The False Hope of Fresh Starts

My TikTok feed has officially entered the back-to-school season.

Now, as a Canadian, I'm a little early for all of this, but somehow my "For You" page has decided it's already September.

Teachers are decorating classrooms.
Fresh bulletin boards are going up.
Tiny desks are perfectly lined up.
Someone is labeling thirty-six glue sticks with impeccable handwriting.

And honestly?

I'm obsessed.

The funny thing is, school itself never really scared me.

I loved learning.

Give me a fresh notebook, a stack of textbooks, and a highlighter that glides perfectly across the page, and I was happy.

The social part?

That's what terrified me.

Walking into a classroom and wondering where to sit.

Who I'd eat lunch with.

Whether I'd accidentally say something weird in class.

Whether anyone would notice if I was quiet.

That feeling never really goes away, does it?

It just changes outfits.

Now it's walking into a new job.

Starting a new hobby.

Going to a networking event.

Joining a fitness class.

Making friends as an adult.

It's still that same little voice asking,

"Where do I belong?"

But despite all of that, I still get excited when I see school supplies.

I don't know what it is.

Maybe it's the smell of fresh notebooks.

Maybe it's brand-new pencils that haven't been chewed on yet.

Maybe it's colour-coded folders that make me believe my entire life can finally be organized.

There's something magical about unopened school supplies.

They don't know you've missed deadlines.

They don't know you've forgotten appointments or abandoned planners halfway through February.

They're full of possibility.

Every August, I convince myself that this is the year.

This is the notebook I'll actually finish.

The planner I'll consistently use.

The routine I'll definitely stick to.

Spoiler alert...

The planner usually ends up holding grocery lists, random brain dumps, and a receipt from three months ago.

And honestly?

I kind of love that.

Because maybe fresh starts were never about becoming a completely different person.

Maybe they're just little reminders that it's okay to begin again.

Not because the calendar says so.

Not because everyone else is posting their "new era."

But because we're human.

Sometimes all it takes is a new notebook to believe in yourself again.

Not because the notebook changes you.

But because hope is funny like that.

It can live inside something as simple as a sharpened pencil.

So while everyone else is preparing classrooms, I'll probably be wandering through the school supply aisle, convincing myself I absolutely need another notebook.

Do I need it?

Probably not.

Will it make me irrationally happy?

Absolutely.

And maybe growing up isn't losing that excitement.

Maybe it's realizing that the joy was never in having the perfect planner.

It was in believing that tomorrow could always be a fresh page.

Always stay warped and twisted,

Eve