Sometimes, “Fuck It” Isn’t Enough
Friends, readers, this post has been marinating for awhile but just recently crystallized for me due to an incident involving a terrible driver, my dog, and some good advice. If you are easily offended by the word “fuck,” you may want to skip this one.
A few weeks ago, on a quiet Sunday morning I was walking down the long driveway of my housing complex to go for a hike with my dog. A car approached from behind, and even though my pup was sniffing pleasantly in the middle of the road, the driver sped up, wheels screeching, rapidly towards him. Watching in slow-motion horror, I gasped as my dog moved just in the knick of time and was missed by a hair. Livid, I ran after this asshole, yelling (rather, screaming), “fuck you!”
It was my first profane outburst in Albania. I was pissed.
Several days ago, I recounted the story to a friend and veteran Expat because I was worried that perhaps I overstepped some boundary. While I felt, and still feel, totally justified for my explosive obscenity at that driver (he intentionally sped up to nearly kill my dog), Tirana is a small town and I wanted to know whether stories about a crass American woman were making the rounds among idle tongues.
Her response was incredible. “Good for you!” she said. “Sometimes, saying ‘fuck it,’ isn’t enough.”
I was shocked, expecting some sort of admonishment (we are frequently reminded of our representational status, to the point that it feels like we are supposed to be plastic human beings). But, I knew exactly what she meant, was so heartened to hear her say it, and right then and there knew we’d be friends for a long time.
Life as an Expat is challenging. Some seek it out, some have no choice, and some (like I) are trying it for the sake of those we love. Regardless how one comes to be an Expat, I think it is safe to say we all generally have to learn to cope with life differently than we did while at home — particularly when living in a developing corner of the world. There are certain inconveniences of life, some more significant than others, that one can, and should, simply shrug off. There is also a new filter one learns to adopt, and quite a few things that I would have said at home I either couch differently or swallow all together. This, is what I’ve come to think of as, “fuck it” therapy.
For instance, why should I get fired up every time the power goes out? It happens ALL THE TIME. And, who would I complain to anyway? Fuck it. We’ve got candles, a nice fireplace, and countless flashlights.
When my youngest decided he would only eat applesauce, but the biggest grocery store in Tirana failed to stock it for weeks, well — listening to his whining was not ideal, but fuck it. He learned to love oranges.
Coming home from our Pompeii trip, the ferry line unilaterally moved up its departure by 12 hours and there was no way we were going to get to port in time. I could have pitched a fit. We were stuck in the middle of Southern Italy without a hotel or clean clothes, and missing more school and work than we intended, but fuck it. It worked out in the end.
The washer, dryer, and dishwasher have died approximately ten times in the last three months. Even the replacements that the Embassy have provided as temporary fixes have died after only one or two cycles. It is not cool when one is potty training a child. I’m sure the maintenance folks are tired of hearing from me, but I try to be polite, if persistent, and we’ve learned to do countless washings by hand. So fuck it.
My personal favorite — I went to have my eyebrows waxed before the Marine Corp Ball, and the woman took off literally the last quarter of one of my brows entirely. No joke. Shocked and speechless with a black tie event to attend, I took a deep breath, swallowed my impulse to freak out, and decided to part my hair on the other side for the Ball…and the next several weeks. (This example provoked more of a “what the fuck?” than a fuck it.)
These are examples of the daily inconveniences that I would have never (or rarely) had to deal with at home. Truthfully, learning to let go of some of these “first world problems” — as many Expats refer to them — has been somewhat liberating.
However, when someone threatens my well-being, or the well-being of those that I love — including my dog — my response is much stronger than silently shrugging it off. As my friend recently reminded me, in these circumstances giving voice to that reaction is warranted and necessary.
Now, I do not want to create the impression that I am going to start dropping f-bombs at everyone who crosses me. But, I am no longer going to let my status as an Expat compromise my voice. Silence is a recipe for apathy, inner turmoil, and disengagement with oneself. I know, because it has happened to me during earlier times of my career. I have also seen the scourge of silence wreck others, ruin workplaces, and deteriorate organizations.
Being able to communicate openly with those weaving in and out of your lives is critical. The health of personal and professional relationships depends upon everyone involved having a voice and feeling engaged and respected for using it. We all know this. But, it takes courage to act on it and sometimes a friend to remind you to do it.
Quite honestly, this lesson applies to all of us. Now, I’m not advocating that everyone run down the road yelling “fuck you” each time you have a near miss with a crazy driver. What I am encouraging, however, is that before shrugging off the next transgression you face with a simple “fuck it”, stop and consider whether your well-being is at risk. If so, might you improve yourself and the relationship if you give voice to the values that are being pinched inside by remaining silent?
Do not fear conflict — argument does not have to be negative. It can be accomplished in a healthy and productive way. Do not let a bully (in any form) kill your spirit — you are entitled to your opinion, have a right to express yourself, and others will benefit from your leadership.
It’s a new year. Speak out. Feel good. I certainly will.
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