1. Suffering
I no longer believe in the myth of noble suffering. Hardships do polish my character, but I discovered easier and more effective ways to accomplish the same effect. I have intentionally spent the last three years to remove suffering from: creative writing, work, shopping and even dance. Focusing on the joy of each aspect of the experience instead of the struggle. Looking back I feel proud of the progress I made and inspiration to focus that same energy towards further areas of my life that still contain struggle. Grief clears the mind. Pain grants some sacred passage into wisdom or goodness. But pain—she is a silent robber. She teaches little and takes plenty, stealing joy in careful calculated fractions. I have come to the conclusion that suffering is simply that: the raw weight of being alive. It demands to be felt, but I do not mistake it for virtue.
2. My self-worth is measured in accomplishments
When did I begin weighing the air I breath in the currency of ticked items on my to-do list? It had to start early, since I can’t locate it’s place of origin. Accomplishments feel good. Getting things done feels good. Degrees, certifications, projects finished, scaling a mountain and holding a book in my hand that has my name on it are all thrilling experiences. With it comes a frothy rush that is addicting. But it contains within it the urge to prove myself to others or to prove something to myself. Now I see the folly of it, this transaction of self for a condition. I am here to be more than what I can tally. I no longer let my sense of value depend on what the world might applaud, but on what I know to be true in the quiet hours.
3. I am the result of my circumstances
This was a comforting belief at first—that I am simply what life has made me, a sum of cause and effect. But now I think I am more than the things I’ve been given or denied, more than the narrative that tries to tether me to my history. Circumstance may leave marks, but it doesn’t write the story. Others might define me by some label: immigrant, woman or nerd. I am familiar with the narrative the is associated with these words. I am the author now, I am the canvas and the brush both, reaching beyond what has shaped me to create what could yet be. My life, I see, is mine to craft, the work of my own hands, stitched together from my own choosing. Limited only by the limits of my own imagination.
4. What others think of me is of importance
I used to carry the weight of others’ opinions like stones in my pockets, as if they held some secret about me I’d missed. What a hollow pursuit. I’ve learned that most people view us through lenses tinted by their own fears, their own longings, their own limitations. Their judgments are reflections of themselves, not mirrors for me. So I set down the stones, and in their place, I found freedom. The person I must please, at last, is the one who looks back at me each morning in the mirror, softened and sure, eyes open to her own life. What I believe about myself is mine and mine alone to craft. What somebody else thinks of me is of no business of mine. Although compliments feel lovely and are welcome, I do not need them as a substitute for a personality.
5. There is a right answer for me to discover
How often I searched for some hidden truth, some sacred wisdom that would unlock everything, as if my life were a puzzle with only one solution. But life is far wilder than that—full of pathways, not right or wrong but simply possible. Some feel good, some feel amazing and others dreadful. Each day I build the path by walking it, discovering as I go that no choice is final, and all answers are evolving. I’ve traded the need for a single truth for the joy of becoming, and in that letting go, I find myself free to step lightly into my days, trusting there is no wrong way forward.
What are things you no longer believe in. Please let me know.