What, me worry?

“One of the nice things about being FOF is not having to worry about what people think of you,” an FOF friend said the other day.

My friend’s statement gave me pause for thought. I actually never worried what people thought of ME.  I worried what my bosses thought of the job I was doing; I worried about what a boy would think of my outfit when I went on a date; I worried whether my dinner guests liked my hollandaise; I worried whether my professor would be impressed with my presentation; I worried whether my friends would like my husband.

I never worried whether people liked my personality, which is the essence of me. I didn’t worry whether they thought I had too much chutzpah, whether I asked too many questions, whether I was too demanding, lively, or even too morose occasionally. I know plenty of people didn’t like my behavior at times, and maybe I should have “worried” about their reactions, but I didn’t.  They got the good with the bad. I realize this was probably a cavalier attitude to have had, but have it I did.

Now I’m more sensitive generally, so I do take into account what others think about ME, but I don’t ever worry about it. I don’t worry about much, as a matter of fact. It doesn’t accomplish a thing.  Not one single thing.







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