now?

No, okay, fuck it.

I’ll go listen to my music and dance instead.

If someone else has come on over to my writings to troll along and be unkind, is this worth my peace right now?

No, fuck it.

I’ll reach out to a real, genuine human being I love.

If I have some kind of body pain that I rage against, is it worth my peace right now? No?

Okay, Fuck it.

I’ll give myself a hug.

Please remember, this doesn’t mean I’m going, “ah fuck it” and leaving mother sitting in a parking lot having drained her car battery because her lights were on. We went to go help her.

This doesn’t mean transform into a undesireable bellend, and go “fuck the world, I don’t care.” This means I’m not allowing this situation control my being of peace.

This means I care enough about myself to care enough about myself.

My being peace.

It means take a fucking beat, three beats before you go all out of wack, all out of balance about something that makes no fucking difference to your life now or in 42 years.

Your peace does matter. It matters to the whole world.

The person who cut you off in traffic.

Fuck it.

The self-proclaimed “famous” medium writer penning a piece about you, by name dragging you and your humans through the mud.

Fuck it.

Then watching your others you consider friends, not only defend them, but still interact with them on the daily. Why? Clout? Politeness?

That one still hurts. But it’s life.

People are going to be fucking mean, people are going to be so insecure about where they are in life. They will attempt to cut you to shreds.

Is it worth my peace?

People will do anything to protect what fragile self-esteem they have. And those people need compassion, but also to stay the fuck away from the people I love.

So, it’s a challenge to watch people I consider friends stay connected to a person that has hurt me in life, has hurt them, or will hurt them.

But this is life. Sometimes I just have to watch in peace.

And if you think someone who has done that to someone you care about, won’t do it to you in the right circumstances, just wait. Cross someone with that level of insecurity, in any way, and you will get it too. Vulnerability vultures.

While I’m at this really fucking long rant.

Can anyone explain why is it that if someone hurts someone you care about, you’re totally fine with being friends with said person?

Because they haven’t hurt you?

Would you want me to be friendly with someone who abused you? Or was cruel to you?

This one I still have issues with. But even talking about it with them, I’ve decided isn’t worth my peace. That’s their choice.

I’m one very loyal human being to the people I love. You mess with them, you mess with me. Not everyone is like that, I get it. Loyalty doesn’t have the same meaning to me as it does to some. And that’s okay.

Straight up, it’s your life, but if you think you’ll be spared the wrath of an insecure or abusive person because “you are the exception” I wish you luck that you don’t catch that person on a bad day, because past behavior is a great fucking predictor of future behavior.

Can people change?

Fuck yeah they can.

I’ve been a glad witness to seeing impressive change of many a humans.

Sciency, it’s called neuroplasticity. Lifewise, it’s called being a human being, who is capable of taking accountability for their actions. Instead of deflecting the blame, redirecting the issue and saying instead,

“You know what? I was wrong. You know what? I don’t know. You know what? I really need to work on that, I needed that calling out. I needed to see where I can expand and grow. I am so sorry I hurt you. I’ll show you in action it’s safe to be around me. I will do my best to protect you, even from myself. I will make my inner peace a top priority.”

Putting your pride away for the sake of your relationship with yourself, the other and for your peace!

I don’t want to stay little. I don’t want to ever have my voice swallowed by another person’s ego, or insecurity.

I don’t want to be punched in the head for speaking my mind.

I don’t want to be sexually abused because another human being cannot control their own selves.

You are responsible for your actions.

Yes, even the shitty ones. You can’t tuck them away. You cannot escape them, even with ostriches.

What a hard word to spell. Damn.

Oster?Ridge?

Really, it’s Ost-riches? The rich ost. Okay.

You are responsible for your feelings. Which means yes, you have to figure out what your feelings mean.

You are responsible for your triggers. Learn them. Know them.

You are responsible for your health.

You are responsible for your wellness.

Everyone else can certainly help you, but no one is responsible for your peace, happiness, sadness, no one. And to place that burden on another is unkind, it is discompassionate.

I can make someone happy- er. I can make someone feel less sad, maybe. Who knows. But that is not my job.

I don’t know exactly what makes you tick. Do you? I mean, really, what makes you feel deep joy, or deep sorrow?

Only you can figure that one out. Please do. For the rest of us out here living in your world.

I grew up thinking it was my responsibility to sooth my parents when they got into fights with one another.

I thought it was my responsibility to dance around, and be a jester to make them feel happy when they were depressed. I still think it’s my responsibility to ease my mother’s anxiety, or fear.

As G said today, “Listen, your mom has to work through her stuff. If she has fears, or anxiety she needs to handle them. You having anxiety about protecting your mom’s anxiety isn’t helping you.”

It isn’t. That’s a — fuck it.

Focus on my fears. Not the fear of someone else’s fears. Those fears are not mine to carry. Anxiety sure as hell does rub off on others.

So I’ll rub mine on myself ,and turn them into peace.

I got into shitty ex-relationships where, guess what, I did the same fucking thing. They weren’t happy, and a lot of the time I felt like I was failing, because I couldn’t get them out of their escapism, or their depression.

