On being blissfully ignorant

The case for not knowing everything

Lately I’ve been finding great joy in not paying attention to things.

Not all things. I’m still reading books and working on skills and learning new stuff.

I mean the other category of things. The halftime show(s), the latest political dumpster-fire, what-I’d-look-like-as-an-AI-caricature, who-wore-what to the Grammys type of things.

I’ve been letting all of that slide right past me.

And it’s fabulous. 10/10 recommend.

Anyway.

Some days I fantasize about getting rid of my social media entirely.

But considering I have an online business and a brick-and-mortar to market, I haven’t been able to figure out how to do that.

So, I stay.

Which means, just like anyone else, I’m not immune to the endless avalanche of things we’re supposed to suddenly care about/be outraged over.

And also like anyone else, I sometimes find myself lured by the siren call of my slot-machine feed—glossy-eyed, scrolling mindlessly.

But what gets me the most isn’t even the content.

It’s the pressure.

This insistence that EVERYONE must manufacture their opinion NOW and blast it NOW.

Maybe it’s just my contrarian nature. But respectfully…

No.

I refuse.

Not because I’m more enlightened. But because I’ve tried it, and I didn’t like who I became there…

When I stopped renting out my nervous system

There was a time (a long time, actually) when I’d let myself get tossed around by the internet.

Arguments. Headlines. Controversies. Pile-ons. Dumpster-fire comment sections.

I’d get sucked in like everyone else.

And it cost me.

It cost me my creativity. It cost me my peace. It cost me entire afternoons that I will never get back.

I could always feel it in my body—tight chest, shallow breath, brain buzzing chaotically.

I’d be “engaged,” sure. But I wasn’t present. I wasn’t building anything. I wasn’t moving my actual life forward.

And it started to feel gross.

I think sometimes we confuse having an opinion with doing something that matters.

I’ve certainly been there.

Typing a paragraph can feel like action. Posting feels like participation. Getting fired up feels like you’re “in it.”

But so often it’s just emotional cardio: Lots of effort, lots of adrenaline, but at the end you’re sweating on the treadmill in the same exact place you started.

Outrage often burns energy without accomplishing anything.

Now before someone sends me an angry email—this isn’t me saying you shouldn’t care.

Caring is good.

Caring is human.

But there’s a difference between caring and being perpetually churned up.

Here’s the deal my friends:

Bad things have always happened.

There has never been a golden era where the world was finally done being a mess.

The difference between then and now is this:

We didn’t have the capacity to know about all of it all the time.

We didn’t have a device in our pocket delivering a 24/7 stream of tragedy, scandal, danger, conflict, disaster, and outrage, while simultaneously DEMANDING we discuss it with strangers across the country like it’s a hobby.

We weren’t designed for this.

Maybe we could handle our village’s problems. Maybe our region’s problems. Maybe a handful of big issues in a lifetime.

But this constant diet of “LOOK AT THIS” and “CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS” and “IF YOU DON’T POST YOU’RE COMPLICIT,” feels like more than our little human brains are wired to metabolize.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s part of what’s making people sick… and anxious and depressed and numb and angry and exhausted.

Not because the world is newly terrible.

But because we’re force-feeding ourselves the worst of it all day long and calling it “being informed.”

So yes—care.

Read. Learn. Vote. Donate. Write letters. Volunteer. Do the things that match your convictions.

And then?

Move your actual life forward. Because that matters too.

What Freedom Looks Like in February on the Prairie

Right now, moving my actual life forward looks like prepping for an epic Valentine’s Day event at the Soda Fountain.

(Not gonna lie, I did throw several tantrums whilst making sixteen pounds of pasta last week that would’t cooperate… And I angry-Googled “where can I buy frozen pre-made pasta sheets” and nearly threw the whole project in the trash. So, no… I’m not saying it’s kumbaya and rainbows all the time in this “real life” thing. Ahem.)

But then the pasta got made. And the dining room is moving closer to candlelight and magic on Saturday night.

It looks like editing the first pass of my new cookbook manuscript instead of scrolling Instagram while I drink my coffee in the mornings.

It looks like working on Meal Craft’s new iteration (more info coming soon!) and guarding my mental space so new ideas actually have room to blossom.

It looks like getting a non-windy day and working my colt, then having the best ride on my saddle horse… and basking in the afterglow for two solid days afterwards.

It looks like making dinner… And answering emails.

And doing the next faithful thing in front of me.

That’s not me opting out of reality.

That’s me refusing to allow a stupid device to decide what kind of day I’m going to have.

Because my life force is spoken for.

And yours is, too—you’ve just forgotten you get to choose.

So if you feel wrung out… If you feel like you’re constantly bracing, constantly refreshing, constantly required to have a thought about everything…

Here’s a simple experiment:

Try being blissfully ignorant for one day.

Or maybe a week. Or longer.

I’m not suggesting you choose ignorance about the things that truly matter to you.

But start asking yourself how many of the things raising your blood pressure actually affect your day-to-day life… and what you’re going to do about them besides spiral.

Let some of it pass you by.

See what comes back to you when you stop pouring your attention down the drain.

My guess?

It won’t be apathy.

It’ll be clarity.

It’ll be energy.

It’ll be the quiet return of your own mind.

And that’s a pretty good thing to be “informed” about.