What a great idea, the clean slate. It's one of the only phrases I can think of that is invariably said with optimism, with hope; it's a cliche that you hope you can apply to yourself. Unfortunately, it's probably the most difficult thing in the world to achieve. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that - amnesiacs aside - "A Clean Slate" cannot exist. Life simply does not come to nice, neat starts and stops, it doesn't have a series of beginnings and ends. There's birth, life, and death. Simple, and you're not once given reprieve; everything sticks with you, whether you'd like it to or not, and there are no mulligans, no do-overs.
Since leaving college almost four years ago, I have moved around probably more than most. I'm currently on my sixth apartment, my fourth job, and my third city, all of which have lied in different parts of the country. I have lived in two liberal hotbeds, and currently reside in the Wheatbelt - God's country. During this time, I have collected plenty of telephone numbers to save in my cell phone, and have lost touch with many more than I'd like to admit. I have been in good relationships and bad ones, but they were all the same in their insincerity and immaturity.
And with each move and each relationship's end, I have had more than enough people let me know how I need to accentuate the positive aspects of them. I have even allowed myself to acknowledge my opportunity to "clean the slate." But once the bags are unpacked and everything is put in place, you realize that there is too much shit to fit into your apartment. You realize that movement does not mean moving on; that a failure is certainly not the first step to a new success. It all sticks with you, it all piles on, and your slate is anything but clean; the baggage doesn't get left at the doorstep of your previous place of residence. It follows you, it tracks you down and forces you to do something with it. You are who you were, for better or for worse.