I can almost see it / That dream I’m dreaming / But there’s a voice inside my head saying / You’ll never reach it.
Those lyrics come from the great poet, Miley Cyrus, and they’re telling of the current vibe we’re faced with rattling to an alarming halt. The year is ending, and so is the reign of terror that hangs heavy over our heads. Covid is gone, or something like that. I’m sure I’m not the only one that’s picking up on the energies shifting in the air as we all prepare to pack up and get to fuck for the year- there’s nothing quite as exciting as knowing you won’t have to deal with the impending doom of closing in dates on assignments.
But that’s the thing with years, they’re built to end. So, here’s what I propose. Drop the facade that you actually care about the opinions of those around you. Stop acting like you aren’t the centre of your own universe and start living by the truth that you’re the one that everyone will look at when they want to create healthier patterns and change themselves for the better. Be the change you wish to see in the world.
I’m a huge fan of coming-of-age movies, sue me, and I love a character arc. For me, this year has been about confidence and connecting with who I am at my core. I don’t feel like I’m the most amazing person with the most inviting energy, but I sure as shit act like I’m the most important cunt to waltz through those doors every morning. It’s not so much like creating a false narrative as it is lying a little to formalise truths. I told you all, in brutal honesty, that I’ve always been an unreliable narrator. This year you’ve read week-to-week as I’ve detailed personal parts of my life, the growth and development of this magazine, and the ultimate betrayal of Ned Fulmer to his adoring wife (fuck you Ned, ya dumb cunt) – but the honest truth is that I write so frequently as a means of expressing myself in ways I can’t with art.
There’s no doubt that I’m right there with you reading this, asking ourselves what the hell I’m rambling on about. But there’s no real answer here, it’s a transformative time. Reflection, while hugely necessary, can also be a shady bitch. What I’m trying to get across is that you can create your own narrative and rewrite this story – if you’re not that keen on the current chapters ending. Just be conscious that if you become too much of a free-thought writer that some of the npcs in your world may start questioning the events conspiring in your head. It’s okay though, because you know in your heart that you made love to Rihanna and inspired R9. Live your own truth and rep your self-worth.
While we still have one issue for you to take a geez at the inner workings of my brain, this will most likely be the final sappy editorial from me. Hah, we all know that’s not true, and I’ll probably be crying sheets as I type out my last piece next week in an attempt to garner some kind of sympathy for the years work I’ve provided through the guise of shitty editorials and possible columns here and there (I plead the fifth).
Some Uncle advice: give your emotional support hoody a good fucking wash. Willing to bet it wasn’t always that scummy grey, right?
