The Older I Get, the Less Interested I Am in Pretending Not to Care

Still beside me.

My tolerance for performed nonchalance is decreasing. Allow me to explain.

I look back to my younger years, and think about what mattered to me, what I would speak up for, what I would tolerate, what I would walk away from… and I’ve noticed something about myself as I get older.

In my youth, I did what a lot of people do. I “got along to get along”. I played it cool instead of acting excited. I choked back emotion rather than freely expressing when something touched my heart. I focused on reflecting the temperature of the room when it came to subjects that were important to me, instead of expressing my own temperature. To me, it felt safer to fall in with the fold. Now, one could argue that to mirror others is a basic technique of rapport building. That is true, sure. But back in the day, it was the tool in my tool box that I used the most, and often by default.

I realized as I got older that there were times I either didn’t agree with what I was going along with, or worse, was unsure how to feel. It was in the moments of being unsure of my emotions or opinions that I was disturbed to find that I was looking for social cues to tell me what was acceptable. Once I finally realized that, I began checking in with myself, and decided I only wanted to carry beliefs and feelings that genuinely felt like mine. I began to feel empowered. Discerning. Wiser. More myself.

This is a long road. I mean ‘loooooooooooonnnnnngggg’ — decades! It took me a long time to see the difference between social constructs and my true stance. I finally began listening to my heart about the world around me, and how I choose to act, move, and express myself. 

One of the clearest examples of this in my own life has been grief. Processing grief can be a very individual experience. There’s really no wrong way to do it… even though there are opinions, aren’t there?

Cinder

My “heart dog”, and my familiar, a beautiful black German Shepherd with silver feet and a mean side-eye game, crossed the Rainbow Bridge two years ago today. She was 14, a dignified old age for a Shepherd. Some believe the loss of an animal doesn’t warrant the same depth of grief as the loss of a human. I’ve heard this said to or about me. But this girl was so much more than “an animal”. She was my protector, my companion, a friend in the truest definition, and the source of inspiration and energy for some of my spiritual practice.

It’s been two years. Some would say that it’s been long enough. I should be over it by now. We should move on. “It’s just a dog.” But grief doesn’t care what other people think is reasonable. I still miss her!

The pain has dulled, sure, but it hasn’t left me yet. And I still carry the love we shared, the memories of a household made complete by her sass, shiny coat, velvet ears, and plush hedgehog squeak toys (“hedgies” all over the house!). Oh — and a ridiculous amount of pictures. She was photogenic as all get out.

I did something last year that some might think is weird. But to me, it made sense. I took her ink paw print and got it tattooed on my shoulder with her name. It keeps her beside me. It honors the lovely soul she was, and gives her a permanent place in my life.

Some love stays with us.

Maybe tattoos aren’t for everyone. But I don’t get mine on a whim. For me, Cinder earned her place indelibly — on my shoulder and in my heart. And it felt right.

The older I get, the less interested I am in pretending not to care about the things that genuinely matter to me. Love leaves marks. Grief does too. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with letting them show.

It’s ok to wear your heart (or paw print) on your sleeve.