And I Don’t Mind…

First of all, hi, hello and welcome to my brand new chapter. If you’ve been keeping track of my status over the past couple of weeks you’ll have noticed I’m no longer at my old snappy title of The Same Old Chic and have moved on to a more minimalistic motion for the long term where I’ve jumped on the ‘use your first and middle name as your branding’ bandwagon.

It’s been a big jump migrating from Blogger to WordPress and starting afresh but it’s a step I’ve been wanting to take for months now and I couldn’t not take advantage of the Black Friday discount over on pipdig (big thanks to Phil and his team for providing the best and most efficient service!). I can already feel the advantages both in my blogging drive and my attempt at a professional stance.  It’s upped my mojo, it’s progressed my ideas for creative content, and it’s given me the kind of enjoyment I craved to really strive for the best in an ambitious industry.

As you can see from the lack of woollen garments, a Rudolph red nose and a flimsy attempt at snow in these photos, this highly anticipated post has also had to take a back step whilst I adapt to my new virtual surroundings. As much as this vivid pink blazer has been my favourite stylistic go to piece throughout the end of Autumn,  it’s now had to be enshrined into wardrobe hibernation as the Baltic conditions moved in full whack.

But that’s just one of many things I don’t mind, inspired primarily by the t-shirt sitting snug underneath my rose coloured ensemble.

 

I don’t mind the golden leaves transmuting into speckles of nothing.

I don’t mind the cold air breathed into my tensed up bones as I’m wrapped in half a dozen layers.

I don’t mind wearing the same jumper for 3 days in a row because it shields warmth and comfort and I don’t have the money to be splurging in Topshop every week.

I don’t mind favouring a night in with films and snacks to a night in the clubs under the exposed strobes of light.

I don’t mind easily eating my way through a packet of Custard Creams then balancing it out with a salad and water the next day.

I don’t mind crying my problems out on the phone to my mum because she’s the only person I can talk to.

I don’t mind admitting that I struggle sometimes. A lot of the time.

I don’t mind confessing that I find viewing life from an adult perspective tough and frightening.

I don’t mind that I reap escape and emotional attachment in fiction opposed to real life.

I don’t mind craving human contact but then realising, actually, I very much enjoy my own company and my own peace of mind.

 

I don’t mind listening to the same song on repeat for hours.

I don’t mind admitting when I’m wrong.

I don’t mind learning from my mishaps and mistakes and implementing them into an ethical way of life.

I don’t mind speaking up for what I believe in, either.

I don’t mind being mediocre.

I don’t mind being the bumble bee in a swarm of wasps.

I don’t mind being the less popular one with a finger for every friend I behold.

I don’t mind distancing myself as part of self care.

I don’t mind feeling like I don’t belong in a vocal, active community.

 

 

I don’t mind hating and loving myself simultaneously.

I don’t mind being real.

I don’t mind being me.

I don’t mind discovering my sense of purpose.

I don’t mind pinpointing my role in the moment.

I don’t mind being alone.

I don’t mind becoming the person I want and choose to be.

I don’t mind forgetting chasing after those who don’t put the effort into remembering me.

I don’t mind putting myself first until I’m happier and healthier and ready to share my existence.

I don’t mind people not understanding that.

Nobody cares, and I don’t mind. Because there’s nobody who knows the ins and outs, the full picture of our persona, and whereabouts we slot into the structure, better than ourselves.

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