Of new beginnings. Also, new underwear.

In the first few days after my last break-up, I crafted a kind of a working motto for myself. It went something like this -

New, new, new.

The most painful part of this particular break-up was that I thought I was done, you guys. I thought I was good, you know? That I had found it, and this was it, and this was going to be my bright and happy life. The beginning and The End, all at the same time. And thought of having to start all over again...it was just so exhausting. And overwhelming. And really fucking depressing. And I didn't want to do any of it. And then you get those memories of how happy you were when you packed up everything the last time and how every single detail that had to do with moving was so exciting and awesome, and then shit, right?! Joke's on you.

So I decided that if I had to start over and rebuild my life, then I might as well make it as shiny and new as possible.

The day I moved the rest of my stuff out of the apartment (what a. god awful day. THAT was.), I operated on the philosophy of taking only what I need and leaving the rest (or taking the "rest" to second-hand stores. Please enjoy new assorted household, clothing, and entertainment items at your local Goodwill and Half-Price Books, St. Louis Park residents! Also? My charitable giving tax deductions this year are going to kick five shades of ass!).

I find it really cathartic to pare down my possessions. It's the physical part of the metaphorical belief that when you clear out the old...the things that no longer work for you...the things you no longer really love...you make room for new and better things to come into your life that you will love. So I did that with all of my stuff. ALL OF IT.

First I got rid of the obvious - all the things, good and bad, that reminded me of my past relationship. There's obviously always going to be things that you instinctively want to hold on to that remind you of the good times, or hold a lot of value either emotionally or monetarily, or that you think you could re-purpose into something still useful and worthy. But I have found that all of those things hold a certain association and therefore karma (for instance, wearing the lingerie he bought you the next time you sleep with someone new? Not going to make you feel better. And also, it's just kind of gross), and so it's just easier to get it out of your life. And by that I mean: Either get rid of it totally, or box that shit up and send it to a storage space with instructions that it can only to be opened again in 15 years after you're happily settled and can look back on this relationship with nothing but good feelings and a "See? That had to end so I could begin ___" attitude. Otherwise, it's just not worth it. I had to get brutally honest with myself a couple years ago and admit that every time I put on that shirt or watched that movie, I thought of him (whomever the associated "him" was). And whether those thoughts were fond or bitter, it didn't matter. What did was that they were distracting me from my present life, and the last thing you want is a dead relationship keeping you from living your present life as fully as you could (and should) be living it.

Let's get real: We are always going to carry around memories with us, whether we want to or not (unless you have amnesia. Which, admittedly, seems like it'd be a super lucky break to become one after you break up with someone). Why keep a whole bunch of baggage around - literally! - to go along with it?

Then it was time for all the things that didn't automatically make me think, "I love that." You know the thing, girls, where we hold up an item of clothing and even though we hardly ever wear it because it fits weird or doesn't really go with anything else or we just don't love how we feel in it, we still somehow try to talk ourselves into keeping it? Anytime I found myself doing that, I tossed it into the Give Away pile, telling myself that I would find something better, something that worked for me, something I really, really loved.

And yes, you can use the above as a motherfucking kick-ass metaphor for relationships.

So I cleaned out and pared down my possessions to only the stuff that I really loved and/or had use for. Which left me with about three suitcases and two medium-sized storage crates of stuff. Which was both great and scary - all of my worldly possessions could literally fit into the back of a car.

And then I went shopping!

The first part of it is kind of dumb but also kind of funny: I was sitting in a Barnes & Noble cafe, flipping through the new copy of US Weekly, when I came across photo of a celebrity wearing a fedora hat. "I always wanted a hat like that," I thought to myself. "But I'm not the kind of girl who can wear hats."

Who the fuck says I can't?! I suddenly heard a voice inside my head ask. While it was true that every time I courageously tried to wear a kicky hat in public, I felt like it made my head look weird and that everyone was driving by and pointing at me, saying to their friends, "She should NOT be wearing hats." But suddenly, getting this fedora hat felt like the best break-up recovery move ever. I was gonna go shopping right now, I told myself, and I was going to buy a super cute fedora, and I was going to wear it when I went walking around the lake with my friends and when I met them for coffee on Saturday afternoons and when I went shopping during the day and when I just hung out on a patio somewhere, having cocktails at sunset. Aka, I was going to wear it whenever I did things just for me, just because I liked doing them and could do them.

So I went to Target and picked out a black fedora that actually looked pretty good on my weirdly shaped head. But I didn't stop there: I decided to build a foundation of New by buying a new collection of (super comfy and supa sexy) underthings, ridiculously cute pajamas, and some basic tops and jewelry that fit into the vision of style I wanted to start creating for myself (simple and clean but put together, etc).

And let me just say this: There is something really, really great about being able to literally toss out all the lingerie you used to wear with him and replace it with an entirely cute, entirely new set that you bought just for you. Some people consider a new haircut as the go-to method for beginning the getting-over process of a break-up. I now consider buying all new knickers as mine.

And a little retail therapy is especially cathartic, I think, if you know that you kind of got into a rut at the end. Like, for instance, if every day was Yoga Pants Day and every night was Pajama Night. Or when you passed up getting haircuts, waxes, or pedicures because you knew he wasn't going to notice them, anyway. And it's especially helpful when you do it with things that are going to make you feel good (or at least better) about doing stuff you're not necessarily looking forward to. Like sleeping alone. Or getting dressed up to go out. Or moving into a new living space.

One of the hardest things about break-ups is feeling like you have little to no control. Even if it was your decision to walk away, it's hard to feel like you have control over how much your heart hurts or how much you miss them or even how much you want to burst into tears right now. And the thing about editing your possessions...it gives you control. It gives you something to manage. You get to decide what stuff you keep around you, what kind of things you want in your life, and what things you don't. Even if you don't get rid of anything - like, if you're one of those freakishly put-together people whose entire closet is full of things they absolutely love - it's still extremely helpful to go through all of it even if it's only to serve as a working reminder that you are capable of making great decisions for yourself. Of providing good and lasting things that add to the quality of your daily life. And that when something doesn't work, and will never work, it's okay to walk away from it because you either have a hundred other things to fall back on that do, or you know you can always find something else to replace it with that will.

And if all that fails, seriously just throw out all of your old pairs of underwear and buy some brand new ones. And then tell people about it. People love hearing about that stuff. And then they'll probably get a mental picture of you prancing around in your new underwear, and then you'll realize that they're probably picturing you in your new underwear, and then things will get kind of weird, but who cares? At least the both of you will know that you wear underwear. If anything, it will set you apart from the dirties who don't even wear underwear because they're totally cool with subjecting everyone else to their stank. Have you ever had to sit next to that type of person? It's not sexy. You don't catch a whiff and then think, "Oh hey, my primal instincts are digging your musky pheromones, so let's do this!" No. You try hard to mentally call up what Irish Spring smells like and then do the best that you can to go on with your day.

Underwear.

It's what sets us apart from animals, you guys.  

So go out and get some.