Actually Asten

This feels weird to say, but I don’t think I want to see Basil Brush this year.

Even typing that feels wrong. Like I’m betraying someone—or maybe betraying a version of myself.

For as long as I can remember, Basil has been my thing. My comfort. My joy. My weird little niche in the world that somehow made everything feel okay. He’s been a symbol of survival, nostalgia, and neurodivergent pride all rolled into one fox-shaped package.

And now? I still care. I still love him in that deep, formative way. But this year… I don’t feel the pull. No desperate need to rewatch old clips. No urgency to go see him live. Just a quiet sense that I’ve shifted. And honestly?

It’s kinda scary.

Because what happens when the thing that anchored you for so long starts to loosen its grip? When you look around and realise you’re interested in other things now—superhero movies, nostalgia blogging, joint movie reviews with your fiancé, a wedding full of personal meaning and chaos?

It feels like looking in the mirror and seeing a slightly different version of yourself. One you like, but don’t quite recognise yet.

I’m not saying Basil is gone forever. I’m not “over” him. He’s part of me in ways that go beyond merch and memories. He helped shape me. But I’m in a new chapter now—still autistic, still nostalgic, still me—but evolving. And that evolution is uncomfortable in all the ways growth tends to be.

So if you’re feeling this too—if a special interest is fading, or shifting, or just sitting quietly in the background—it doesn’t mean you’ve lost something. It might just mean you’ve made space for new things.

It’s okay to grow. Even if it feels weird at first. Even if you’re not ready to say goodbye… just “see you later.”