One unexpected development in the fuck it list universe:
the lake swimming appears to have escaped “one-off reckless behaviour” territory and entered… habit territory?
I’ve now done a second lake swim and, in what feels like a genuinely suspicious turn of events, I’ve actually signed up for membership.
This is how it starts isn’t it. One minute you’re standing at the edge of a freezing lake questioning every life choice that brought you there, the next you’re discussing water temperature apps and whether you “run hot” as a swimmer.
I still don’t like touching the bottom.
I still need people nearby.
And I still emerge from the water looking like a bewildered Victorian orphan.
But something about it is working.
Not just physically either. Mentally. Nervous-system-wise. There’s something oddly regulating about voluntarily dunking yourself into cold chaos before breakfast. Like exposure therapy, but wetter.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the fuck it list cinematic universe, I went to see the new Michael movie.
Look, I know. There are all sorts of valid criticisms about sanitising parts of his life and skimming over murkier realities. But honestly? It also delivered a frankly potent dose of nostalgia directly into my bloodstream.
The music. The clothes. The drama of it all.
I came out of the cinema in a kind of retro fever dream.
And now the fuck it list appears to be entering its 80s era.
This Friday I’m going to an 80s/90s/00s silent disco for the first time and I am seriously considering full commitment to the bit:
leg warmers, crimped hair, possibly fluorescent mesh. If I emerge looking like an aerobics instructor who’s recently survived a minor electrical incident, so be it.
Worse still, after the film, I became absolutely possessed by the urge to go roller skating.
This is objectively ridiculous.
My feet are probably the worst pain point in my body and falling over could genuinely become an administrative event involving ice packs, regret and possibly paperwork. But apparently, my inner child has decided she’d still like to glide around badly to 80s music anyway.
Unfortunately, I then discovered my local roller skating place, less than a mile away, has closed down.
A tragedy.
Which means I may now have to travel further afield in pursuit of this particular fuck it humiliation.
Some other fuck it list items, however, have stalled slightly.
The spoon-playing practice has gone quiet.
My 192-day Finch streak died a sudden death.
My Duolingo widget is sitting on my phone like the ghost of good intentions.
And honestly? The reason is that one of my other fuck-its, namely queer dating, has unexpectedly expanded to fill available emotional bandwidth.
Which, as it turns out, when you’re neurodivergent, is… a whole thing.
I don’t think I fully appreciated how quickly my brain and nervous system attach meaning, safety, routine and emotional regulation to connection. There’s this strange all-or-nothing quality to it sometimes. Someone can go from “nice person I’m getting to know” to becoming woven into the emotional architecture of your week at frankly alarming speed.
And then suddenly:
– your mood is affected by text reply timing
– your brain invents seventeen possible meanings for “haha”
– your nervous system treats minor uncertainty like an incoming weather emergency
– and separation, even temporary, can feel weirdly physically uncomfortable
It’s been fascinating, confronting and occasionally exhausting.
But also important.
Because I think part of this whole fuck it list experiment isn’t just about doing brave things externally. It’s about noticing the invisible rules and patterns running underneath everything.
The ways we self-protect.
The ways we over-adapt.
The ways we shrink, cling, avoid or catastrophise without even realising.
So yes. Some habits are wobbling a bit right now.
But maybe this is still the work.
Maybe becoming the person I want to be isn’t going to look neat and linear and colour-coded. Maybe it’s going to look more like cold lakes, abandoned Duolingo owls, nervous system revelations and researching roller discos while emotionally over-attaching to women.
Honestly? That feels significantly more believable.
Becky x