Not my fucking job.

“Retire your cape, Shorty” is what G says, “people who want, or are looking for your help will find you.”

It’s safe.

You’re safe.

Breathe, just breathe.

I still do have to tell myself.

I still have to tell myself: be the light, be peace, be love.

Because I too need that reminder. I still have to breathe through my adrenaline when I’m triggered by something, or have the bite to bite and win.

I am flawed. I am beautiful at this size, I do need to tell myself. I don’t have to starve myself to be a human.

I am vulnerable because I am strong in my way.

It still perplexes me that people think vulnerability is insecurity. Insecurity is having to tell people how wonderful you are, or how wonderful you are at something.

Security is knowing your worth. Knowing your talents. Knowing your gifts and not having to tell Tom, Dick and Harry how beautiful you are, or how talented you are behind your mask. The reality is you are beautiful, just as you are.

In fact the most talented and beautiful people still have insecurities.

Having insecurities does not make you weak.

Escaping your pain, not having the self-awareness to know we are all beautifully flawed leaves you open to a hellava lot more pain to come.

The only way out is through.

I now know my worth. So if you come at me, with some bullshit misunderstanding of who I am, I will say, I’m flawed. I have mad room for growth.

I am willing to hear anything kind you have to say to help me grow. But there are no words I haven’t been called before to cut me down.

I’ve heard the whole nasty, discompassionate dictionary to define me.

I know where I need work. I know where I still fuck up. But as for the things in my life, or people getting in the way of my goals with their fears — I say fuck it.

I’m taking back my energy from people’s bullshit.

I’m still learning the fuck it. I still get caught up in mud that disrupts my peace.

No mud, no lotus.

I will keep reminding myself to be the light.

But, I sure as fuck, don’t have to write how fucking worthy I am to be worthy.

I, sure as fuck, don’t have to change who I am, or what I do to suit someone else’s unresolved issues.

I’d have made for a crap therapist. Because I just want to shake people by the shoulders and go, why the fuck can’t you see how beautiful you are? Who the fuck made you believe this?

And how can I get in contact with them to kindly give them a peace of my mind?

Just kidding, I can be very straightforward, but I know I need to be gentle and graceful too.

I am learning.

But this is who I am. I am loving, I am tolerant. I am kind. I am trusting.

I have my limits though. I wouldn’t suggest testing my limits.

But if your actions are affecting another human being in a way that is causing them harm, I will not be quiet about what I think.

But some people you have to wish them on their merry way and send them compassion far far far away from you.

And that’s life.

Some people will never take the time to look at their pain, or accept responsibility for their actions.

The ego takes precedence.

Their egos are far more important than the damage they are doing to themselves and others.

Their peace doesn’t even fucking matter. Their power, their pride, their fragile human ego construct is far more important than anyone else’s feelings.

And to them, I wish them success in finding their worth, and finding their peace. Because that’s a really fucking hard path in life to take. Walking through thorns, to be seen, has got to be an incredibly painful way to live.

I feel pity, and empathy, and compassion for them. But knowing they don’t care enough to care enough about themselves — for all of those around them, and what their actions and reactions are doing to other people — it still grinds my gears.

And still I care about it.

So I write.

I may be an emotion filled human being. Yes, I was called Sara Burnheart (old timey French stage actress) as a child by my parents. And was told, “We didn’t have a choice in allowing you to feel your feelings, you just felt them all over the place, Sara Heartburn.”

But at least I know when I lay my head down to sleep — I don’t need to pray to any deity for peace.

Because I made the choices, on that day to say, I am worthy, I am going to highlight the joys of my day. I am going to be grateful for all that I have, and my place of aware privilege. I’m using that for peace, not just for me, for everyone.

I will stay hopeful, and also listen to my grounded human beings, far more realists than I.

But I know I will continue to be peace, even if I’m shaky in anger. I will continue to be peace, through the pain.

I will continue to write because it is one of my greatest loves. I will continue to make art. I will continue to put my self out there, at any size and know fat does not define my ability to be love, or be loved.

I will keep at this writing, no matter how short, or how long, or if it’s read or not read. Or if you think I’m this, that, or the other thing.

I know who I am.

I know who I love.

I know who genuinely loves me, and genuinely trust me for this being that I am.

And I know exactly what kind of writer I am.

Simply, I am a human named Jenny Lane.

Just over here writing my love letters to the world with all my fuck ups in view.

You’ve seen my face, you’ve seen my body, you’ve seen my heart in letters. You’ve seen my lows, you’ve seen my highs.

This is all of me. And if you have issues with any aspect of who I love myself to be, to that I say — that’s okay.

That’s life.

And also, I’ll be over here sitting in the sun, writing my heart out going —

Fuck it.

With radical love,

Jenny Lane 🌈💜

~namaste~

And if you made it through this whole piece, I love you! Thank you for getting into this rant with me. And thank you for sharing this time with me.

Finding peace for us all, is really important to me.

Enjoy your moments today. And if something ain’t worth your peace —

Fuck it.

🤟