MY 2020 vision has a nice ring to it: regain the brain.
This is the year to switch off the TV, explore my psyche and learn something new about my self, the nature of being and the existence around me of which I am (apparently) connected.
It’s a new decade, people (well not technically but who really noticed) and it feels like time to shake things up, writes Sara Fitzpatrick.
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READ NOWFurthermore, I want to be brave, say ‘Yes!’ and embrace the fact that I’m alive and somewhat free.
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In the sage words of Gwen Stefani: “Take a chance you stupid hoe…life is short you’re capable.”
What indeed am I waiting for?
I’ll start with thinking more deeply: beyond whether Dua Lipa should keep her bleached blonde do and should I buy a $200 face cream that promises to time-travel my skin in a DeLorean back to 2010.
I have given myself leeway in the last few years to be Mum – to conquer breastfeeding, sleep deprivation and the art of putting someone else’s needs before my own.
And thus I retired a good portion of my brain and surrendered to the lure of reality TV.
As some sort of survival mechanism I succumbed to The Real Housewives of wherever (any of them will do), Married at First Sight and Bride and Prejudice to numb my mind and the painful truth that parenting is often soul destroying.
To stay upbeat and moderately sane you must tune out from the ongoing crisis in Iran and latest Brexit malarkey and tune in to the emotional turmoil of every hottie The Bachelor dumps along his road to “love.”
You marvel at photos of Christina Applegate without makeup and the baffling fact that Grimes and Elon Musk are still an item (and expecting).
This life of mindless necessity was well and good for a while but my kids are four and five now and it’s time to reclaim my life and my learning.
Gwen’s masterful lyrics speak louder than ever: “Tick-tock, tick-tock…”
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And I’m the first to admit, I have a lot of work to do (thankfully You season 2 wasn’t wowing me).
It’s small steps all the way, especially when it comes to risk taking: a couple of weekends ago I wore a white jumpsuit to a party – that was big for me, brave.
I won’t lose my vacuous self completely – said $200 face cream is already sitting pretty on my vanity (I’ll let you know when I’m looking 10 years younger) – but as I wait for my collagen powder and spirulina smoothie to kick in I will also – hopefully – be restoring some brain cells.
My road to enlightenment begins with Carl Jung, whose surname I spelled with a ‘Y’ until recently.
Dreams are messages from an unconscious underworld according to the late psychoanalyst: I can get into that.
I opened his seminal book, Man and his Symbols, over the Christmas break, and reading about archetypes, the ego and the shadow gave me a buzz usually associated with a day at Breakfest circa 2005.
It was a defining moment: my brain could be saved.
Another sign came as I cleaned my home – and Barbie’s too.
After straightening her staircase, parking her convertible and de-cluttering the caravan for an upcoming getaway with Ken, I found my 2001 uni assignment, Existentialism and Endgame marked 84 per cent.
I read the first paragraph and almost cried because the decline of my intellect – much like Mickey Rourke’s face from the ’80s compared to now – is a monumental travesty.
But it got me thinking – I was once somewhat smart and hellz yeah I can be again!
Wish me luck as I endeavour on a more thoughtful, meaningful path.
And God help me to be strong when Big Brother gets rebooted later in the year.
Send your parenting tips to sara.fitzpatrick@communitynews.com.au.
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