F*ck being famous.
Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be famous.
I wanted people to like me. I wanted to be popular. I wanted to have the most friends.
It was never enough. I longed for attention. I wanted to be recognized. I needed to be appreciated.
In high school, it meant being the class clown. In college, it meant getting on stage and making videos. When I traveled, it meant making travel videos about how cool I was.
I wanted laughs. I wanted YouTube views. I wanted to go viral. I wanted to be viral.
I wanted people to appreciate my talents. I wanted sexy girls to come up to me on the street on a Tuesday afternoon and say, “OMG it’s Jeremy! Can we go back to your place?”
I wanted to be a “somebody”.
Fast forward to 2015, where the fame I always wanted started to trickle in. Though it wasn’t exactly the fame I had dreamt of. Not even close.
It wasn’t just on the internet, but on the other side of the world, in Vietnam.
I went on a few Vietnamese TV shows. Thousands of teenagers friended me on Facebook. I was a part of a YouTube clip that got over 1,000,000 views. People recognized me on the streets, at restaurants, and at the barber shop.
It was cool for the first week. Okay, the first month.
It was fun. People messaged me giving me all sorts of compliments. People wanted to talk to me because “I was someone.”
But now I don’t give a shit.
Up until a year ago, if you asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d respond, “famous.”
Now that I have the “fame” that I used to crave, I don’t care about it.
Funny how that works. In life, when we want something, it often seems so out of reach. Then, by the time we get it, we don’t care about it anymore. That’s how I feel about fame.
Why don’t I give a f*ck about being famous?
I don’t care about what people think about me, nor do I want to care. I used to think I didn’t care, but I did. I’d do whatever it was I wanted. I’d ignore the haters, fail in public, take my off shirt for fun, and just “do me”. But I still cared.
I read the comments of my YouTube videos. I stood on stage and looked into the crowd for approval. I cared.
Even if I told myself, “f*ck the haters,” I still cared about them. At least enough to acknowledge them and fight back mentally. They still influenced my thoughts and my actions.
I thought I didn’t care, but I absolutely cared. I cared about the people who had positive things to say about me. I listened to my fans and supporters, and I cared about what they thought. I used them as motivation and inspiration to keep going. I’m still grateful for them to this very day.
Then I realized, if I care enough to respond positively to a compliment, don’t I also care enough to respond negatively to an insult?
Either I condition myself to respond to insults and compliments or I don’t. There’s no “selective-give-a-shit” button. Either I care or I don’t. I’m affected or I’m not.
I used to perform music to impress other people. I used to perform stand-up comedy to prove that I was funny. I used to make videos so people would think I’m cool. I used to post on social media to get 100 likes.
Now that I’ve made a name for myself and have my own TV show in Vietnam, I don’t even care about that anymore.
I care about experiences. I care about friends and family. I care about travel. I care about personal progress. I care about being honest.
I’m done seeking approval. I don’t love my haters, nor do I don’t hate my supporters. I don’t mind either.
I’ve got enough going on in my head as it is, I don’t have time to worry about what’s going on inside of yours.
So, where does that leave me?
Indifferent. I’m indifferent to how people think about me. At least I want to be.
Getting famous has made me realize what’s truly important in life.
It’s not money, fame, or the approval of others. It’s the journey.
The journey is the destination.
P.S. I’m writing a book called, “F*ck Being Famous”. It’s about how to appreciate the journey as I share my story getting famous in Vietnam (hint: it didn’t solve my problems).
If you want to get a FREE copy when it’s out: Click here.