Lately I can’t make decisions for shit.

What do you want for lunch? I don’t know, what do YOU want for lunch? zzzzzzz

Within the last year, the couch started sagging in the middle. I didn’t notice at first but then, when I did, turned a blind eye. This is my couch, my white couch, my baby. It’s the first major piece of furniture I purchased in LA and I LOVE IT. I stared longingly at it for months while gingerly saving my pennies, only to be richly rewarded when I spotted it at a sidewalk sale in a ritzy neighborhood for a quarter of what it’s worth. When the store owner told me she’d just have a new one delivered straight from the warehouse, I almost cried. And took it as a sign: I really did make the right decision moving here.

Anyway, that’s how far back me and this couch go. We’re like family.

For months I’ve been trying to buy a new couch. I know it’s time, but can’t seem to pull the trigger. My throat tightens, I get overwhelmed and stop looking. Why can’t I just have fun and pick a friggin’ couch? The pursuit plagues me, I’m exhausted. Over a couch.

There I was reading away last week when I came across this quote:

So whenever we make a plan and stick to it, at some point we must choose: Either we refuse to acknowledge or accept that radical change has been happening all along, requiring that we adapt to the next right thing, and make changes to our plan, or we keep trying to live in a world that no longer exists. – Wayne Muller,  a life of being, having and doing enough

And it hit me: this is me. I’m trying to pour new wine into old wine skins and they’re bursting everywhere. Whenever I try to choose a new couch all I think of is my old life; how financially secure and happy I was, how safe I felt. It’s like if I let go of this couch, I’m letting go of self-sufficient Carrie who was able to take care of and provide for herself. Carrie who took risks and didn’t fail. Carrie who could work and not worry about money and bills and creating a life for herself.

Can I tell you how much I hate feeling this way?

I HATE IT.

I really do.

I feel tight in my chest even writing it down.

When I let go of this couch I’m letting go of a time in my life that I really loved, when things were figured out. Mostly I feel sad; like I’m letting go of all these pieces of myself and don’t have anything to replace them with. It scares me.

I think I’m holding on to a lot of things that don’t belong to me anymore. Hair, clothes, tax documents, weird shit; maybe even some relationships. As hard as it may be be, I have to let go of the person I was and the life I had 5 and 10 years ago because, in reality, it doesn’t exist anymore.

Cut to scene: it’s last Wednesday and I’m in the hair chair, round three of fix this broken mop is on the horizon. My new colorist is a genius; she really encourages you to do what will look best on you, and right now she wants me back on the brunette train. For a lot of the reasons above I left being brunette, but on a whim decided to go with it. She’s the expert, who the f-ck am I, let’s do this. Guess what? It turned out so great we had a moment of silence. I feel (and look) so much better, like I’m back to being myself. Or at least who I am right now, in this moment.

I left the salon, Wayne Muller’s words rattling around in my brain. Change is constant. Embrace it and live or get stuck and suffer.

I’m getting a new couch.