Karen Karbo - Yeah, No. Not Happening.: How I Found Happiness Swearing Off Self-Improvement and Saying F*ck It All—and How You Can Too

For Kathy, who taught me how to enjoy life,

and swearing

Contents

An edited excerpt from my morning pages, before I swore off self-improvement.

Today, I should eat more leafy greens. I should have a smoothie at lunch instead of a sandwich. Daves Killer Bread is organic, non-GMO, verified whole grain, but its still bread. I read somewhere that even if you dont have a gluten thing, wheat fucks up your brain or gives you bloat, one of the two. I should be more mindful of my gut health in general. I do chug a Lemon Ginger KeVita Sparkling Probiotic Drink instead of the usual Diet Pepsi with my daily afternoon bowl of buttered popcorn. Thats got to be an improvement. But I should really find out what probiotics are. Are they the opposite of antibiotics?

I should be a more adventurous eater in general. It took me a long time to get on the quinoa bandwagon, because I couldnt pronounce it and was too embarrassed to ask. Maybe farro (pronounced like pharaoh, yes?).

I know they say you should meditate first thing in the morning, but first thing in the morning I havent had enough time to be completely disappointed in myself or the day yet, so it seems like a waste of time. I should really do the twenty-minute Headspace meditation instead of the ten-minute slacker option. I should do it twice a day, like David Lynch and other cool creative people. David Lynch has been meditating every day for nine hundred years. Without Headspace.

I should really wear my Fitbit. I threw it in my jewelry basket on the bathroom counter because I was sick of it beeping at me all the time. Also, I couldnt shake the feeling of being a lab rat. On the days I didnt make my 7,500 steps (already down from the required 10,000 steps), I felt like a failure. I figured out if I waved my arms around a lot it thought I was walking, but who am I kidding? Myself. Im kidding myself. I should stop doing that, even though it seems like self-delusion is a key component to self-improvement.

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Women are the self-improvers of the world. Those famous Paleolithic cave paintings in France and Spain? Created not by bison hunters dabbling in self-expression, as originally supposed, but by cave women inventing interior design. This cave is a dump! Lets add a few stick animals and handprints to liven up the place. Then came the wealthy ladies of ancient Egypt, early adopters of makeup and the practice of spending a fortune on it. We have Nefertiti and Cleopatra to thank for black eyeliner, blue eye shadow, and the classic red lippy. Eleanor of Aquitaine, queen of France, then England, during the twelfth century, was also queen of self-betterment: she could read and speak Latin; sing and play the harp; weave, spin, sew, and whip up a fetching needlepoint pillow; identify the constellations; ride, hunt, and hawk. She literally and figuratively ruled.

Fast-forward to the twenty-first century, where this lovely feminine impulse to beautify and improve self and surroundings has evolved into a nutty, near-religious pursuit of perfection. We ladies of late-stage capitalism spend our days chasing the ever-receding mirage of our so-called best selves, existing in a continuous state of telling ourselves well do better, be better, and always be thinner or fitter.

We drift off to sleep at night knowing that in the morning we must awake naturally, without the alarm. We must think positive thoughts as we arise in the dark, slip into our flattering athleisure ensemble, then knock out a ninety-minute workout that would bring a Navy SEAL to their knees. We must then meditate, read, and journal. We must say our affirmations. We must make sure the kids have their homework and correct uniforms or instruments for their extracurriculars. We must pack nourishing lunches for them, being careful not to include anything that will cause them to be ostracized from their usual table. We must not lose our temper, but rather practice gratitude, as we try to shove something semi-healthy into their ungrateful little maws, then chauffeur them to school as they stare at their devices. All this before our own breakfast, which usually involves a fibrous green avoided even by the starving hordes of yesteryear.

The rigors of modern self-improvement are exhausting. One Huffington Post piece about cramming some self-improvery into your life involved a 6:00 a.m. outdoor boot camp followed by a parsley protein shake. Inc.com offers 50 Ideas to Help You Design Your Morning Routine, including making a video log upon waking, working on a side hustle or business idea, learning one to three new things, taking a cold shower after doing a complicated breathing routine that looks as if it might make you pass out, and reviewing your previous days spending.

Are you a mom? Are you trying to get pregnant? Are you a millennial trying to figure out adulting? Are you trying to crush it in your career? Are you an artist? Massage therapist? Head of HR? Are you a survivor? Empty nester? Church lady? Every demographic brings with it a list of impossible-to-achieve nonsense to which women are expected to aspire. Meanwhile, life is passing us by.

I am done, reader. Done viewing myself as a permanent fixer-upper. Done feeling that Im always supposed to be doing something to better myself, then feeling guilty about being too lazy to commit to the latest self-improvement regimen, or, conversely, if I have committed to said regimen, feeling as if Im not doing it enough or with the proper pure and holy mindset. Im done feeling bad that I dont live in a perpetual state of red-carpet readiness, even though there is no red carpet to walk, and done feeling that its my fault I cant stop time, thereby remaining an eternal tousled-hair beauty clad in an oversize cashmere sweater and no pants, sipping tea from an artisanal mug by a fire made by a man who pulls down seven figures.

Done done done.

So, I decided to swear off self-improvement. A lifetime of striving and struggling to improve myself hadnt yielded much other than frustration and self-loathing. I was fit enough, fifteen or so pounds overweight, a domestic disaster, an avid reader, a rescuer of dogs, a good friend. I was no stranger to an apple or a green salad. I got enough sleep and flossed regularly. I didnt smoke. That was going to have to be good enough.

But I was afraid. Would I instantly transform into a troll under a bridge if I gave up face serum? Would I become the laziest sloth in Slothville if I made yeah, no, not happening my regular morning routine? Would my husband leave me if my glutes and abs stayed exactly as firm as they are this minute, adjusting for age? I worried that I would gain weight, even though the last time I said fuck it all to dieting, I lost a few pounds, just as the people who beat the drum for that approach to eating always promise. The worst thing that would happen, that did happen, is that I got real about who I was, what I enjoy, and how much I just dont give a fuck about all the self-improvery foisted on women.

So far, Im less anxious, and less worried that whatever Im doing I should be doing something else, and have more time to devote to stuff Im interested in. Like singing karaoke while slightly hammered, slinging around my awful high school French, and napping. My blood pressure has gone down. And Ive lost seven pounds, even though I said yeah, no, not happening to kale. I hate that shit. Its a decorative winter shrub and should go back to where it came from.

Ive written this book to urge you to join me in the radical act of swearing off the endless quest for self-improvement. To stop thinking wistfully and magically that tomorrow you will start the diet, the challenge, the program, the method. To bid a respectful adieu to your imaginary best self, the one you will always fail to inhabit.