People often ask me, “Cameron, how come you’re so goddamn wise?” Like, I mean all the time. I can’t walk down the street without someone yelling it out. Well, I’ll tell the secret. I’m old as fuck. I’ve had 40 years to accumulate wisdom. Or knowledge? Which one do you accumulate and which one is just in you? I don’t know. And at 40, I don’t care. And that’s the key takeaway here. I don’t care as much as I used to. And by care, I mean worry. I care more than ever about the things I care about. I love my wife, friends, jobs, students, home, family, self, parks, food, laughs, facebook friends, books, etc.
Here’s what I don’t care about: That my body isn’t perfect. That I’m not making millions. That I’m not famous. That I haven’t achieved everything I wanted to achieve. That I’m still in my pyjamas. That I spell pyjamas wrong apparently. That I have grey hair. In my beard, too. That I can’t grow a beard. That I don’t know what I’m doing or even what I’m supposed to be doing. That I haven’t written that book, or TED talk, or more posts. That I’m 40.
I remember as a kid thinking 40 is like almost dead. And now that I’m 40, I realize I’m like super close to being dead. But at 40, I don’t care.
Some part of me didn’t want to announce the age because I was worried that people would see me in a different way. That they’d be like: “I didn’t know you were that old.” “Oh, is that why you only stay out for ‘one drink?’” “Aren’t you a little too old to be running around playing zombie tag?” “I thought you were way older!” “Why don’t you sit out this game so you don’t die.”
But now I realize, at 40, I don’t care.
So, as a gift to me on my birthday, take a moment to not care about all the things that you think are wrong with you, and all the things that you think you have to do, and all the things that keep you from loving yourself as you are, and focus instead on loving me.