on fresh starts

am I just delusional or is this another moment I can take and put towards my craft

It’s Saturday morning when I write this. I have a cup of tea, and the heater is on and I thought I was thirsty, but the water is making my throat feel scratched up.

I’ve spent the last decade of my life in Delhi, and I have my answer. I’ve outgrown this environment, mostly because this city didn’t accept who I was. I’ve been to none of the new places, I think. I can count the friends I have here on one hand. And I’m now quietly waiting for the next stage of my life.

I spent all of last year bumping into things. I bumped into working at a yoga studio. I started practicing yoga consistently, and then in my attempt to get out of my current job, I fell into another publishing role. I said goodbye to all the bad parts before, and so part of me was relieved, but once it was over, I had to deal with how I was feeling, and that took such a long time. I spent a month in limbo, and I slept in for days. I thought about quitting again, but that phase passed too, and once I started being useful, I found my rhythm. I found people who liked me, and people who liked being home after work, and people I didn’t have to be friends with for them to accept me. All this while I realised how single I’d been all of last year. And how freeing it had been being on my own.

For the last week of the year, I went away to Bangalore. I slept in a beautiful room, ate good food with my friends, and in the span of two weeks, finished reading two books. I also got lost, spent a lot of time alone, and sat in the sun. I burned some money, and came back, and realised I’d found my way back to who I used to be.

And then I deleted the apps.

Here’s what I know about my life. I’ll have to take the money I’m making and create a beautiful life. This feels possible if I put my mind to it. I have all of this year, and I can work towards moving away. It’s true that part of my savings will go away, but I know the move will be worth it. A city feels like a fresh start, and Delhi has done everything in its power to make me hate it. Or maybe I’m incorrigible, too. I can’t tolerate the people here. I’m starting to hate this weather and the air, and I’ve rarely enjoyed the places I’ve gone to here. It was nicer when I had closer friends who I’d see often enough to go out with, but with a lack of that, I don’t go out at all. I feel self-conscious, and the staircase of my building is starting to wear off on me.

But I’m making good progress. I’m doing well at work. And I’m starting to get into a routine that feels like a tall glass of lemonade. I watch my shows, and I take cabs, and I show up where I need to be. I really like my new manager. She’s kind and considerate, and I value her opinion and process. My hair is starting to get longer, and I’m trying to track my new habits. I’m on a reading streak, and I’ve started making time for my writing too.

The thing about finding yourself is - you have to discover what to do next. I’ve lived five years in the same room, and now I want to leave. I want to build something else. A different life. Something beautiful and similar to what I loved about my room and my home, but something separate now.

I’ve loved my memories here, but the room reeks of the past. Of people lost. Of my failure at climbing up the ladder, financially and socially. I’ve done what I can, but all the plants I tried to grow are dead now. Or at least, close to dying.

The start of this year feels hopeful to me. Because for the first time in my life, I’ve accepted my fate. I’ve accepted that the smallness of my life is a reflection of how many people have hurt me, and how many people I’ve hurt. That, as much as I’ve managed to hold onto the field I’ve flourished in, there’s also nowhere else to go. When I was young and naive, I looked at people older than me with so much admiration. I thought they’d figured their lives out, and now I know it’s so much more complicated. There’s a sense of unfriendliness and a sense of insecurity in this city, and it’s seeped into me. I’ve gone to war and returned defeated.

And that’s probably the best thing that’s happened to me, because now I know I don’t fit i,n and so I can move on. I can find something that’ll work better, and I can avoid the pity party. This year has also been crucial, because this year, I accepted every negative quality in myself. I realised how cold, or rude, or unfriendly I could sometimes be. I realised how sensitive I was, and what kind of ambition I had, and all the mistakes I’d made in the past when I’d blamed other people for things that went wrong. I’ve made my fair share, and I can see it clearly, and at least now I know what not to do.

I’m hoping this year comes with fresh, new, beautiful, big changes. I want a new house, and I’d like to save a lot of money and go on runs and read a lot of books. I want to make new goals and write a lot, and travel as much as I can. I’d like the beauty of my own life to astonish me, and I wanna see sunsets that will blow my mind away.