Sometimes when the night air is still and my bones have that good, tired ache, I think about the person I’ve become. The things I never thought I could do, the things I never thought I would do, and almost every time, I laugh. Sometimes I must cry for that little girl, because she loved being a good girl, and she mostly isn’t, except for the important things. Most often, though, I laugh.
Her idea of being a good girl started with ‘following the rules’ and ‘doing as you’re told’. It ended with a fulfilling and lucrative career, a handsome husband, two or three cute kids, a beautiful house and deep contentment. Of course, she had no idea how often rules and directives are invented to keep people small, and how hard it is to have a fabulous grown-up life when you let silly things keep you small. She also had no idea how difficult it is to amass all of those achievements into one lifetime, much less at the same time. Her wanderlust laid silent for a few more years, protecting her from the tarnish on that contentment she coveted.
I am fairly certain she would be horrified with her thirty-two year old self. She was pretty innocent. I wonder, though, would she be impressed with her talents, efforts, and integrity? Could she look at the woman she’s become with the same awe-filled eyes she gave her role models? I would like to think so; that she would see the beauty and wildness of life and take pride in her victories. She underestimated herself sorely in at least one respect.
She had no idea how strong she could be.