I.AM.SO.CONTENT which would come across as boastful, especially coming from a blogger. However, I’ve confessed both the highs and the very many, too many lows here. Last year was the worst of my life and while I did share that here, it was professionally contained within a few sentences, in that the full extent of it wasn’t exposed, obviously. There is only so much depressing shit I can divulge and still pay my bills as a fashion blogger. But there were late night confessions on snapchat and a long series of rather sad posts. Looking back, I lost myself ; Audrey was absent. I was a mess, a shell of all I usually am. Sadness can be a bruise that keeps growing until it’s no longer a bruise but simply the colour of our skin; that’s how my disposition devolved, which prompted me to make many bad decisions.
I invested in unworthy men, as my dissapointment in them grew so did my desperation for their love. I built walls and then wondered why I felt alone. I convinced myself that leaving Barcelona would be my cure. It’s almost May which will mark 5 consistent months of steady happiness. That’s a milestone for a melancholy-prone woman like myself. I have not cried once in 2017. I remember sitting cross-legged watching the sunset on New Year’s Eve, headphones blasting and feeling panicked about the year past. It’s the closest I have come to an epiphany. There I was; remorseful for most of 2016 ; work aside, which really was my sole solace that year. I resolved to return to myself while simultaneously also finally facing the truth that somewhere along that year I had indeed lost myself. It was both the heaviest and most freeing realization all at once; mentally occuring in the space of a few short minutes.
But as the sun melted away with the year, I knew. I just knew I’d be better and life would improve in 2017. The next day I packed my suitcases and travelled back to Barcelona. Nothing in my life has drastically changed since. I blame no one but myself for the sadness that tarnished last year. But I will say this, take the time, effort and space required to foster your own joy. It’s not an emotion likely to come waltzing into your life, it’s a choice and a daily one at that. I said the farewells I needed to say, I sacrificed a fraction of my work life to invest in both new and neglected friendships. I opened myself up, often forcing myself out of my apartment when netflix would have been easier instead. I refuse to deal with people’s problems or jealousies or insecurities.
I haven’t had an argument with anyone in months. I’ve been to parties, dinners, poetry readings, dance classes, shared coffees with many men, cruised through roadtrips and stayed out far too late on too many Friday nights. While life can still be mundane and stressful, I’m thrilled to be living it. Funny how a year of fairly consistent sadness has intensified my gratitide for 2017 so far. I don’t regard last year with shame or regret, it was viciously formative to meet myself at my worst. I now know that version of Audrey, she is my shadow, I suppose. And yet, here I am, with not one tear shed all year long. That in itself feels momentous. Life is simply too short for sadness, a crime of a cliche but honestly, I woke up. I remembered I will not live forever. My days are numbered. And for the first time in my life, with the exception of a second dog, there isn’t a single thing I feel needs improving or fixing. How lovely it is to not crave any kind of life change. How freeing it is to stumble upon satisfaction and to hope instead that life stays quite the same.