A Cliché Reflection
Finding Clarity in Chaos and Taking Back Control.
A surprise hello to Gabb’s Gallery subscribers and the curious wanderers who stumbled here while scrolling through their Substack home pages. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? The last time I reached out - September 2nd – I was neck deep in burnout. As someone with a soft spot for cliches, it feels only right to take a moment to reflect upon 2024 and muse over what I want from the belated new year. And where better to do it then here, on GG – a space I’m now christening my public diary.
Is it impolite to call 2024 a shitshow? It’s the word that springs to mind when I think back, even just seventeen days ago. January arrived with a downward spiral, and by March, I had quit the job I once dreamed of and left behind the city I thought was my forever home. Let’s just say my vocabulary expanded to include every profanity I know, even in foreign tongues. The carefully constructed map of my life—built out of sheer anxiety—was suddenly torn to shreds.
By midyear, I found myself back in my hometown, grappling with complicated family dynamics, PTSD, a long-distance relationship, and a return to hospitality work—all things I had neatly avoided for three years. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I was on the right path. And in some ways, I was. But that doesn’t mean it was.
Toward the end of 2024, I began to rediscover myself. Removed from an environment I believed was my calling, I started letting go of the places and people that quietly made me miserable. Admitting that was no small feat. In some ways, it feels like stepping back in time, physically returning to a place I swore I’d left behind. A place that carries its own weight of pain and unhappiness. But here I am—seventeen days into the new year—and I’ve already begun taking back control.
It’s not easy, and I know the road ahead will be rough. This “home” brings with it waves of unwanted thoughts and memories. Still, I find refuge in fictional worlds—whether high fantasy or unapologetically cheesy fluff—that I hope to one day write about again. I continue to consume art, mostly digitally, though last year, William Brickel and Raphael Barratt gifted me moments of profound connection. Brickel’s work, in particular, gave me a strange sense of control and purpose—a glimmer of clarity in the chaos of shared experiences.
Despite the wave of negative feelings returning to my small town originally brought me, it has felt like pressing reset on a life I thought I had all figured out. Taking on hobbies that push me beyond my comfort zone and tackling the life skills I’ve long avoided feels daunting, yet strangely exhilarating. These small, deliberate steps are opening doors to the kind of life I’ve yearned for—the one where I feel truly grounded and at ease with myself.
Patience is key, though—a virtue I’m still learning to embrace. Growth doesn’t happen overnight, and perhaps that’s the beauty of it. The journey, after all, is what shapes us.
Maybe the answer really is as simple as stepping outside.