a mango is not just a mango

one month into my IG hiatus

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(6 min read)

part 1: epiphany

I half-jokingly complained to a coworker two months ago about how annoyed I was with myself for buying a box of pre-cut mangoes marketed as “mango fries.”

Not only convenient—I thought while standing in Whole Foods on my lunch break, a bit lightheaded and low on bandwidth for smart decisions—but also fucking cute.

An hour later, once my hunger subsided and I savored the final bite of my irresistibly cute mango fry, clarity returned and I remembered this: Pre-cut fruit is a total scam.

It’s been a little over a month since I decided to give up Instagram for nine months.

I’ve had many people ask what I’ve been doing with all my time.

Listening, I tell them.

Stepping away from the app that once dominated my attention has given me a lot more mental space and with it, clarity.

This clarity has reawakened in me the understanding of how the simplest act of cutting a mango can lead to transformation. Because when I choose to cut the mango, I’m not just cutting the mango—I’m challenging the belief that I don’t have the time or energy for it. In this choice, I’m not only saving three dollars ($352 if I continued to buy these mango fries twice a week for a year), but I’m also reclaiming my power.

For the past month—and I say this with great pride, as I intended to reshape my life this way—my days have been incredibly mundane.

Here’s a glimpse:

I start my day by waking up, writing my morning pages, and brushing my teeth. While I heat up water, I make my bed and reset my space for the day. Then, I prepare a cup of tea, choosing from my current rotation of Earl Grey, rooibos, pu-erh, or jasmine. I inhale a simple yet profound affirmation, and then audibly sigh out any lingering negative energy in a quick ten-second practice.

After this, I clock into my day job (just two steps away from my bed, since I work from home). Throughout the day, I take dance breaks and fit in light movement between tasks. Before lunch, I snack on something light. Then, during my lunch break, I wash the dishes, cut my own mango fries (growth), and spend an hour prepping and eating my food.

Once I clock back in and finish my workday, I find an excuse to leave my apartment to transition out of work mode. Upon my return, I eat dinner, cut more fruit, and wash the dishes again—often blasting music while I do. In the evening, I unwind by watching a few episodes of Ted Lasso or an interview with someone whose creative process I’m currently fascinated by—Kendrick, lately.

I take notes. I take notes. I take notes.

I journal (different from morning pages), do some admin for my 1-on-1 clients for coaching, conceptualize projects, flirt with some dreams, hum, pray, grieve, and release what no longer serves me in a ten-min to one hour practice. I cry. I cry a lot—which I recently heard Rebecca Welton, a character from Ted Lasso, describe as an orgasm for the soul (brilliant), and then I sleep.

Most days, nothing extraordinary happens.

But in the in-between, just from this past month alone, I’m discovering how the mystic truly lies in the mundane.

part 2: letting go can also mean letting in

I was talking to a friend a couple weeks ago, sharing the history of a few past friendships that never got the closure I’ve always yearned for. We spent the whole day together, and by the end, she pointed out a pattern she’d notice from our conversations that absolutely gutted me to hear.

She said:

“You hold a lot of space for people who don’t seem to align with your values anymore.”

As painful as it was to receive, I was stunned that just a few days later I had complete clarity on who I was ready to let go of, and I felt ready to take the necessary steps to make it happen.

I stopped responding to an ex without explanation—not out of coldness, but because it was time; we both knew our relationship had passed its expiration date years ago. I released the lingering weight of energy from a handful of friendships that shifted suddenly, never receiving the conversations and closure I always felt they deserved. I let go of some guilt rooted in mother wounds (though I know this one will be a lifelong process). And I forgave myself for not being able to show up as the unattainable, perfect version of myself for the long list of people I love.

How did I reach that clarity so quickly? I asked myself.

The short answer: Because I intentionally eliminated IG—the biggest distraction that kept draining my soul battery—clearing the path to focus and create a lifestyle that allows me the capacity to do this work so that I may continue to move closer to my dreams.

Instead of wasting all my free time scrolling, I’m now forced to break that habit and do things like—well, you guessed it—cut a mango. And in this quiet act of embracing the mundane and confronting every emotion that has been asking to be seen, peel by peel, slice by slice, I open a clear channel for more aha moments to flow through.

“The muse visits those who make space for her.”

—James Horton, The Nonwriter's Guide to Writing A Lot

part 3: synchronicities

It’s fascinating how the muse, source, God—whatever you choose to call it—responds when you commit yourself fully to your path.

Julia Cameron, author of the well-known book The Artist’s Way, offers a beautiful description of the term "synchronicities" in her other book, Finding Water.

She defines it as:

“Those experiences in which the hand of God or the finger of the Universe feels palpably present.”

As I tell a few friends about the mundanity of my days, I weave in my small discoveries—glimpses of wonder and moments that feel like quiet communion with the Universe:

I text a friend, in Seattle, asking when she’ll be in LA next, and she replies that she was just thinking about me—she’s planning to come for a concert, the exact one I was about to invite her to because I have an extra ticket. This leads us to the most energizing FaceTime catch-up, where we make official plans to go together.

Then, I sit down to write a letter to someone I’m ready to let go of—not to send, just for myself. The next day, after a long wave of silence, this person responds to my request for a face-to-face chat. In that moment, I find myself with all the right words to express exactly where I’m at in my process. It dawns on me: Creating intentional space for the deeply honest conversation I had with myself became all the closure I needed.

One day, I suddenly get the rare urge to go out dancing. A few days later, as I’m excitedly walking to meet a newer friend for dinner, I get a text from another friend (who barely knows this newer friend) inviting me to a music show. Just as I reach the crosswalk by the restaurant and put my phone away, I hear a voice in front of me. It's my friend, greeting me with a smile. She compliments my outfit as we hug and says, “I wish you were coming out with us tonight!” I ask where to, and she tells me she’s headed to a music show—the same one my other friend had just invited me to 30 seconds ago.

Synchronicities…

Divine confirmations that softly whisper:

I see you—keep going.

And so, here’s to eight more months of cutting mango.

-Val

P.S. a mango is not just a mango.

P.P.S. giving it up is giving.

In case you missed it:

i am giving up instagram for nine months

what does it take to live up to your dreams?

i stopped checking my texts for two weeks

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