the year of the snake glow-up
a taxonomy of personal rebranding & shedding the proverbial skin
Ah, the Year of the Snake—a time for slithering gracefully into one's own renaissance, for molting the drab exoskeleton of yesteryear, and emerging resplendent in the glossy veneer of *new-and-improved*. If previous years were spent flailing in existential quicksand (purely hypothetical, naturally), then this is the year of strategic metamorphosis—less chaotic butterfly, more calculated serpent.
The snake, that oft-misunderstood paragon of cyclical reinvention, doesn't apologize for its shedding. It doesn't host pity parties about its old skin. It simply discards and proceeds. And so shall we, with reptilian nonchalance, pursue our own renewal. Below, a compendium of methodologies for human-scale molting, plus my personal roadmap to becoming a slightly more elevated life form.
1. the 75 soft (with caveats, because we're human, not machines)
The internet's latest dalliance with self-improvement—75 Soft—is essentially 75 Hard's more forgiving, wine-friendly cousin. Movement, hydration, reading, and one nebulous "wellness" act daily, but crucially: vacation days don't count, and minor transgressions don't require restarting. Revolutionary.
2. intellectual ingestion (or, the art of pretending to be smarter than you are)
Rebirth demands new cerebral adornments. Whether mastering arcane Excel functions or finally distinguishing postmodernism from *post-postmodernism* (jury's still out), the goal is emerging disgustingly over-educated.
3. the radical reclamation of joy (or, scheduling pleasure like it's a shareholder meeting)
Rebirth isn't just productivity—it's remembering how to enjoy without self-flagellation. This year, I'm calendaring hedonism with corporate rigor. Midday fiction reading? Mandatory. Wednesday dessert? *Non-negotiable.* Snakes don't angst about earning sunbathing time; they just bask. Taking notes.
4. the art of strategic delusion (or, fake it 'til you make it, but make it fashion)
Sometimes rebirth requires self-deception. Acting as your aspirational self until you become her. Adopting "I belong here" posture while internally screaming. Embracing narrative audacity—if snakes can shed without existential dread, so can I.
5. the year of yes (or, how to become the main character through whimsy)
Rebirth demands novelty in doing. Saying "why not?" to things normally triggering over-analysis. Pilates class you’ll suck at? Signed up. Weekend trip to unpronounceable towns? Packing. Goal: collect experiences like shiny soul-trinkets.
6. the frequent flyer lifestyle (or, geographic therapy for restless souls)
Snakes explore new sunspots. Prioritizing travel—even just towns over. Solo adventures or spontaneous road trips: move, explore, return slightly more interesting.
7. social alchemy (or, befriending new people)
Rebirth expands circles. Seeking those challenging perspectives, possibly (gasp) having different hobbies. Becoming a mosaic of borrowed wisdom. Terrifying? Yes. Stopping me? Never.
in summation: slither forward
The Year of the Snake isn't for the faint-hearted, but neither is perpetual *almost-ing*. Shed. Proceed. When in doubt, remember: even the most elegant serpents began in piles of their own discarded scales, thinking how undignified, before realizing it was the only way to grow.
Transformation, like my skincare routine, is an inconsistent process but I remain yours in committed reinvention.
xo,
ruby
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