Personally, I think it's a great improvement. I was a sponge, completely empty of opinions and emotions that could withstand the tides of others' and their effect on me. Instead, I absorbed them from people around me or the environment I'm in. That makes me seem like an absolute tool bag. No no, a sponge. But I did have a mind of my own. It was just figuratively a lot harder to talk over the loudness around me.
And does this new change make me care less about the wellbeing of others? Well, yes and no. On one hand, I could care less about making an impression and bending or flexing to fit a mold. It can make me come across as sarcastic or standoffish. At this point, I don't even know if standoffish is a word. But bear with me. But on another hand, it helps me filter out all the little things that I shouldn't really be concerned with. And this clears my mind to care about the bigger scheme of things. If you're a friend or family member I care very much for, and you're healthy and alive, then I leave it to you to worry or work on any other problems in your life because that's what I'm doing with my own. It really eases my stress level and reminds me that I cannot control the water around me. Just my itty, bitty ship in this big, blue sea.
Because of this, I have pulled a lot of worry weeds planted in the back of my head and began investing in valuing things that will matter to me in, say, a year. Or two.
Side note, though:
Someone had stolen a pair of jeans, a couple of leggings, and a few pairs of underwear from my laundry while it was drying yesterday evening. I saw my upstairs neighbor standing outside as I left my clothes to dry in the laundry facility. He was smoking by the no-smoking sign and watching me.
Sure, I've nonchalantly filed a noise complaint before. But living below three adults, three children, and a small dog crammed into a 2-bedroom apartment does often sound like I'm living below a bowling alley. Or a haunted unit where disturbed souls go to open and close sliding closet doors. Or kids throwing each other off their bunk beds. Whatever it is, it's loud. And I can't help but invent a device that sends a seismic pulse mimicking a 6.0-8.0 earthquake to centralize only in their apartment when I hear them.
Let your problems unfurl, guys. I've already ordered replacement clothes online, for what I can recall missing. Of course, that's me connecting the theft to them. But it's just me playing with stories in my head. I'm not too mad. I know I'm not going to be here for long. And (applying my change of thinking) I'm probably not going to remember my missing clothes a year from now. I am, however, a bit perturbed on the whereabouts of my underwear.
(End side note.)
I used to get more bummed out than I should on Sundays. "I have to go back to work tomorrow." "What did I do this whole weekend?" "Did I waste it away, yet again?" Those thoughts no longer arise as I realized that I enjoy my job and I enjoyed my weekend. Every single bit of it.
Now to make myself a mimosa or something...
