When I was a kid, my primary school brought in a ridiculous rule that all pupils had to have two sets of school shoes, one for indoors and one for outdoors.
The next few weeks were shoe-carnage. Not only were the parents absolutely livid because they had to buy two sets of shoes, but at least half of the younger kids couldn’t work out which set of shoes they were meant to be wearing. 30% of the class were wearing their indoor shoes outdoors, 60% were wearing odd shoes… and 10% just absolutely panicked and refused to wear shoes at all.
After a few weeks, instead of just scrapping the rule altogether, the Headteacher decided that the only way to solve what will forever be known as ‘the great shoe-crisis of ’93′, was to insist that one pair of shoes was black and the other was brown.
Naturally, by this point, parents were kicking off left right and centre because now they not only had to buy a third pair of fucking shoes, they had to desperately try to find somewhere that sold brown shoes for five-year-olds. This, evidently, is absolutely nowhere, because there isn’t really a market for brown shoes for little girls. They don’t fucking like them.
A week or so later I remember being sat in class, looking at my hideous brown-ish shoes, when I slowly realised that I was the only one wearing them.
I panicked. How could I be wearing the wrong shoes? At five-years-old this was by far the most distressing thing that had happened to me since my dog ate the ‘puppy-in-my-pocket’ I was minding for a friend.
Luckily I handled it like a pro; I burst into tears, ran out of the class and locked myself in a toilet. It took the teaching assistant ten minutes and the promise that no one would mention my shoes ever again to coax me out.
Now, the reason I’m telling you this story for three reasons:
1) I just remembered it yesterday and I wanted to tell people how ridiculous it is to make parents buy their kids THREE sets of school shoes
2) It’s padded the post out a bit, hasn’t it?
3) That was the earliest memory I have of thinking that it’d be better if I didn’t really care about stuff so much.
Which brings me on to the actual point of this post; there seems to be a trend these days that it’s better not to really care about anything. That it’s somehow cooler not to give a shit about stuff.
So I want to take this opportunity to say how fucking daft that is.
Do you know what I think is cool? People who let themselves feel stuff; who see the world as the beautiful, terrifying, awful, amazing and magical place it is.
They’re the people who I want to surround myself with. The people who make you look at the world differently, who get so passionate about what they believe in that it’s contagious. Who are willing to take risks and grab every opportunity that comes their way.
People who don’t shut their emotions down; who let themselves be vulnerable, scared, hopeful.
Who don’t have time to bitch about people or judge what others are doing, because they’re too busy dreaming, thinking and doing stuff themselves.
Not the people who don’t care about anything – those people are kind of dicks.
Until next time… x