Memo 007: Motion to Withdraw

Because fine isn’t good enough anymore.

Opening Statement

There comes a moment when you must be honest with yourself and realize that you’ve already outgrown who you used to be. You must continually choose not to shrink back into her just because she’s familiar.

This week’s Briefing is your official Motion to Withdraw. From the job, the routine, the self-concept, the lifestyle that once felt aspirational, but now feels like a closed case.

Outgrowing isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s quiet. A slow burn. A subtle realization that the life you built with so much care is no longer aligned. That your glossed self is waiting on the other side of release.

There’s no shame in pivoting. In fact, evolution is part of the deal. You’re allowed to wake up and want more.

Consider this your formal warning: the most dangerous comfort is the kind that’s almost right. That relationship that’s fine. That job that’s good on paper. That routine that makes you feel productive but not powerful.

This week, we’re not editing. We’re exiting.

Exhibits

Gloss Docket

Grabbing: My new digi cam. Doesn’t break the bank or require a five-year wait like the g7x, but still gives fun cute pics.

Listening: Fame is a Gun by Addison (i know this entire album was last week’s listening, but I am still at the restaurant).

Obsessing: Trying different workout classes! Also, good thing my cousin/bestie Jill (eat.train.love.nyc) is my personal trainer.

Styling: A power pony for summer. (is she sweaty or is it just a good slick back? no one knows).

Stepping Into: The lead role in your life story. Your look, your choices, your voice—everything should reflect who you're becoming, not who you’ve outgrown.

Testimony

Let the record reflect: my old life, was a “good” life.
A solid job. A fine relationship. A nice apartment. I was making decent money, checking boxes, and everyone around me seemed genuinely impressed with the performance I was giving as I stepped into the role of “accomplished adult woman.”

And yet, every morning began with a sigh.
Not a dramatic sob, not a meltdown. Just that heavy, low-grade dread. I was clocking into a version of life that looked ideal on paper but felt like I was playing a supporting role in someone else’s script.

I was living in the suburbs, surrounded by people drafting their logical forever plans: mortgages, 401(k)s, meal kits. Everyone seemed content planning two vacations a year and settling into a life of spreadsheets, home ownership, and waiting to die. When I expressed my discontent, I was met with my dad’s go-to phrase: “Welcome to adulthood, the party’s over!”

The party’s over?? I hadn’t even had a cocktail yet.

I didn’t know how to fill the gnawing void inside of me. I’ve heard some variation of “it’s never enough for you, Alyssa” many times in my life from many different people. A consistent reminder that I am “dramatic” and “insatiable” and “impossible to please.” Somehow, everyone else seemed fine living like this, so I internalized the story. Maybe I was broken. Maybe my chronic craving for more—more excitement, more passion, more sparkle—was proof that I was dramatic. Delusional. A habitual malcontent.

Because how do you explain to anyone (or even to yourself) that you’re unhappy when there’s no obvious crisis and you have everything a person is supposed to want?

But here’s what I know now:
Your life doesn’t have to be on fire to walk away from it.
“Fine” is not a life sentence.
You are allowed to leave boredom.
You are allowed to desire more.

Eventually, I realized the only thing standing between me and the version of myself who felt energized, passionate, fulfilled . . . was me.
And more specifically, my unwillingness to disappoint the people who thought my life was “on track.”

So I disappointed them.
I moved to New York. I got a new job. I left the relationship. I rebranded my entire identity.

And guess what? My dad was wrong. This party is not over. It’s just getting started. Now, I’m in love, with New York and my life. I’m lawyering. I’m modeling. I’m writing. I’m creating. I’m glowing in a way that doesn’t wash off. Every morning I wake up not with a sigh, but with butterflies in my stomach thinking about all the exciting opportunities I run into every single day.

Here’s the rule of law I want you to hear: you can rebrand your life at any time.
There is no statute of limitations on reinvention.
No judge or jury to convince.

Sometimes, the best thing you can do for your future self is leave the life that makes sense but doesn’t make you feel.

You are not hard to please. You are not broken.
You’re just too good for a life that doesn’t excite you.

So go ahead—file your exit.

In your journal—or in the Post-Briefing Chambers if you’re brave—write a formal “Motion to Withdraw.” What version of your life, your identity, your routines, or your relationships have you simply outgrown?

Closing Argument

Let the court take judicial notice: Staying small to make others comfortable is not noble—it’s negligent.

You are allowed to crave more. You are allowed to evolve. The life you designed five years ago, five months ago, or even five minutes ago does not have lifetime tenure.

Sometimes, your glow gets too big for the old container.

So file your exit. Make the pivot.

Because no matter how logical your current life may seem, if it’s draining your spirit—it’s not sustainable.

You didn’t come this far just to be fine.
And you don’t need permission to be extraordinary.

You just need to want it badly enough to leave what no longer excites you.

We’re not staying out of obligation.
We’re not settling out of fear.
We’re not shrinking to fit old narratives.

We’re walking out—glossed, elevated, and excited.

Briefing adjourned.

Xo,

Alyssa, CGO