Post 10: THE BLUEPRINT BURNOUT: BURNING THE MAP

 THE BLUEPRINT BURNOUT: BURNING THE MAP

THE MAP-SHREDDING STARTERS

        Let’s talk real talk: I held onto a life plan tighter than National Security Barbie gripping her purse at dinner safe, predictable, and deeply unsatisfying. The wake-up call? A Sunday night dread so heavy it could bench press my anxiety. The burnout warning signs were louder than karaoke night at a dive bar exhaustion, resentment, and a restless feeling that whispered, “Hey dumbass, this isn’t your story.” When I pivoted, guilt tried to tag along, whining like a spoiled chihuahua. But here’s the tea: guilt can go choke on a compost heap. This pivot is for my sanity, not society.

THE INNER COMPASS CHECK

Turns out, most of my original “blueprint” was about as authentic as gas station sushi someone else’s dream sold to me at a premium. Building my life around my current values means tossing outdated expectations into the bonfire like marshmallows sticky, sweet, and completely flammable. Success today? It looks less like money and applause and more like peace and pajamas. Priorities shifted from sacrificing my sleep and sanity to savoring moments of rest, joy, and unfiltered chaos. Because honestly, hustling until burnout isn’t a flex it’s a funeral.

BURNOUT AUTOPSY REPORT

“Doing everything right” cost me more than just missed Netflix binges—it drained my soul like a leaky garden hose left unattended. The only winners in burnout bingo were bosses, expectations, and anyone selling the myth that exhaustion equals success. I’d betrayed my energy for achievements that felt emptier than a vegan’s fridge on meatloaf night. Protecting myself now involves planting boundaries deep enough to trip any toxic “hustle culture” nonsense that tries sneaking back in. My energy now? Priceless, guarded, and as fiercely defended as my favorite snacks.

PIVOT WITHOUT APOLOGY

Now that I’ve tossed the old plan into the flames, I’m chasing dreams as wild and uncharted as a Bigfoot sighting—rare, exciting, and totally worth pursuing. This week? I’m picking tiny actions guided by gut instincts rather than guilt trips—more “hell yes” moments, fewer polite nods. Daily life now looks like honoring my energy over endless checklists—less hustle, more hammock. My advice for anyone gripping a dead plan? Drop it like it’s expired milk. Trust me: starting fresh isn’t failure—it’s freedom wrapped in badassery, served with a side of peace.

Still carrying a plan someone else drew for you?

Let it go in the comments—consider this your permission slip.

        What “should” are you finally cutting loose?
What’s the wild thing you actually want to grow instead?
When’s the last time you said, “Screw the map—I’ll build my own trail”?

        "We’re not here to follow directions. We’re here to plant chaos and call it home."

Drop your truth below—the gnome and I, are listening.

Mitch’s 180 Seconds of Truth, Dirt, and Probably a Raccoon