The other day I dropped a chocolate covered espresso bean underneath the couch.
I hate it when that happens.
I got on my knees with a fistful of chocolate in one hand, and bent over to snuff out where this lone bean landed in the dark world that is underneath the couch. I eventually found it and reached for it, grabbing the bean with one decisive swoop and retrieving the candy accompanied with some dust.
Gross.
After throwing the bean out I had one mildly dusty hand and one candy hand.
I looked at both hands, just said “fuck it,” wiped the dust off on my pants and fed myself the candy with the dirty hand and you know what? I’ll live.
That’s right. . . I will actually survive. The best part is I got to eat my chocolate pieces the way I like to eat them. Picking them up from the palm of my hand with my fingers. One by one, savoring each bite.
Now I could have come up with some clever way around eating my chocolates without the dirty hand. Maybe I could have done the ole’ shaking the candy like dice, then throwing them in my mouth maneuver. Perhaps even putting the candy down and washing both of my hands and starting over trick. Sometimes I’ll even lick my tongue out and grab the pieces like a lizard to amuse myself. All of those would have served the same purpose I guess. All of those would have been just as good or better but it was something about that “fuck it” that felt so. . . free.
I felt like I just did what I wanted, with no reasoning, careful consideration or hesitation. Just realizing that yeah, this may not be the most civilized way, but I just don’t want to do it the right way. I want my chocolates the way I want them and I’m just gonna go for it right here and right now. Who says the right way is right anyways?
Then I started thinking more about the fuck-its.
The fuck-its: those small wins we come across every day. And they’re not the lucky wins we get when we just make the green light; they’re the ones we get when we just go for it. It’s the “fuck it I’m going” at the yellow light, the courage to put something in your mouth with dirty hands, or eating that slice of pizza that’s been calling your name all day.
It’s that dream you’ve been sitting on your entire life. The fuck-its are the the only way your dreams come true after all.
You just get up. Tired, frustrated, afraid, helpless and blind. When it’s been weighing heavy on your heart too long and you can’t take the pressure anymore. Just say “fuck it” and go for it.
Dirty hands and all.