There’s a long unwritten list of things we’re all meant to do.
You know the ones.
Smile politely when someone wants to “chuck a cheeky bet” on the Melbourne Cup.
Clink glasses at midnight on New Year’s Eve as if the universe keeps score.
Pretend that blasting car horns at 12:01am is a sign of joy, not boredom dressed as celebration.
For years, I played along.
Not because I cared.
But because apparently that’s what you do.
That phrase, "that’s what you do" has become a soft little tyrant in our culture.
It doesn't shout. It doesn’t threaten.
It just nudges, winks, and assumes you’ll nod along.
But here's the truth: I don’t like gambling.
Not on Cup Day.
Not ever.
And the idea that I “should” join in because the nation has decided to stop for a horse race? No thanks.
Same goes for New Year’s Eve.
If other people want to stay up late, fabulous.
But if I’m happily in bed at 9:30pm, that isn’t a failure of spirit or celebration.
It’s choosing peace over performance.
I'm not anti-fun.
I'm anti-expectation disguised as tradition.
I’m done doing things simply because someone once decided it was the done thing.
You want to watch horses run in circles and place a bet? Beautiful. Enjoy yourself.
You want to stay up until midnight and cheer the turning of a calendar page? Go wild.
Just don’t get offended when I don’t want to play.
There’s a quiet freedom that comes from saying:
“I don’t do that, and I’m not sorry.”
Stepping out of the parade feels like stepping into your life again.