For John David Wisecup, the morning began the way most of them did: a warm cup of coffee brewed from his Keurig, the faint hum of the machine breaking the silence of dawn, and the familiar ritual of scrolling through the morning news on his phone. Outside, the rain whispered against the kitchen window, casting soft ripples down the glass. The world was a palette of gray, and the steady tapping seemed to echo the rhythm of his thoughts.
But today was somehow ‘different’.
Today, John David had made a decision—quiet, but monumental. He was going to close the door on his past. Not just part of it, not just the easily forgotten bits, but all of it—the accumulated weight of twenty years’ worth of regrets, missteps, and heartaches. The thought spun around his head like a carousel horse: colorful, repetitive, inescapable.
But, how to begin?
His thoughts circled endlessly.
Did it start with the closets, cluttered with clothes and memories that no longer fit? Should he clear his phone of outdated contacts, each one a ghost from another era? And what about the digital traps—the apps, the social platforms—that subtly reconnected him to people he’d long since outgrown? Then there were the journals, filled with confessions and confusion, and the neatly organized tax returns that chronicled his years like growth rings in a tree stump. Lean years and plush years, they were all there.
Were these things really important if one was serious about starting fresh?