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  • Writer's pictureErica Breau


The past few weeks have left me musing about attachment. I had a significant amount of my hair cut off recently that I wasn’t ready for. I was (maybe still am) reeeeeeally attached to my hair and my identity of being a long haired person.  I also had a  person step into my life for a moment and then step out. It stirred up feelings I haven’t felt in a long time and has left me pondering this idea of attachment. Attachment to people, ideas, objects, beliefs, etc. I can understand the idea of not attaching oneself to something/someone as attachment leads to suffering, but I am a long way from not having any attachments. 

 I sometimes like to suffer though. I love sitting in the pit of utter despair and sadness, just for a short moment however. I don’t linger long in the pit. It’s cathartic, beautiful, creative, and insane. 

I am still unabashedly attached to many many things, and I’m fine with that. I love to indulge, and since indulging in self-reflection is one of my favourite things, having attachments guarantees things for me to reflect about. Self fulfilling.


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