I find myself wishing sometimes I could start all over again with a blank slate. Just wipe everything out and start anew.
I don’t mean my entire life, of course (or I should say, I rarely mean that). I have to believe that many people have had one moment or two when they wished they could just wipe the slate clean. It’s that fantasy of disappearing, picking a new name, starting an entirely new career as international spy or landscape artist or bookseller. Most of us don’t act on it, of course, and the moment passes.
More often, though, I look around myself and wish I could start again. Often it’s little things, such as wiping out all of my online identities, or redoing my house decor or wardrobe from scratch. Less often, I wonder what if… Pursue an entirely different career? Sell everything and move the family to the South of France?
These moments pass as well. It’s fun to fantasize, but in the end, it seems like too much work.
Whenever I get a new notebook, I feel a sense of satisfaction, starting with a fresh, clean page. The possibilities are endless. I can do anything with this fresh start. Once I start to write in the notebook, the satisfaction gradually fades into discontent. And then comes the inevitable moment when I want to throw the notebook in the trash, go buy a pretty new one, and start all over.
Well, it’s certainly less drastic to trash a notebook than to trash a whole life.