# Demarking Life

## Carrying the Lines

Life draws lines on us over time. A worry etches a furrow in the brow. A forgotten slight leaves a faint scar. Possessions pile up like ink on a page, each one a mark of who we think we are. By our forties, these lines blur our view, weighing down the shoulders we once held light. On a cold February morning in 2026, staring at fresh snow unmarked by footprints, I saw how these accumulated traces obscure the simple ground beneath.

## The Gentle Erase

Demarking starts small, with no fanfare. It's picking up a pen not to add, but to strike through. Cancel a meeting that drains more than it gives. Fold away clothes unworn for years. Say no to the voice in your head replaying old regrets. Each removal feels like exhaling after holding breath too long. Not destruction, but clarification—like wiping fog from a window to see the world sharp again. In this quiet undoing, space opens for what matters.

## The Mark That Stays

What endures isn't blankness, but essence. The laugh lines from real joy. The hands callused from work that feeds the soul. Demarking reveals these as the true boundaries of a life well-lived—not walls, but gentle outlines holding in warmth.

Simple ways to begin:
- Pause before acquiring: Does this add or obscure?
- Evening review: What one mark can I erase tomorrow?
- Walk unmarked paths: Let feet find their own way.

*Demarking doesn't diminish us; it draws us clearly.*