Starting
Four years ago, I started this blog to help me on a path toward intentional living. It was to serve as a spot to debate and soul-search and keep myself honest as I attempted to reform my lifestyle into one without extraneous possessions and relationships so that I might find more happiness in the things that I do own, and the people with whom I surround myself. My ultimate goal, as with so many other people who idealistically jump onto the bandwagon of self-help via intentionality, was to be happier - the happiest version of myself I could be. I thought that if I followed the examples of other young professionals who were cutting the crap and setting their own rules, I could fix the problems in my life, I could live a neatly-curated aesthetic of blissful fulfillment based on non-attachment.
I failed.
There are a lot of reasons for this failure - distraction, complacency, and fear, among others. But what matters right now is that I know I let myself down. Maybe I lied to myself about what I could reasonably accomplish, but I don’t think so. I think I actually intended to follow through with the things I posted about, and I really wanted to take my own advice, but in some ways, this blog was an extension of my “Fantasy Self.” I coveted the kind of life I was seeing other people living, yet I already knew how dangerous coveting was for me, because sometimes goal-setting made it impossible for me to be happy in the present.
I basically gave up on this project shortly after my post about goals because sometimes the simple act of researching new paths seemed to contribute to my discomfort with my present situation. I couldn’t focus on the daily responsibilities of my job when my head was constantly in the clouds planning the ideal next step. Also, about a month before that post, I started taking an anti-depressant (that topic deserves to be more than a footnote, so I may address it later). As my mood became more stable, my focus naturally shifted away from the future because I was less miserable with the present.
I entered a relationship that altered my priorities somewhat. I stayed in my career, despite knowing it was contributing to my unhappiness, because it was the path of least resistance, even though I absolutely had the perfect opportunity to change careers when I moved in with my partner in another city. Over the two years we cohabited, I became disillusioned about the feasibility of true minimalism and tiny living with a partner, especially given our (shared) profession. He maintained an interest in living small, yet we were ever surrounded by stuff in a small space. Neither of us made the necessary steps toward the lifestyle because “life” was always in the way.
I was depressed. I was in a spiral that kept getting worse, and my life began falling apart, piece by piece. My relationship suffered, which made me more depressed. Finally, in April of this year, I made the decision to quit my job at the end of my contract year. I didn’t have a backup plan, but self-preservation was my priority. I couldn’t live the way I was living anymore. What I was doing can’t even be called living. I was afraid of the unknown, but more afraid of being stuck forever in the same rut.
For better or worse, my relationship did not survive the tumult despite my hopes that leaving my job would allow me space and time to try to heal it. Fixing a relationship, of course, takes a team effort, and we both made decisions that took us in different directions.
So I made the humbling decision to go home at 30, so I can look for jobs in new locations and save what little money I managed to accumulate while teaching in one of the worst states for education in the whole country.
Having infinite possibilities feels oppressive in ways that I didn’t expect. But I’m at a turning point, where I can get real about the things I discussed four years ago, or I can succumb to more of the same. Here’s what I’m working with:
No real furniture, but assorted household items.
A collection of clothes and books that I could still stand to whittle down to only things that are really useful and worth keeping.
A cat, whom I will absolutely not leave behind.
I’m going to start over. Or maybe that’s not the right idea - starting over implies maybe doing the same things as I did (and did wrong) before. Rather, I’m going to try something new, and hope I get different results from last time. Maybe I will be happier, maybe not. Maybe I will end up completely broke and back on the same couch I’m currently sleeping on in what used to be my bedroom. What do I have to lose?





















