I don't care.

There are lots of things that I don't care about any more. Things that I used to, at least mildly, care about, and recently realized that I just don't anymore. And kinda don't want to care about. Things like being knowledgeable, seeming intelligent, being described as "well read" or "articulate". Talking about interesting things for the sake of talking about interesting things. Being interesting. Anything related to how others perceive me, I guess. Fitting anyone else's definition of cool or popular or entertaining or witty or great. I don't care. Maybe it's age? Maturity? It's not that I want to be lame or boring - I just don't care anymore if that's what I am to somebody else. It seems as of late all I care about being is my own definition of a good person. It's kind of nice to have that one simple thing as a guide to being me instead of all those other things that people want me, and everyone, to be. Each person wants everyone else to fall into some sort of category they've created in their head. We make up our own definition of cool, of interesting, of boring and then apply that definition to everyone we meet. The thing that has always kinda bothered me about me is that I try to match everyone else's definition of cool as I get to know them. I lose track of my own definition. At least I used to. And now I just don't care. Everyone at the dinner table might be talking about ___________ and how great of a book/movie/tv show/animal/place/thing it is and I'm kinda suddenly totally okay with having absolutely nothing to say. Three or four or even two years ago, that would not have been the case.

This is all I care about:
Finding the positive in every person/place/thing and letting that be their defining feature. Shrugging off the negative, as much as possible. Interacting with the understanding that everyone is full of dreams and despair at the same time - including me, including you, including the people that nobody likes - regardless of the face each of us tries to show to the world. Loving and fearing and respecting the fact that each person, each brain, is a complex, convoluted world of its own and I'm never really going to understand anyone else. And no one is ever going to really understand me. And remembering that it's all going to be okay, in the end. Because lots of stuff matters to each individual person, but nothing really does actually matter. To everything. To most things. In the entire history of time, in the entire expanse of the universe, not one single thing that happens in anyone's life matters. At all. I find that comforting, somehow.