I am about to clean house. Not my house, just THE house. The house of my life. The domain in which I exist; the dojo, the place of peace, the humbling vastness that is my mind and soul. I haven’t had much to talk about in recent months. I haven’t written anything of note in months. I write letters to friends, mostly to practice my cursive (yet another dying art in the 21st century), but I have no written anything of value and importance. The less you use your creativity, the less naturally creative you become. The mind is a muscle, and the creative mind is a big fucking muscle. I became complacent, comfortable, bored, mundane, absorbed in work and money and work and lost my sense of discipline for myself and allowed people into my life who – for lack of a better term – were not as they seem. Until very recently, I have allowed, permitted, things to happen that I would normally, and my empathetic nature prevented me from cutting off certain happenings although in my heart of hearts I knew they were not right. This is a broad topic of coverage. It covers romance, friendship, business relationships, whatever you wish it to.

I was on a high for the better part of the summer. I removed myself form a toxic relationship, I moved (literally) across Long Island, I got a new car, I got out from under my bills, I joined a new gym, I felt good. That, my friends, is where I went wrong. Not in the feeling of success – I felt entitled to some joy – but in my feelings of comfort. I stopped being cautious. I got complacent in the gym, I lost my why, and I settled in life physically ,entally, and emotionally. I was in some nouveau riche state of bougie emotional euphoria and I sucked that shit down like a poolside pina colada. And in those months, up until this past week, I felt everything was cool and collected. But, like a dormant volcano, the true colors of those around me came to light.

I am, however, proud of myself – my new self. A few years ago I would have taken my licks, blamed myself for whatever the situation was, and moved on. I met a new side of myself this week, though. I have learned over the years to stand my ground, to call people out on what is not right, and to move on. The hurt is the same, but it is more bearable, because I know I am not wrong and that emotionally I am stronger than I usually give myself credit for. And this post is so non-specific, but my train of thought has a positive intention. It’s about protecting my heart. It’s about rediscovering my “why.” It’s about having that Ronda Rousey comeback I’ve been subconsciously searching for.