Soy milk. No thanks, goodbye; that’s the end of soy milk. We’re not doing that anymore.
Downton Abbey, listen, I tried. And Lady Mary, I will always have feelings for you but I’m moving on.
Juice cleansing? Nope. That’s out. And Mounds bars? We have some history together, your name is so promising, but the result is just coconut. I’m done with Mounds bars, that’s it.
Tipping at Starbucks. Oh man, what’s going on here? I’ve got a debit card, I’ve got to punch all these numbers in. Do I or don’t I? I don’t know how this works. F*ck it, that’s it; that’s the end of that. No more tipping at Starbucks.
You know what, this is kind of personal, I shouldn’t say this. But I’m letting go of my dream of one day joining the mile-high club. I am. I need to start courting a more sophisticated class of woman, who does not want to have sex with me in a closet on a 747. I’m sure it’s fun, I can’t do it; I’m not doing it.
The 17 Moleskine notebooks that I bought last year which I have yet to really write anything in. Goodbye.
Tinder? F*ck it, that’s it. Jazz? Man, I’ve tried. I tried, that’s it, no jazz. Jazz, you’re out. Sudoku; I’m just not good at it. I tried. Every flight; “Is it a four? Is it a seven? I don’t know. Can I be done with this puzzle?”
Just because it’s someone’s birthday, or just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean I’m automatically buying anyone gifts anymore, OK? I am buying gifts when I feel like buying gifts, end of story. Boy, I’m kind of starting to sound like a little bit of a dick. You know what? F*ck it. Sometimes I’m a dick; I can’t do anything about it.
Having mundane, small talk with my neighbors? F*ck it. Yes, it looks like rain today. We live in Vancouver; it looks like rain everyday.
Let’s see, I’ve got a few more for you. Relationships that go on way too long? I know it, they know it, why am I dragging this out? From now on, I’m going to end things the moment I know. And Jeanine, baby, I’m sorry you had to find out this way.
And no more folding my underwear; I spent 17 minutes a week folding a garment that no one except my cats – and Jeanine, you too, huh? – ever sees me wear. So f*ck it; I’m not folding underwear.
No more fist-bumps, I’m not doing it. And overall, no more doing anything that I don’t want to do anymore. That’s the most important thing, and I want to say that again. Don’t do anything that you don’t really want to do. Nothing, zero; we don’t have a lot of time. So make all of the time count.
Now, listen, you have heard my list. But I want you to start making your own f*ck-it lists. In fact, let’s start making them right now. Everybody, let’s close our eyes. Let’s inhale deeply, let’s hold the hand of the person next to you. No, no, don’t do that. Inhale deeply, and think of one thing that you are ready to let go of right now, think of it, I don’t know what it is, it can be a button, it can be a snow-globe, it can be a pair of corduroys that you keep holding onto for some reason. And then exhale. Just let it go, man. And it’s gone. It’s gone from your life forever.
You’ve got to start doing that every day. In fact, you know what? On social media, the only avenue I still support is Twitter, and I want you to tweet me at @ScottCJones, hashtag fuckitlist. Tell me what you’re letting go of. We clutter our lives with more clutter. We buy enough toilet paper at a Costco for an army barracks. We binge-watch entire seasons of shows in a night. Let some things go, and your life, I promise you, will be exponentially better.
Thank you very much, thank you.