I Can't Follow You
Each of us, if we were paying attention, has lived several lifetimes in the skin we now own. Maybe it's better to say we're leasing it - we will give it back. The skin, the bones, everything will ultimately return to ash and dust; no chemicals can stop the process forever. See this map on BBC: we have millions of years to work on it. Nothing is permanent.
Take a few minutes and sort your history - not into chapters, but into the lives you have lived. The easy way is to note each allegorical death. Less easy is to realise that each death is followed by a rebirth, messy, painful, embarrassing. Having given birth I can tell you the first one was like that, too. Kick that embarrassment to the curb and be happy you don't remember your mother's vagina (or abdominal wall, if you were a c-section). There were laws of physics involved there, too.
I myself have lived nine lives. I'm not a cat; there will be more. I and people who have met me estimate I'm good for a total of 119 years, especially if I keep drinking really peaty whisky.
Don't be afraid to let a part of your personal history die - you will go on. There is something beyond where you are now. Take the risk.
Many thanks to my editor, Alayna - I love you, Allycakes. Keep keeping tabs on me. I need watching.