Note to Self

You are twenty-five years old, but sometimes, you act like you're twelve. Why are you so insecure and unsure of yourself? If you choose to withdraw from the world and from others in order to find comfort, then fine – but don't hate yourself later for not speaking up and for not acting.

Other times, you look at the world as though you are five. Those are the moments when I love you: When you turn your face to the sky and notice the delicately random patterns that have formed. When you belt out tunes on the top of your lungs, intentionally botching up the words and/or the melodies. When you argue about whether the flowers by the roadside are purple or pink. (They're purple, really!)

Most often, I know you feel as though you are forty. You think that the world has passed you by, and find it increasingly difficult to look ahead with optimism. You also become nostalgic at the drop of a hat, and tear up over the “naturalness” of children being children. You try to convince yourself that you don't want the things that you don't have anyway, but know secretly that you are deluding yourself because you don't want to openly admit your yearnings – then you might have to openly admit your disappointments.

But, you ARE twenty-five. (Yes, soon to be twenty-six – I know you hate to be reminded.) What does that look like? What does that feel like? It's a mixture of innocence and jadedness. It's the end of the first movement of a symphony (but there are three more movements yet to come!). It's the intensification of questioning. It's alternating impulses to cling on and to let go. So, go and try to cling on to what matters, but if it doesn't let you, then you have to let it go. You have to let yourself go too....