I’ve always loved talking about the changes I’m planning to make in my life. But more often than not, it turned out to be just that; talk. I think I talked about making those changes a little (okay, a lot) more than I needed to because of what an obvious disaster I was to everyone around me. Maybe on some deeper, subconscious level I was able to justify being a walking bag of trash by telling anyone who’d listen about the new healthy, productive, spiritual lifestyle I was planning on adopting. Who knows.

This cycle of planning a big “lifestyle change” would always begin with some sort of massive fuck up (this massive fuck up was ((probably)) brought to you by drugs and/or alcohol) followed by a solid day of crying and staying in bed. After finding a shred of dignity I would create a list of changes I was going to start making. I promised myself over and over again that I was going to stick to my word and things would “really change this time”. A short while would pass and I would give up to eventually find myself back at square one.

I was confused why my life wasn’t working out the way I wanted it to. Unbeknownst to me, the kind of big life change I was looking for doesn’t come from drinking a detox tea, doing a face mask, posting about good vibes, and buying a rose quartz pendant. Shocking.

I feel fucking moronic writing about this now because it seems so obvious why my big plans to change my life never turned out the way I wanted them to. I didn’t know it at the time, but, I never wanted those changes to happen as much as I wanted to stay in my comfort zone. Even if that meant staying unhappy. Living in my comfort zone meant repeatedly taking the path of least resistance. It was easy and safe.

I realize this now as next week I will be leaving the place I’ve called home the past twenty years (aka my ultimate comfort zone). And I’m honestly fucking terrified, which must mean I’m doing something right, right?




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