Another (another) Fresh Start
New journal. New pens. New park. New place. New space. New routine. New relationship. New. New. New. New. New.
A fresh start.
I am obsessed with fresh starts. Heck, I just moved to New York for a fresh start. I spent days curating my linens and arranging my art in order to create a space I was utterly enamored with. I am in constant critique my outfits and hairstyles and way I present myself to the world. I shelve half-full journals because my handwriting got sloppy or that I used too much color. I will change so much of my immediate physical surroundings for the chance to structure my life into exactly what I want it to be.
I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. I would re-invent myself many times a year when I learned something new or felt comfortable in my being. Looking back, some of my favorite looks were “everything has to be black, white, or red”, my cow-print obsession, and wearing all black except for a neon or patterned scarf as my “pop of color”. All of these physical life alterations came from moments of growth or lack of growth: a desire to seem more mature, a need to feel connected to my rural family, and a fear of being too noticed.
So now I sit in my New York apartment, about to turn twenty-three (when apparently no one will like me?) staring at a closet of unexceptional items I am no longer satisfied with.
New York is changing me. My confidence in staring through people as I walk down the street has resulted in me not getting cat-called as often. I can navigate the subway with a decent amount of ease since I finally realized where the heck Coney Island is. I am reconnecting with friends and eating so much good food. I am fulfilled in many ways that I was not in my last apartment, and though I am constantly stressed, I am constantly spilling over with joy and excitement.
I’m sorry – I am so hung up on these clothes.
Why can’t I just get rid of these old shirts and replace them with turtleneck sweaters and tweed pants like I want? Well, I can’t afford it, first of all. There’s something else though. The old shirts from a friend’s radio show and a closed-down coffee shop are some of my most treasured possessions. They remind me of friends I don’t get to see and the memories I share with them. The old pair of Converse sits untouched in the top of my closet , but the story of how they got covered in colored powder plays on repeat some days. I’m good at starting over and feeling fresh, but that doesn’t mean I have to let go of the things and people that I hold closest.
No matter how many times I start over, it’s the people and places I’ve known and loved that got me to where I am right now.