I trashed all my blog drafts, and then dusted them from the trash too. Are you sure you want to permanently delete this? Yes, cloud, BEGONE! I had some drafts from way back in 2018 still sitting around as if current Ashley was going to just pick up right where past Ashley left off. Ridiculous. She can’t come to the phone right now.
I also tossed some material things, things that couldn’t really be donated but that I hung onto for far too long thinking they’d eventually have a use. The best part of moving is the purge, but you don’t have to move to parse down your junk. You just need to be motivated.
But some of these toxic thoughts and feelings–they’re what ultimately need to go. I’m realizing I can’t have things the way they used to be no matter what I do because it’s not all up to me. Not that I will probably ever stop trying, but I need to invest less in things that depend on others and put the bulk of my efforts into what I can control.
This is all so much more apparent to me as I pursue my passion. A lot of things can hurt it, and as much joy and brightness as it has brought me, there’s a sadness there too. A hole that I never expected. It’s all illuminated how some people will never be who I thought they were, that some things were never as shiny as they appeared, and that I’m just me, mediocre and flawed.
Not that any of this should necessarily be a negative. There’s sadness, yes, but it’s good to know these things are real. And I’m actually incredibly happy with how things are going and what I’ve been able to produce (and what’s on its way). I’ve been supported in some amazing ways, and I’m so thankful and excited for the future. But grief for the past, and for the future I imagined, is there all the same.
There’s a book I want to write, something I’ve been mulling over for years. I’ve started it a couple times and have some pages scribbled out somewhere, but I realized recently that it will not actually be written anytime soon. It won’t be like anything else I put out and will potentially make some people very unhappy, but it can’t be written until I’ve become a much better writer. Maybe ten years down the line, if the world is still even here in 2030 and my brain’s still intact, I can start typing her out. She’ll be my great work. And I might not even put my name on her.
So! A short farewell to those things I’ve foolishly thought were still mine is in order. That’s the toughest purge, but it will probably feel the best. And a greeting for what is yet to come. Hello, tomorrow, let’s fucking boogie.