Drake and Yeat’s song “IDGAF” hit number 1 on Billboard’s Global 200 songs in late October. The song’s chorus consists of rapper Yeat telling the listeners just how few “fucks” he gives while Drake adds emphasis with adlibs. The lyrics went viral on TikTok and made it on to thousands of playlists (including my own). But the impetus for this track, a certain nonchalant energy that has moved into popular culture in recent years, is one I cannot relate to.
I can’t really think of a time where this attitude has resonated with me. I am a frequent crier, giggler, double texter and sayer of “I love you.” I have always resonated more with chalance, an attitude of earnestness. As early as elementary school, I can recall feeling overwhelmed by care regarding situations that were not of great importance to others.
For many years, I saw this as a weakness. Shedding tears over roadkill, crafting page-long letters for friend’s birthdays and sitting outside in the frigid Connecticut winter air just to look at the moon seemed a little juvenile. Even though I valued these personal choices to fully immerse myself in my own day-to-day, I was no stranger to being poked fun at for doing so.
Around middle school, my perspective shifted. I saw emotion as a childish and unsustainable indulgence rather than a key component of personhood. I made conscious efforts to diminish how, why and where I expressed my feelings, thinking that this would change the feelings themselves.
Unsurprisingly, this did not go over as planned. While I went much longer between cries, the same was true of my laughter. My engagement with my family, my friends, my teachers, even my pets, felt manufactured, limited, cold. I don’t remember the exact day that this changed, but I can tell you what did.
High school brought about new classes, friends and opportunities to engage with my passions. Going to a competitive high school could have allowed the same repression of emotions I had chosen as a seventh grader. But those I surrounded myself with valued compassion, love and empathy so deeply that my perspective shifted for the better simply by living in their presence.
To this day, I am incredibly inspired by the vulnerability that my friends bring to the table. Whether it means sharing stories that don’t always paint us in the best light, watching home videos of each other to tearfully recount childhood memories or ending each and every phone call, no matter how brief, with an “I love you,” my ability to care deeply and unapologetically has been cultivated by my female friendships.
In college, I have had the privilege of finding friends who accept who I am in my entirety. They know that my tears can signify anything from joy to anger, to the fact that I just watched an especially sweet TikTok video. They take my overflowing words of affirmation and affection for what they are: genuine. They share in my excitement and analyses of nearly any topic.
Aside from interpersonal connections, I know that my abundance in care and emotion is a reflection of so many women who have filled my belly and mind throughout the course of my life. Emotion is wisdom that our bodies and brains hold onto from learned experience. And whether the blame for my chalant nature falls on my Cancer moon placement or growing up with an emotional extended family, I am grateful to be the way I am.