Every New Years since my teens has been devoted to doing anything and everything to make myself better. Queue the lifestyle changes – a healthier, stricter diet, a gym membership that actually gets used, and the vow to leave all things I don’t like about myself at the close of December 31st. Like most peoples’ resolutions, January mostly involves the repeating of the classic “New Year, New Me” mantra – A phrase to get me through the toughest times in my quest to find the so called, New Me.
Throwback to the New Years Eves of my early 20s, and each one was filled with both absolute excitement for the emergence of the “New Me” and complete disdain for the Me that existed in the previous year. Sure, New Years is about looking ahead at the next year and making every moment count. But when it comes down to it, all I really do is focus on all the things I fucking didn’t achieve up to that point.
Note – My New Years depression is always drowned out with good wine and good friends, don’t you worry.
How the hell did I get through a whole year of being so out of shape, with no real goals, no actual plan for my life??? Did I actually achieve anything in the last year? I mean, I’ve been aiming to lose weight for the last three years but that sure as hell hasn’t happened during any one of them. I haven’t found my dream job, my calling in life – Oh and even though I’ve graduated university, I still haven’t got a cat which is the real bummer here.
If you don’t have New Years plans to level your fucking life up, then you’re in the minority. There’s a weird aura around the subject, like you have to choose something in your life that you want to change within the next year, some form of goal or aim to reach for. If not, then you’re either stuck in your “old ways” or so into yourself that you don’t want to be a better you.
But since when did a New Year mean a New You had to emerge from the embers of a pretty good, but albeit below exceptions (as always), but a good year nonetheless? I’m all for bettering oneself and getting to know myself a little better every year, but I think the tradition of wanting to shape New Me is going down the toilet this year – and for good reason.
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It’s an odd notion, but I’m almost 24 now and I feel like the sort of maturity that I’ve experienced in my early twenties has lead to one important revelation – I’m slowly discovering who I really am. When I was 18 years old I thought I had myself all figured out, but the more I age the more I discover about myself that I had no idea existed.
Five years ago, I didn’t know I was headed to uni to eventually graduate with a first class masters degree in Engineering.
Four years ago, I didn’t know that I was slowly but surely changing myself for my partner, to be who they wanted me to be.
Three years ago, I didn’t know that I’d develop crippling depression and anxiety and have to battle through it to finally get my degree.
Two years ago, I didn’t know that I had it in me to become a full time blogger.
This year, I didn’t know that stress and a bad relationship had turned me into someone I wasn’t.
What else don’t I know about myself?
Who am I to deny the person I am, when they’re this “Me” isn’t fully realised yet. The only way to allow myself to grow as a person is to not deprive or deny me from being Me.
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