I started 2020 performing a ruthless purge of all that did not serve me: boring books I never read past chapter two, clothes that I bought on a whim, thoughts and beliefs that need to be axed from my mind. I have drowned myself in self-help books—personal finance to mindset to eating healthy to memoirs… you name it, I’ve read it. My podcast choices boil down to variations on the theme of “reach your highest potential.” I’ve cancelled monthly subscriptions I didn’t use (I then asked friends and relatives for access to theirs because I do enjoy watching Netflix, even if I don’t want to pay for it, thank you very much.)
I know rationally that I am bound to run out of steam, eventually; to collapse into a tired heap of positive affirmations and mediation apps. I want to have created nice habits before then. Habits that do serve me, and I used to do before. Little things I did for me, and no one else, like sitting down every morning and drink coffee without any distractions. Or journaling—I missed journaling. I can’t believe I ever stopped. Or sketching. Or blogging. Or… or…
I left so many things behind over this idea of what a perfect life should look like. I had to run myself ragged to realize it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just needs to be mine.
And so I purge. And I discard. And I shed. And I delete. And I get rid of all that burdens me—all the toxic thoughts and negative beliefs and unflattering tops and too-big sweaters I no longer use and the figs I received as a gift and it was such a nice gesture, but I hate figs so why, oh why, did I ever accept them?!
I want to make space for the me that respects my core values and actively works to honor them. If this cold-blooded murder of my previous identity is what it takes to do so, well… then I welcome the carnage.