50 FUCKS #50: Give a Fuck
If we're going to hell in a handbasket, remember to pack your fucks
The simplest and final Fuck of the project—just give a fuck. To keep your sanity and humanity in tact, hold on for dear life to the fucks you really believe in. At least, that’s my theory of survival in our world, which by all rational measurements has gone absofuckinglutely bonkers.
A big Thank You to followers who’ve been around since the beginning of this project, and to new subscribers.
Defined
courage, responsibility, humanity
In a sentence
Keep giving a fuck.
Give a fuck even when no one is looking.
The origin of not giving a fuck in written form dates back to a 1790 poem, making this one of the oldest fuck variations, with Motherfucker holding the ancient title.
“The Discontented Student” by St. George Tucker is a poem about a man lamenting his dissatisfaction with the realities of life and marriage, longing for his college days of burying his head in the fantastical stories within books. The poem ends with judgment from the man’s father, who curses his son’s books, and concludes:
"I'd not give a fuck for all you've read."
This makes me think of a quote Jon has on his Facebook. He left many fitting quotes, carefully crafted, as were his last weeks and days, and the final letters that he wrote. (For those just joining, the suicide of a longtime friend in 2021 sparked the creation of this project, as a means to connect during grief and enjoy the power of FUCK as philosophical medicine.)
"Beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before. He is full of murderous resentment of people who are ignorant without having come by their ignorance the hard way."
Bokonon, Cat's Cradle
Jon and I shared a love for the sweet and salty satire of Kurt Vonnegut, and it’s no surprise that a quote from his work made Jon’s final bio edit. In Cat’s Cradle, Vonnegut spotlights the absurd and destructive fanaticism often found in belief without critical thinking. The Bokonon character creates a fictional religion rooted in nihilism, encouraging followers to live by “harmless untruths,” which compliments the thoughtless advancement of the technology around them that ultimately destroys the world.
Both the poem and the book quote highlight the importance of discernment in our lives. The ability to grasp the nuance of obscurity and to read between the lines of reality. I believe this speaks to the tone of our current times, as we watch the world burn and debate what is true, and what is real; none of which can be found in a life buried by “harmless” untruths or comforting lies.
What good is acquiring knowledge if we don’t apply it? What good is appreciating the beauty of written words, and the worlds they can open in our mind, if we desecrate the world we live in?
Why bother giving a fuck at all if humans are, as history and present time demonstrates, hellbent on mutual assured destruction of one variety or another?
You can lead a horse to 50 Fucks, but you can’t make the horse give a fuck
Jon was a very discerning person. Exceptionally clever, not only in book smarts, but also the ways of the world, he was the type of friend you could trust to always give practical advice. He was a good listener with great empathy, qualities that are easier to apply to others than they are to ourselves.
A natural problem solver, his solutions were rational and sincere, delivered with the sharpest wit you’ve likely ever encountered. And if you were lucky, you enjoyed the pleasure of his gallows humor, which knew no bounds.
It is my sincere belief that because Jon had an appetite for endless learning and an innate passion for the application of new knowledge, he struggled so deeply and quietly on the inside. The world is not made for people like Jon, and I know that he tried to stay in this world for as long as he could bear.
The living conditions in the United States and modern U.S. business culture is based on status quo—not learning from mistakes or applying comprehensive new knowledge. America runs on a culture of indifference and apathy toward problem solving. The Covid pandemic made that clear, as the value of life plummeted and, along with the dead bodies, many buried themselves in obvious and harmful untruths.
Over a million dead and the nation barley blinked. Worse, we’ve cut healthcare since the pandemic began, done away with necessary resources to alleviate suffering and mitigate unnecessary deaths. We now know with certainty that, by and large, our elected officials don’t care if we die.
People in enough pain and suffering to end their lives do not bode well in times like these. Which is why so many people are experiencing epic levels of uncertainty and despair about the future. More than 30% of our the country is depressed, and the U.S. surgeon general calls mental health the “defining health crisis of our time.”
The suicide rate in our country rises every year, and yet, we hardly hear much about it. We hear even less during election season, when depression and despair appear to be the highest, because look at our “choices.” I describe the current presidential election as a hostage situation, led by two geriatric, genocidal dinosaurs. You may not share that particular sentiment, but it’s likely that you agree our choices aren’t much of a choice at all.
While being held politically hostage, we’re simultaneously trying to dodge mass layoffs, juggle manufactured inflation, higher student loans than before the pandemic, and the highest credit card and medical debt ever to exist in the country’s history.
Half of us can’t afford the cost of housing, and nearly half are skirting or below the actual poverty line, which hasn’t been adjusted for proper calculation since the 1970s. Covid infections remain a mass disabling event, and none of the major party candidates are giving us national healthcare anytime soon.
Many of the deaths in the U.S. since 2020 could have been prevented if we had a functioning health services system. It’s true that Jon had good access to healthcare and a decent income, but that doesn’t translate to adequate, comprehensive care and treatment. Only the wealthy class receive excellent care. The rest of us are stuck between overburdened and subpar professionals, with waiting periods plenty of people know they won’t survive to see. Our life expectancy continues to fall behind other Western nations, and is lower than it’s been in 20 years.
