I’m going through a metamorphosis right now that is surprising to those who know me best. I really don’t care about a lot of things that would typically drive me mad. I attribute it to turning 30-something, although it could just have more to do with my life experiences thus far.
The 23 year old Malaka and 33 year old Malaka are two completely different people. 23 year old Malaka was crushed if she thought someone didn’t like her. The 23 year old Malaka would give pause and much consideration to the thoughts and opinions of others. Their input really meant a lot. 23 year old Malaka was very eager to please. That’s how 25 year old Malaka ended up having a baby with an absolute idiot…because she was trying to make HIM happy and prove how “down” I was. #alwaysuseacondom and #neverlenda”grown”manmoney
33 year old Malaka on the other had, does not feel like she’s done her job unless you walk away from a conversation with her unoffended. 33 year old Malaka doesn’t give 2 shytes either way about your thoughts or opinions unless your name is Marshall Grant, husband to 33 year old Malaka. The only person I’m trying to please at this point is myself (after God, of course). Let’s take Douche Bag, for example. Last night, his car wouldn’t start. He was supposed to meet me halfway to bring Nadjah back home from her visit. He called me to inform me of the calamity that had befallen him, and asked (nervously) if I could come get her from his house.
“Sure,” I said, and left it at that.
When I got to his house, he offered me food, asked me to come in and was making extensive attempts at being hospitable. I declined, asked Nadjah to get her shoes on and prepared to leave. I had just spent all night on my feet at work.
“I was sure you were going to give me all kinds of lip for not being able to bring her,” he kept saying.
“I’m too tired,” I said dismissively.
Was I aggravated that I had to drive 45 minutes out of my way to go get my child? Absolutely. But in the grand scheme of things, it really didn’t matter – I had to go get my child, and I haven’t looked at Douche Bag as playing a father role in her life in years. He’s just some dude a woman in a black robe said I have to let Nadjah spend time with twice a month. Some things just aren’t worth getting upset over, and I wasn’t about to give myself a headache.
There is yet another example from yesterevening. We have this new idiot manager at our store. As I was leaving last night, she said she had to walk me out and check me before I left. Typically, the manager only has to walk you out if you have a coat, purse or a bag on you, to make sure you haven’t “borrowed” anything from the store.
She was talking to me from the back office.
“I only have my keys on me tonight,” I called.
“I know, but I still have to check you out,” she chirped. “It’s not on me if you leave without being checked out. You’ll get written up if they do a video audit, so it’s on you.”
“I don’t care Becky (not her real name),” I said wearily.
“Yes you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes,” she said emphatically, “you do.”
“No,” I said flatly. “I don’t.”
Why is she trying to force me to care? Aba! If DSW wants to fire me or write me up because I left the store at the end of my shift with only my keys in my hand, then so be it. As long as they pay me at the end of the week for my hours worked I’m fine. I’m not trying to make a career out of sellin’ shoes.
Speaking of careers, let’s talk about this crazy job I’m on. It’s nice, and it pays the bills – but it’s really JUST A JOB. I’m not trying to have a twenty year tenure with these cats…and unfortunately, they don’t seem to realize that. They keep dangling job security and longevity in front of me, with the not-so-subtle-nuance that if I don’t straighten up and do their bidding precisely as they’ve commanded, I’ll be out of the door and jobless. There is nothing more that I’d like to do than throw a “nigga puh-leeze” at my manager. (Not the English one. He’s cool.)
After everything that God has brought me through, do you think I’m going to stress out over a JOB? Where if you died this week, they’d kick your body out of the chair and put a new one in it? Remember the lady who died in Cali last month…who sat in her cube dead for a whole weekend without anyone noticing? Not this chick. I’m not killing myself for the benefit of anyone’s corporate cotton farm.
The point that I’ve reached in my life is one without ambition. I’ll probably never get to do all the things I wanted to do in my youth – like become a famous actress or achieve great fame and be renowned the world over. But there are some things that I will do that I probably never thought possible or plausible. I’ve got my healthy husband, my healthy kids, and my writing. I’ve got far too much to look forward to in the future than to worry about the things that didn’t happen when I’d hoped for them to in the past.
Outside of those three things, I really couldn’t care less.