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There’s a little girl who’s fond of me, who is enamored with my high heels and decorative bras. Becoming a woman was all she really dreamed of becoming.
There is a teenager who is startled by me, who can’t reconcile the fact that my passions ended up being the very things I thought I despised. Venturing into the world beyond was all she really cared to do.
There’s an 18-year old who is grateful for me, but maybe also disappointed and a bit disenchanted. She had things planned a particular way, and life took us elsewhere. Revelling and amassing adventures was what she truly hoped to achieve as she stood on the precipice of a success that was saved for years to come.
There’s a 20-year old who is proud of me, who is at peace knowing that I did what I set out to do, who is happy that I’ve found the courage to be who I truly am. She taught me, if you insist on feeding life the scraps of who you are, it’s your spirit that will starve. If you give life everything you have every day, you will be at peace. Now, she’s at peace knowing I gave it my all, that I made it to the other side. Authenticity was all she cared to achieve.
There’s my present self who is quietly confident in me. She is bewildered by the beauty of life, the beauty that exists even in the steepest bouts of sadness. She whispers to me, Every day needs be an end in itself. Life is one winding moment, and that pernicious feeling of “life having slipped by” is nothing more than a failure to embed oneself into the present moment.
There’s a future me who is quietly reminding me, You’re allowed to be exquisitely happy, even if it feels unnatural, even if it feels like doom is impending, lurking around the corner. That’s the anxiety coloring your mind; that’s the ego pulling you into fear.
I know she is patiently watching over me, smiling as she conceals the very secrets I need to become her. She chuckles as she sees me fumbling for my keys, scrambling to open the next door in front of me.