I spoke briefly with a friend Saturday--an ex, actually--and we marveled at how long the past fifteen or sixteen months have seemed. For every year that seems to fly by, there are periods that are slow and loaded. This is not a bad thing.
For all my jokes about dreading getting older--"Thirty! Noooooooooooooo!"--I really do enjoy it. I'm better at being older than I was at being younger. Young, cripplingly shy, I remained on the periphery. I hadn't realized that everyone felt a bit awkward and weird. Today, still shy but more confident because of life experience, I know we're all wonderfully flawed and special.
We define ourselves and our lives each and every day. What we did last year doesn't define who we are tomorrow; yesterday was a piece and tomorrow is a piece. Imagine flipping a coin. Even if we've flipped ten "heads" in a row, the next flip is still 50/50. And this is why the past year has seemed so long and full: I appreciate the choices I still have in front of me.
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