Your Old Life
Signs of Outgrowth
When your old life no longer feels like home, it’s a sign that you’re ready to create a new one.
What does your new home look like?
It was April 2020, in Chelsea, NYC—a time when the whole world was paused.
I had finally sorted through the 5x10 storage unit that held what was left of my old life since moving the previous November. Sitting in yet another sublet, I further reduced it all into a 5x5, as if I was physically condensing my past, preparing for something new.
Books in hand, I made my way to Strand Bookstore in Union Square. I dropped off boxes of mugs, clothes, and well-worn memories at Goodwill on 14th Street. But the clothes I parted with weren’t just things I didn’t wear anymore: they held energy, stories, pieces of the “old me” I could no longer carry forward.
Just weeks before, NYC (and the world) had locked down.
The show I was performing in closed indefinitely, and my relationship of seven months ended—by text message, no less. My whole world changed in an instant: a new sublet, no work, no partner, and seemingly endless time.
With that space came an epiphany: I was no longer the same person whose energy had infused those beloved clothes and possessions. Even the pieces I cherished most no longer fit who I was becoming.
It was time to shed.
I’d already cut off my hair that January, symbolizing a fresh start, and marked my skin with another tattoo in March: so hum // I am that.
But this felt like a deeper shift.
Stripped of distractions, I realized this wasn’t just a lockdown—it was a deeper calling to turn inward, to face the parts of myself I’d been ignoring and to clean house, literally and figuratively.
We get these intuitive nudges, moments where life whispers, “Things are about to change.”
And when those changes arrive, they often feel disruptive—friends move away, projects end, apartments turn over, relationships dissolve.
It’s as though the universe is clearing the space for what’s to come.
But there’s an uncomfortable in-between, isn’t there?
A period where life feels empty, unfamiliar, lonely. We feel unmoored, as if everything we’ve known has slipped through our fingers.
That’s when grief shows up, not just for the loss of people or things, but for the versions of ourselves we’ve outgrown.
This liminal space is potent.
It’s where the magic happens—if we let it.
It’s in these moments that we’re being asked to go inward, to take a deeper look at what we’ve outgrown and what no longer serves us.
It’s a time to declutter not just our physical space, but our emotional closets as well.
When we feel disconnected from our old life—when it no longer feels like home—it’s because we’re ready for a new one. A better one.
But in order to step into that new life, we must release the weight of the past. The beliefs, behaviors, and habits that kept us stagnant. The people we cling to for comfort. Even the vision of what we thought our future “should” look like.
Instead of focusing on everything that’s been lost, I invite you to see this as an opportunity. A blank canvas where you get to paint your new life. A story you’re both authoring and starring in. A home that you’re rebuilding from the inside out.
Sooooo…
What does your new life look like?
What roots are you ready to plant?
What future version of yourself is calling you forward?
