I miss the days when I worried a little bit less, and there was somehow enough time in my day to visit with a variety of ideas and adventures. I miss encountering someone new, learning their story, one that greatly impacted me no matter how different it was from my own. I miss not doubting that my plans were leading me somewhere and that all would be well in a universe where my dreams were at least almost exactly as I imagined them. I long for the more innocent hours I passed lost in my feelings, and I miss that time before I discovered the many dark paths those feelings would lead me down. I miss all the missteps, because even in those, I had so much more confidence than my falls would bring me.
I miss who I once was. I have lost her too many times. She is still here, but her elements have shifted shape—they had to so that she could continue to breathe life into her words. I know now that her wholeness lies somewhere on the other side of tomorrow.
I miss the story I once told myself about being thirty. In my naivety, still such a piece of this sensitive heart, I convinced myself that I would have it all together by now. I’m still waiting, watching others with wonderful careers and loving relationships as I continue figuring this life out. In the fall, I will round that corner to thirty-one. Most days, I have only me as I face this world, ever the fighter I always was. A dreamer, a writer, a giver of time and patience.
Although I miss the days when life had its ups and downs, yet everything seemed to fall into place just enough, this is where I am. Sometimes, you just need to let yourself go to that feeling of ‘I miss that.’