MARCH

MARCH

Boston – Augustana

“I think I’ll start a new life.

I think I’ll start it over where no one knows my name.”

March arrived with heaviness, marked by another painful memory that pushed reflection deeper than before. This song surfaced not as a story of romance, but as a mirror of the workplace—a space that had slowly become suffocating. Listening to Boston felt like confronting an uncomfortable truth: the growing toxicity within, where thoughts leaned toward negativity and every step forward seemed shadowed by pessimism.

The lyrics echoed a quiet desire for escape—not just from a place, but from a version of the self shaped by exhaustion and constant emotional strain. The idea of retracting a signed document symbolized more than a professional decision; it was a longing to begin again, to step into a space where no history defined, no expectations weighed down, and where starting fresh felt possible. Leaving the present company felt tempting, driven by fatigue from enduring the same “weather” day after day.

Yet beneath that longing lingered a question that refused to fade: what is holding me back? March became a month of pause rather than action—a moment suspended between the urge to run and the courage to confront, between starting over somewhere new and understanding why letting go feels so difficult.