This is it.
I won’t say it’s the first day of the rest of my life. That first day happens every single morning when I wake up. But it does feel like something big. Another part of the mountain to climb.
I decided to get rid of the pages I wrote every morning for the past 200 days. Not out of shame nor out of a desire to run away. Everything of importance I learnt on the way remains inside, ingrained in my soul. I don’t need paper to tell me how much I’ve grown. Who I am today is proof enough.
So I started again. Day 1. I don’t know how many pages I will hold onto before their weight bothers me and drags me away from the life I want. After all, minimalism found it’s way in my heart because it has always been a part of me, ready to be awoken. Holding on to things that are neither useful nor joyful isn’t something I value. The goal of the morning pages have always been to bring awareness of who I am. Mission accomplished.
Yet, there is still more to be aware of. Standing at the top of the cliff, hands hovering on the rocks, the next step on my way, I hesitate. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what questions I should ask myself first. What is left to be found. There is still so much to be discovered. I can feel the pulse of the wonders underneath.
Perhaps all I need to do is listen rather than talk. Listen rather than write. Find the pulse first and then start digging to grip and pull myself up.
I think it’s time to try something new.