She’s here, she’s growing up; get used to it.
2020 was just that little bit terrifying for me personally. Admittedly I spent the first three or so days of a new decade in a funk, while everyone put such pressure on the same old “new year, new goals” rhetoric. There I sat, having just reviewed my 2019 in bulk and staring blankly at a newly selected notebook, awaiting its 2020 to-do list.
Those who’ve digested my book cover to cover will now understand a little better how difficult 2018 was for my wellbeing. With the following year being my redemption, I sought every opportunity to make failures of the previous quarter a distant memory. To acknowledge my past and (many) mistakes, but not to let them dictate my future. With a barrage of new goals to meet, I was equally nervous as I was excited to leap at them full throttle. My past failures made it that much more terrifying to conquer new achievements, but I eventually met them. Soon enough, and with impending old age on its way, it was 2020’s turn to take the reigns. Just as I thought I’d gotten a hold on life and my own definition of adulthood, I was thrust back into the unknown and its daunting ominous chant of, ‘what do we want to achieve in the new year guys!?’ I mean shit, I was just finding my footing. What gives, Earth?!
This isn’t a segue into my being a Debby Downer, long gone are those days, but my mini pre-2020 meltdown did get me to thinking. Equally, I think it’d be unequivocally ‘un-Lauren’ not to announce any distress and anxieties, what with starting a new decade and what’s to come.
While yes, I do believe it’s important to make a list of goals for the new year; I also feel it my duty to declare my biggest goal this year, which is simply to be kinder to myself and life choices. God only knows the stacks of ‘dumb bitch juice’ I have awaiting me in my storage unit. And although I’ll surely take a sip alongside my nightly Merlot, I won’t fault myself for making silly decisions, because ultimately, shit happens.
I’m an open book, we all know this to be true, so I can admit to being rattled for all but five days about my past creeping back in and what that meant for myself as a whole. But with every passing year, I’m reminded that not everything or everyone we once loved was good for us. That it may hurt to get over the same thing 17 times, but in order to move forward it must be done. No one can dictate how long it takes you to get over something that once pained you. Though new years often feel overwhelming with the many ideals we’ve yet to set ourselves, it bears repeating that we’ve come a long way from the needy, pathetic and heartbroken individuals we were of slight two years ago. Yes, that is a direct dig at my emancipation into Bad Bitchery. While some years ago I’d have struggled to get out of bed and face the day when hitting a low, instead I chose to stamp out my new year blues with an impromptu solo trip to Berlin. Where I was reminded that I was a confident, fun-loving and capable individual who don’t need no travel companion. Sure, I may live in a foreign country and on my own, but that does not a traveller make. As my newly-made München companions would say, my ‘jaunt’ to Berlin was where I rediscovered working at my own pace. Unironically in a bottomless brunch spot, I opened the notebook that had taunted me since December 25th, 2019 and point by point, listed the many (achievable) goals I hope for myself this year. Whether it be mapping the cities I hope to traipse through, opening myself up to love again and or even adding SPF to my daily skincare regime – each is just a little step toward being a better me. Levelling up if you will.
Without further adieu here’s completely unsolicited new year advice:
- Be kinder to yourself when making “new year” goals
- If you want to drink during dry January, fucking drink
- Do something that makes you feel alive when you hit a lull
- Write it out, just write it out
- Do not openly thirst Masego, you’ve been informed that he reads your tweets
Yours until I get bored with writing, if ever,
Lauren Rae x