This might be an entire story or this might be a section of a whole. Either way, I’ve been drinking all day and I think love is in three parts, well in many parts, INFINITE FUCKING PARTS, and I think we rarely see it for what it is when it IS. I think we spend our lives seeing love in the rearview and only learning what love is, was, is … and what is upon reflection.
I think when we look back we find it easiest to be in love with who we were, especially if we were young and tan and HADN’T FORGOTTEN TO WEAR SUNSCREEN FOR YEARS. Who we were is such a restraint on who we are if you depend on nostalgia as much as I do. Who we were, in our mind, can be the best of who we could have been. In my mind’s eye I am always stronger, louder, and more brave, in reality who I was, even when I was doing strong, loud, and brave things, is the same person I am now. I am and have always been scared, and sweaty, and insecure. But it’s true. The girl, the woman, that I remember was always a gladiator. She makes mistakes but she owns them, she loves and she is loved, she
She turns into me.
I love the capability of who I was, the buoyancy, and the outright enthusiasm that used to grow in my bones. I miss that feeling, that strength and that person. But, importantly, I remember that when I was strong and loud and working so hard, I felt the same way about myself as I do now. I felt lazy and dour and undeserving. I didn’t recognize my ability or endurance. I didn’t know what I would be or what I would face and that didn’t scare me at all.
Everything scares me now. I’m scared of failing just as much as I am of succeeding. I’m deeply aware that I won’t succeed. I don’t want to overwater my plants or forget to feed my cats. I’m scared that I already don’t exist, or maybe I never did. I’m scared that the people I love will die and why I am so much more deserving to exist. I’m so worried. I’m so scared. And I am trying so hard. I want to be able to be who I wanted to be but I’m conflicted with the concept that I never wanted to “be”. I’m so scared of what is in front of me and equally reassured by the monotony of it all.
It’s a series. And let’s move on.