It’s amazing how we’re programmed to remember. We remember yesterday’s laughter, last week’s joys, last year’s tears. We lose ourselves in the past often wanting to go back, to do something different, to relive what’s been lost to the sea of time. The moments got away from us, yes, that’s it. Time slipped through our fingertips like sand, our lives unfolding like a snowstorm that comes just as quickly as its aftermath melts away. I suppose it’s human nature to appreciate life in retrospect.
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I don't really remember how it happened. One minute I was a college student, the next I was sitting in a cubicle, my eyes glued to Microsoft Outlook. As a loyal Gmail user since youth, this in itself was a rather traumatic transition. Even more traumatic was the pace of incoming emails (and I thought college was fast-paced?), and the even faster pace that I was expected to respond. Do this. Do that. Check on this. Oh, and while you’re at it, do 50 cartwheels and 100 back-flips, please. There’s more when that’s finished.
Welcome to the Real World.
I hated that term, by the way. Real World. Ew. What life had I been living for these twenty-two preceding years? I thought it was real. That stress fracture from cross country season felt pretty damn real. And so did the blood, sweat, and tears that went into college apps. I’m actually surprised I survived. And that goes for college, too. I’ve always tried to do everything, be good at everything. Straight As? Yes. Exercise? Hell yes. Dieting? Always. Party? You better believe it. (Can I get a #FOMO over here? …that’s Fear of Missing Out.) So what was that? The You Think It’s Real But It’s Not World? Don’t answer that. I’ll just call it then. And this is now. OK? Great.
I miss then. I miss the days when I knew, albeit not really, who I was and where I was headed. But then certainty hit the fan. My bubble burst, and here I am. I’ve been waiting for the day that I’m used to it, that I’m settled in this new place. But I’m still waiting. Instead, I’m doing a lot of reflecting, a lot of wanting to go back. I’m not really sure what it is I want from then, other than to fill this empty void threatening my now.
Playing with fire? Perhaps. My coach always yelled at us for running a race while looking over our shoulder. But there’s something missing, something I can’t stop searching for.
Maybe it’s me.
