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New Year's Un-Resolutions

The year’s end would generally find me dwelling in self-loathing. I would be fixated on the failure of having not achieved and surpassed my New Year’s Resolutions. I had always been passive, feeling unworthy of becoming my best self, which hindered me from following my heart’s calling and making shit happen. I feared my darkness, but also my light. I knew that the dark housed demons, but was scared that the light might blind me.


Something has shifted in the past few days, though. I don’t know if it’s the new style of meditation, or the fact that I’ve been relentlessly delving into painful chakra blockages. Perhaps it was working alongside passive-aggressive antagonists in a bullshit setting or the realization that inauthenticity is no longer an option.


This year, I didn’t become a best-selling author. I don’t look like a Victoria’s Secret angel and I didn’t run a marathon…or run at all. I haven’t been to the gym since July, nor have I read a book per month. I do not love myself unconditionally, and have yet to eradicate some self-deprecating behaviours. I’m not fluent in Italian. I haven’t done yoga every day. I haven’t started singing again, and I certainly haven’t mastered the guitar. I haven’t fully left the soul-crushing world of yachting, and I haven’t proactively pursued my dreams of becoming a writer and an animal rights activist.


This year though, I burned everything down to the fucking ground. I said goodbye to the me governed by fear and guilt. I challenged the systems in place; chose awareness over oblivion. I let go of the person I had always felt obligated to be, and made decisions for myself, despite alienation from society, and loved ones. I went into the unknown, opened my mind in new ways, and started gathering my tribe.


I let go of toxic relationships and learned to cherish time alone. I began saying no to people and situations which did not empower or inspire me. I stopped putting others up on pedestals and ceased to shrink away from experiences, both painful and pleasant. I taught myself to enjoy meditation as much as I used to enjoy taking shots, and to cultivate self-awareness as diligently as I used to cultivate numbness. I survived for months with nearly no possessions in estranged corners of the world, and spent weeks on end gazing into eyes, rather than staring into screens.


I may not have accomplished goals that society deems worthy. I may not have lived up to the ridiculous ideals set forth by myself and others. But this year, I beat alcoholism single-handedly, and I learned how to fucking love again. I put down the bottle, faced my demons, and stopped running away from darkness. I loved wholeheartedly, totally, unconditionally. Even if it meant re-defining the word or that my heart might break into more pieces than I could pick up.


I dove into terror, wore my heart on my sleeve, allowed my ego to be shattered, and watched as the walls came crashing down around me. I learned that I am capable of adoring imperfections. So perhaps, I have gotten infinitesimally closer to the day where I will love myself as much as I could love 6 feet and 3 inches of walking insecurity.


I discovered that I had things to teach a guru, things to learn from a bigot, that compassion is incomplete unless it is granted to every creature, and that the path toward self-actualization can be dark and lonesome. I let go of everything I thought I knew. I set my life on fucking fire and learned how to live among the ashes. Now all that’s left is like the phoenix, to rise.


This year, I am not moping over unresolved resolutions. I am not crafting a long list to tick off for the next. This coming year is not about broken promises or outlandish expectations. For 2018, I make only the following vows: I will live authentically. I will become the best me that I can possibly be. I will run towards the life that I have always wanted. I will do this one just a little bit better than the last.

Photo by Julie Tupas on Unsplash

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