This line hit me right in my soul: Streaks serve their purpose for many reasons. But if you think life is all or nothing, you will eventually end up with nothing.

I cried over any report card between fourth grade and grad school that wasn’t straight As.

My ex-husband once told me I had “failed” at a diet and exercise program I had committed to for over two straight weeks when I allowed myself a single scoop of my favorite flavor ice cream.

An ex-girlfriend absolutely relied on contact streaks in our social media chats, and when I was unwilling to commit to the streak (because my mental health demands that I be able to take a social media break), it caused repeated fights. It felt performative and uncomfortable to me that she couldn’t rely on my actions and behavior to feel loved, she needed that number to get one digit higher every day as her measure of our relationship’s success.

I recently went off-plan for about a week and a half on a workout routine, and I’m not beating myself up over it. I’m dusting off and picking back up. I spent that time resting, catching up on projects I enjoyed, and making art. My life is better when I don’t chase a checklist (even though I do love me some checklists). But streaks? Nah.

This year is my year of Windex. Streak-free shine in 2019.

Prone to sudden bursts of encouragement. They/them. Queer, autistic author of

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