September: the biggest month for reinvention, more important than January could ever hope to be (sorry Capricorn and Aquarius babies).
Summer ends; the air starts to nip at your face to remind you of the problems you couldn’t leave behind during cottage weekends and drinking binges. You’re still broke (more so than ever), climate change is terrifying, there’s an election coming up, and the winter blues are about to hit you full swing.
For some, school is starting. The true representation of “a fresh start.” Having watched both Mid 90’s and Eighth Grade in the same evening, I’m pretty up to date on how the youth are feeling. That teenage confusion, that horrible and endless longingness to fit in and find your place? Well, as it turns out, that feeling (along with acne) lasts well into adulthood! Amazing, I love aging.
I’ve never felt comfortable in the present; I can never embrace where I’m at. Whether I’m lost in the past or daydreaming about the future, there’s always room for improvement. I could be skinnier, better looking, more charming, maybe even funny! I can’t look at myself without seeing something to change, never thinking “Hey, maybe you aren’t as shit as you think you are.”
Since grade school, I’ve started each September looking in the mirror, wondering what I could change about myself to make this year THE year. I’ve spent so many hours staring at my own face that I doubt I could name a part of me I haven’t criticized.
Forehead? Too big, too bumpy.
Nose? Only looks good in the dark.
Lips? Where?
Body? Don’t even bother.
I’d close my eyes before bed on August 31st, hoping the next day would put me in the body of someone else, like some sort of September 1st Freaky Friday. I’d have different hair, better skin, a whole new perspective. “I’d be unstoppable,” I’d think, “if I wasn’t who I’ve always been.”
Now, this is all quite appearance-based, like most of my young thoughts were. I had always been told I was kind, or caring; a good person overall. I carried that feeling with me, knowing that even though I wasn’t happy with my outsides, my insides weren’t all that bad.
That feeling, like many other things during the colder months, decided to change too. I was growing, my world was shifting, and I was hurting. I wasn’t the nice, kind, caring person people always told me I was. Soon, people were telling me I was the opposite. When someone you love decides that you are terrible, that your insides are rotten and sour, you’ll start to believe them. I soon felt that that no matter how many Septembers passed by, I’d always be the same ugly-souled and unkind person, that I was bone-deep and unchanging.
There’s been new people, new cities, new September’s since that time. I’ve grown out my hair and wear small jeans; I don’t feel as terrible anymore. Maybe not fully healed, or completely in love with myself, but each year it gets easier to hold off on uprooting my life and turning into a new person (Lizzo has also really helped).
My fresh starts are getting smaller. Maybe I’ll buy a new sheet set, maybe I’ll get a new kind of shampoo. I don’t feel the need to completely reinvent myself year after year; working with what I have isn’t so bad. I still get anxious when the temperature starts to drop and the wind starts to nip at my face again, but I like the cold a little more each year. There’s no need to be hard on yourself just because it’s how you’ve always been. Yeah, I still bite my nails and my skin isn’t so great; but there will always be more Septembers, and endless chances for change.
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