The Beauty of It.

August 16, 2017

 

It usually comes in waves.

 

Hours and days pass and I can't shake the unsteady feeling following me around. It's something I just recently started to acknowledge, a feeling I pushed away to the back of my mind for years. Something my Mom brought to my attention months ago, a brutal honesty only a Mother can get away with.

 

A fear.

 

A fear of vulnerability and loss. With an unrelenting hope towards the idea of love, comes the strong possibility of getting hurt... leading me to cling to people I love like a life preserver. Who am I without them? 

 

A fear of the unknown-- where will I be in 5, 10 years? Will my future look like the one I have envisioned in my head for so long...the one I hope for day in and day out? 

 

A fear of settling-- Is there something bigger and better for me out there? How will I know? As I round the corner towards the finish line of my 20's, time only seems to speed up. Am I wasting my precious time? 

 

It's nearly impossible to know what the future holds. Like, big-picture future.

 

And yes, it's terrifying. 

 

But then I think about all the nights still to come that'll see me don my rarely worn, gold-glitter, disco ball-esque dress and the confidence to do so.

 

I think about quiet morning strolls every weekend to get coffee when most of the city is still asleep-- one of my favorite things. 

 

I think of the times I’ll wear a bikini for reasons having nothing to do with how I look in it.

 

I think of all the rich meals still to come and mornings that’ll tangle the sheets. 

 

New-found friends and long walks with no destination.

 

I think of the sound of a child’s laughter and how that’s maybe the only answer I’ll ever need.

 

Tuesday nights and too many glasses of wine and Wednesday mornings paying the price.

 

I think of the long, Summer days at the cottage, overflowing with family members. The nights filled with laughter--leaving you in awe of the love you have for the people surrounding you and how lucky you are to call them family. 

 

I think of the small leaps that bring two people together—held-hands and fumbled language. The discussions and the fights-- total vulnerability and conversations that ultimately strengthen your bond.

 

I think of loud car rides with the windows down, singing at the top of my lungs with best friends and how maybe that's the best form of therapy to date.

 

And how the rest will sort itself out. The big picture brought into focus by the mess and blessing of mostly ordinary and small, nearly perfect details. 

 

What a wonderful thought it is that some of the best days of our lives haven't happened yet.

 

 

 

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