This morning, as I was idly scrolling through Facebook before getting up for the day (as is my toxic trait), I landed on one of those memes that poses a question. This time: “If you got offered a reset button for your life, would you press it?” My friend shared it with the caption: Friggin’ right I would (I might be paraphrasing).

Two things of note here. One, I felt incredibly sad for my friend. And two, I thought – don’t we have this option every single day of our lives?

My friend seemingly “has it all together”, but that could be now. And that could be her present snapshot. Maybe we she collectively takes together the pieces of the life she’s lived, she’d do it all over again differently to change her certain set of circumstances. I think this edges too close on “regret” for me. And I really, really don’t have any regrets.

That’s why it’s basically useless to try and use my experiences as some sort of strange weapon to wield around me. You’re not going to “hurt me” by reminding me of what I’ve been through. Or the decisions I made that were right in the moment, but foolish looking back on. You’re not going to “tarnish” my reputation by unearthing my closet. I promise, the door is wide open. I don’t need an emotional bellhop. I carry my own baggage.

But back to the reset button.

I think it speaks to a larger picture. I’ve been vocal that I don’t consider “divorce” a dirty word and any time you choose you and not the toxic blunder that became your marriage, broke the chains of taboo and set yourself free, then I do think that’s setting the reset button.

I’ve walked away from bad marriages, bad friendships, bad family kinship. I’ve even walked away from the town that shaped me during my formative years, because I needed to push the reset button. And starting over, or doing it again, doesn’t even have to be a landmark, earth-shattering, life-altering decision. I’ve had at least five Facebook accounts. And every time I’ve deleted one, it gave me a chance to curate my friends’ list. Make decisions on who was headed into the next chapter with me. And that’s okay, too.

But what’s also alright is the choice to say, I don’t want to change anything. The constant in consistency. I am happy in my house, in my life, in my town, in my marriage, with my choices. You don’t have to look at the button and see it as a two-way street. One message says: I lived with regret, I push this. The other: I would gladly relive all the heartache again. No. There’s a third option. Maybe you’ve lead a life that’s been simple, little drama, little change. That’s also cool.

So what does it mean for you? What does the button represent in your life? Are you someone who’s cautiously optimistic for the future, so pushing the button washes it away all you’ve worked towards? Or are you constantly looking to jump off the deep end in new experiences, giving yourself a hand-carved template to resetting over and over like a cat and its nine lives? Neither is the wrong answer. But both are good questions to ask.

Would you push the button?

— c ☆