This Is How You Run From Your Life !

Sometimes I want to start over and cultivate a brand, grab-new identity.

Sometimes I want to disappear.

Not from the world, but from my life. I fantasize about my rebirth — not in a metaphorical sense; literally, a fresh start. 

I’d reset to manufacturer’s settings and cultivate a brand, grab - new identity.

I contemplate this idea often, and the process doesn’t seem impossible.

First, I’d start with my name. Technically, for a new identity.

Next, I’d pack my bags and move to the opposite side of the country. I’m torn between a big city and a small town. On one hand, the Berlin city balances my desired anonymity with ample job opportunities. Yet my heart yearns for a verdant countryside, where I’ll live a Snow White-esque fairytale, picking apples off trees and cooking vegetables from my garden. The former setting may provide excitement, but the latter will provide peace.

Here’s where rebirth gets trickier: Social Media. I’ve been active for years and have divulged quite a bit but, who — afterwards — refused to let you go. Such is a non-negotiable consequence of sharing yourself.

Social media belongs to everyone; by default,  you belong to everyone. Hell, someone could have a folder consisting of every photo and status you’ve ever uploaded, and you’d have no idea. I could delete every account I’ve had, but that wouldn’t remove my pictures and information from other websites, nor old friends’ uploads featuring me.(Talking about twenty-first century problems)

Nevertheless, I’d most likely create a social media page for my new persona. “Us introverts” do crave occasional companionship because, you know, aside from creating a new identity and deceiving every subsequent person I meet, I’m normal! Totally, unquestionably normal.

Lastly, a rebirth cannot occur without some version of death. I doubt you’re surprised Gone Girl is my favorite novel — Gillian Flynn is brilliant, evidently explains why this book never lets me forget the psychopath I am (just kidding). However, I don’t want my life’s legacy to be terrible. That’s not how I want to go.

I mean, OKAY? I’m crazy, but not that CRAZY. 

I’d love to vanish when no one receives a goodbye, and they won’t have access to ask me why. 

Anyway, that’s the gist of the plan. It’s flawed, but not impossible. I’m sure the first year would be exhilarating, carving my path and experiencing a new world. But in spite of any change I could implement, my new and old identity will have one common denominator: ME.

I can run from my life, but I cannot run from myself.

A new life won’t remove the traumas of my former. Nor will it make it better my problematic characteristics, such as my short temper and unhealthy coping mechanisms which, by no coincidence include running. As if avoiding my problems has ever solved them. 

 

What would happen when I eventually encounter issues with this life again? 

i.e. New me, round two?

Instead, my new identity would require a dagger (sword, maybe) that ideally shouldn’t cover my wounds, but must reopen, clear the debris, and properly heal. Internal work is messy, but it will bring me one step closer to my most authentic self: the “self” that’ll remain with me as long as I roam the planet.

Perhaps that’s why I read and write stories. I’m no longer me when I inhabit the minds of characters with whom I share zero similarities. I escape my world to lose myself another’s, yet I return with stronger cognizance regarding my own life. Like a Caribbean vacation, except every pink sand particle contains self-awareness. I love living that way and trust me, when I say that there is no turning back and love keeping myself busy with my books, my stories and a pen (constantly struggling to write my best piece when I triumph my need to read).

Sometimes we think we want to disappear, but most of us need a break. I don’t indulge in my “new-life” fantasies for more than five minutes — any longer means I’m desperate for a restful night’s sleep. Because when I’m awake, I feel rejuvenated to continue building my best life, and I’m grateful for my blunders along the way. 

Without them, I wouldn’t know to rise after I fall.

But regardless, I don’t have to uproot my whole identity if I’m still hungry for reinvention. As long as I continue my self-work and compile the lessons from past mistakes, there’s no harm in a new beginning.

Change is still my authority. And it’s yours, too — you’re always one decision away from a completely different life.

 Sending love to everyone outta there who’ve been thinking of “A New Life” like me, :P

 

From knowingly yours,

Nandi :”))