It wasn't that long ago that I was entering my twenties, but when I think hard about it, it feels like another lifetime. So much has happened since then. I've gotten married, had two babies, moved across country and into and out of different homes. I've graduated college, held different professions, grown into my skin, experienced heartbreak and loss and tragedy. Fundamentally, I don't feel all that different, but I know that I am. And the younger versions of me feel like strangers I once met, but can no longer place with specifics. Almost as if the twenty-one year old version of me is still out there, putting herself through college, holding down two jobs and still finding time to party on the weekends. It doesn't feel like that life ended, though for the me that exists now, it certainly has. I think about how that time in my life felt infinite and how all of the ages and phases before it felt that way too. How at 13, I longed to be 18 and how far away that seemed. And how, now that I look back, it really wasn't. How I wanted so much to be out on my own in the world. And how, every so often now, I wish I could go back. It didn't take long to get here at all, but it was quite a long journey nonetheless. Lifetimes upon lifetimes.
Which begs the question: Do we live lifetimes within a lifetime? I think we do.
Our entire lives have been a series of seemingly infinite time spans. So much experienced in each phase, so much desire to graduate to the next one. Though now, the desire is less so. I'm okay with being in the here and now, even though I still wonder a lot about the future "me's". And will I look back at 37 or 57 or 77 and feel this way? Will the 27 year old me seem almost unrecognizable to the future me's too? I wish I knew.
What do you think?