Covid and suicide deaths, in particular, could easily be cut in half if our leaders gave a fuck enough about the collective value of life. It isn’t rocket science to keep people alive, all that is required is problem-solving rooted in humanity and discernment.
All our leaders have to do is care; they do not. Elected officials, from top to bottom, are hemorrhaging federal and state money away from programs that keep us alive, while sending hundreds of billions in tax dollars to fund death and destruction overseas. The reality is the U.S. is so removed from humanity, it is as if the notion doesn’t even exist.
Is it any wonder that good people don’t want to live through this?
Are you alive?
You may qualify for hundreds of dollars in compensation.
My brain recently misread one of those consumer lawsuit ads that way, and I thought—Yes, I’m alive. And yes, there really ought to be compensation for existing.
Fucks discarded
When I started this newsletter, I was persuading my sanity to stay intact during immense grief and personal turmoil. An attempt at selling myself the idea that the present is only temporary and the future can be better, if only we hang on long enough for things to change.
I was also trying to persuade you, dear readers, that if we just keep giving a fuck, if we keep looking at the world as it is and engaging authentically, that maybe we can reach a better tomorrow. But, the world is not better than when this project began.
The world is fucked up, and it keeps getting worse.
I’ve given up on the concept of persuading people to give a fuck. It’s not because I don’t believe things can get better, because they always can, but things can also get a lot worse before better has a fighting chance. I no longer believe that humanity can be persuaded into people. I’ve come to realize that my time is best spent on people who already give a fuck.
Persuasion is a losing game in times of upheaval and mass propaganda, particularly in the U.S. during a presidential election year. Even my best copywriting abilities can’t begin to compete with the waves of misinformation, algorithmic bias, and geopolitical bile hitting all of us, over and over—through our phones, our computers, workplaces, and in our conversations with each other.
The evils of history don’t live on the pages of dusty books, because history is now, it is happening. Mass persuasion and manipulation is why otherwise rational and thoughtful people put their head in the sand, desperately piling grain after grain on top of their uncomfortable feelings, burying their humanity.
If I learned anything from this project, it’s that humanity is the one fuck I’ll forever give, but it is not my calling to persuade others to feel the same. People will or they will not care, regardless of my actions. Accepting that reality frees up a lot of time and energy to put toward more important things in life, like staying alive.
Over the last several months, my physical health has begun to deteriorate, one of the curses of living with incurable illness. Once again, I must start the path to surgery, because next to the grief and joy I carry inside, other things keep growing that shouldn’t be there.
Everything wrong with our country is making access to treatment more difficult than it should be. I’m fortunate to have Medicaid coverage at all, as most of the South does not make it readily available—in fact, Louisiana and West Virginia are the only two states in the South where I’m eligible. A sad and sobering reality of how little my life is worth down here, to say nothing of the laws harming my healthcare as a woman.
These days, I hold my fuck for humanity close and apply it selectively, with great care.
Fucks to fill my handbasket
Shortly before the 3rd Annual JJP Memorial Day in February, aka Jon’s 35th birthday, he popped up in a dream. We were walking together through the center of a large, sunny atrium. There were other nondescript people who milled around, no one of note, save for one guy that we judged for doing something obnoxious in public (which we did a lot of in real life.)
All I remember is that we shared a brief banter and stroll, and then parted toward different hallways. Nothing was out of the ordinary, which seems strange for a dream.
What’s unique is that when I woke up, it felt like I had just walked next to my friend. The culmination of all the Jon memories in my brain created a deep sensation of familiarity and calmness, as if he was recently nearby.
This sensation upon wakening made me keenly aware of the ever-present and delicate balance of grief and joy. Such a wonderful feeling is in equal parts a jarring reminder of a tragic loss, one which I believe may have been preventable if we lived in a better world. I would imagine that’s true for many, if not most, suicide deaths.
We don’t live in that better world, but we do still dream of it. It is a lovely thing that I can still remember how it felt to walk beside Jon, sharing a simple moment.
The meaning and beauty that ordinary slivers of time offer, in our dreams and in reality, is sometimes all that we can truly hold onto. Maybe that’s the compensation for existing.
Unless someone like you gives a fuck an awful lot, nothing is going to get better.
It’s not.
I always wanted to end this project on a sincere note, and hope has been elusive for me in the past few years. Finding little pieces of hope here and there isn’t hard, if you try, but sincerely holding onto hope, well, that’s the real challenge. And if you’re feeling hopeless, the mere thought of better comes with a bitter kick.
At this very moment, I have every reason not to believe in a better world, but I do. Even times of great despair and destruction churn out new hope. I believe just giving a fuck is how we keep that hope going.
Not perfect hope.
Not Insta-filtered or TikTok fast,
not Facebook snarky,
or the lost humanity of Twitter.
Not a goddamn brand,
not self-help viral,
not AI generated.
Raw, instinctual, collective, survival,
Hope.
Giving a Fuck,
Hope.
I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this little project. And I hope that you are someone who gives a fuck, and will continue to give a fuck.
If you’re not, IDGAF.
I’ll close with one of my favorite messages from Jon—a reminder that even though I will forevermore watch Heathers without him, he’s still around when I hum, whatever will be, will be.
