My Resolution: Care (a little) less

A Belated New Year’s Toast

“zzzzip-THUD”

“Strike three you’re out!”

I, at 12 years old, probably held the record for the most strikeouts in all South Jersey.

As a batter that is.

I started the year at the top of the order. I was a big kid, and had decent form at the plate. When it was practice, I did a decent job hitting doubles and triples.

But to quote the great philosopher Allen Iverson, “we ain’t talking about practice.”

We were talking about the game, and I was very bad at the game.

I was striking out, because I was just standing there. Staring at each pitch fly by.

“Wait for your pitch that’s right!” Was what the beer-bellied assistant coach would yell.

So, I waited.

And I waited again.

And then I waited some more.

“Strike 3, you’re out.”

That same little boy, the one at the bottom of the order, grew up to be a man.

And, even though I no longer play baseball, for a while I was still striking out — for the same reason I used to stand and stare at those pitches.

I care too much.

I know I know, that sounds like an empty platitude you would say in an interview to dodge talking about your weaknesses — but I’m serious.

I stood there at that plate, because I knew if I didn’t swing I had a decent chance of getting walked. I was nervous to swing, miss, and disappoint the team.

It was easier to stand and stare.

I cared way too much about letting people down. About letting my parents down. The coaches down. The players down.

I was stuck in analysis paralysis.

So, I didn’t swing.

My struggles in life and ministry have come from this same cycle:

1. I care way too much about something.

2. I ruminate about and overthink it.

3. The standard of success becomes inaccessible, making all attempts useless.

4. This makes me more likely to fail in some way; and if I do, that only contributes to my sense of “high stakes.”

But recently I broke out of the cycle.

Something clicked for me in my job search process.

I was working myself like crazy to prepare for interviews, only to bomb. It was so disheartening, I felt the pressure to provide and yet couldn’t perform when it was my time to shine.

I felt like a 12 year old again, frozen at the plate.

One day, I sent an email to a hiring manager. I thought there was no way he would answer, so I just sent two sentences. It was something like:

“Hey do you have 10 minutes to chat about your open position? I think I would be a good fit.”

One phone call later: I had the job.

It wasn’t an interview, just a chat.

It wasn’t an application, just a question.

And I got the job.

The primary factor was: I didn’t care. I didn’t think they would hire me. I didn’t think they were interested. And so I was relaxed and at ease, there was nothing to lose, why not just go for it?

I swung.

When I see others dealing with this same problem I know exactly what to tell them

“Care about 15% less.”

Works every time.

Something about the freedom to care just a little less, makes people more relaxed and clearheaded, improving our ability to handle the situation more dispassionately.

And that’s why caring less is changing my life.

I started writing these articles because I cared less.

When I first started writing, I would read about 800-1000 pages in preparation for an article. I would pour over it for hours, only to find a few people took the time to read it.

The stakes were too high, and the payoff was too low.

But now, I care 15% less about this, and I’m having a grand old time.

Caring 15% less about being the perfect dad has made me more available to actually be there for my kids. I’m not constantly thinking about all the things I should be doing — I’m able to actually be in this beautifully imperfect moment.

Even that kid, frozen behind home plate, did far better when he cared a bit less.

Toward the end of that fateful season, our team knew we were losing. There wasn’t much we could do to improve the course of the season. I could feel the other players start to grow apathetic, and suddenly I was free. I no longer cared as much as I used to.

I got behind the plate, and this time I was tired of waiting.

“Dink”

A deep shot to right field, a triple.

So with that

*raises glass of sparkling apple cider*

Here’s to the year of 85%.

Here’s to the year we go down swinging.

Here’s to the freedom of doing not quite our best and trying almost our hardest.

Here’s to a little less caring.