It’s the start of another week.
I love new things. The start of a new week, month or year. It gives me the idea, casts the illusion, that we, as humans, can start again. It’s a blank page.
That’s how I see it. Each week is a blank page, each month is a new chapter and each new year we start writing a new novel, the sequel to last years, once it’s been closed.
The trouble, turmoil and heartache can be left to yesterday.
At first I thought I was just feeling a bit sad, then I thought I was feeling generally low, then I thought I was just feeling nostalgic. But oh no, my mind starts up the disco ball, cranked up the sound system, brought in the tinsel curtain, started a drum roll and screamed, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, in all it’s glory, the QUATER LIFE CRISIS!”
I genuinely nearly did a Britney. I had this wild idea that sudden change was good, cleansing for the soul, so decided I wanted to hack my hair off. I didn’t in the end, don’t worry. That was a bit of a rash decision. I cried into a bag of Revels and binge watched The Mighty Boosh, wishing so desperately that I was a teenager again instead.
I’ve always had super long hair, hair I could sit on at one point. There was only one time when I went to the hair dressers and asked for it to be cut to ‘boob length’, at least that’s the scientific term for it I believe. Apparently, my boobs are up round my ears. I’m flattered that she believed them to be that perky, but my long-bob, or ‘lob’ as the cool kids call it, wasn’t that attractive on me. Luckily my hair grows very quickly, within a month or so it was at the optimum length, so I wasn’t mad.
I started going grey when I was 16. I used to call it my ‘Rogue streak’. Someone once said I looked like Princess Anna and someone once said I looked 80 … so y’know, swings and roundabouts. The only thing that it did do was open me up to change. Just a little bit of change; dying my hair. I didn’t want to at first, my Mum didn’t want me to, so I got a colour the same as my natural hair. Then I went a bit redder, a bit redder, a bit redder, until I was full on ginge. Then I just went purple. I just went for it and dyed it purple… and I had never felt so great. With one small action, something so un-like me made me feel more like myself than I had in years. It’s amazing what a little change can do for you.
Small changes are good. No matter how small they seem. The next page, a clean slate. You’re growing, moving forwards, no matter how much you want to go backwards, don’t. You were a different person. The good thing about moving on is that you learn, you change, you have the ability to be better and stronger than you were yesterday. Even if it seems impossible to climb out of the rut you’re in, you can and you will. Just put your chin up, look to the sky, the sunshine, and remember you can and you will. You’ll do it, you’ll pull through. Little steps forward. It doesn’t need to be a leap of faith. Any move forwards is good. It’s scary, terrifying even, but good.
So do it. Dye your hair, paint your nails, use that crazy coloured lipstick, listen to that ‘guilty pleasure’ song, flail your limbs and call it dancing, sing in public, run because you can, eat that piece of chocolate, laugh at your own joke, buy the new trainers, wear the crazy sunglasses that none of your friends will approve of. Just do it.
It’s Monday. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off. You’re doing great and you’re going to be just fine. Start writing.