Have you ever gotten an annoying reminder on your computer asking you to update your software?
If you are anything like me, you might have clicked the “remind me later” button.
I’ve been doing that for years. I bought my most recent computer last year and it has crashed three times. Eventually they had to put a new logic board (engine) in. Brand new computer. Brand new, Kristin. I wish.
The thing is, I’m kind of glad to reach this breaking point.
Even the “software” of myself is no longer useful.
My little habits leave me mystified.
Why am I still typing the same thing over and over? The work I’m doing makes no sense to me at the moment. It is my ego’s last ditch attempts to try for those missed opportunities. They’ve passed, but not without the building blocks of my foundation.
I’ve blurted out 20 different ideas for “new updates” just to try them on for size.
I’m going to be an Astrologer. I’m going to be a Massage Therapist. No. Wait. A Famous Yoga Teacher.
And who says I can’t be any of these things? Yes, I could try to be these things—and believe me I have. But come on, do I really care anymore? Can’t I just click the “Happy button?”
I was talking to my friend, Jackie, the other day and she reminded me that sometimes the first step in knowing who we are, is knowing who we are not.
I’m not a yoga teacher.
I’m not a massage therapist.
I’m not a martyr or an actress, although at times I can be quite melodramatic.
I’m not a mountain girl or a dog lover.
I have no place attempting to pull off the hipster look with the beanie on the head and the skinny jeans. Can you say love handles?
I’m not anyone’s girlfriend and believe me I’ve tried.
I am no longer a girl who hides away from her friends and family. I’m done with not communicating, not being honest.
It’s not me to worry so much about what others think of my choices.
The biggest realization yet has been that I no longer need to be defined by my work.
I couldn’t give a shit right now. Those were just the old versions of the newly updated Kristin. They were absolutely necessary for me to get to this point right here.
I’ve learned that personal evolution often happens when I’m not looking.
I’ve been so busy planning on how to upload the best “personal software” while quietly in the background, life happened and I was being discovered anew.
It feels good to know who I’m not anymore.
The “download” happened in an instant (while writing of course) and I began to see what this “innovated software” was like.
She was more inviting, a little more expansive, a lot more colorful, with new fonts—a little goofy like a baby duck walking for the first time. I smiled at her, knowing just who she was and who she was not.
Without hesitation, I clicked “update” and that’s when the magic began.
I leave you, dear reader, with this question to ponder: “What is no longer you?”