I'll Meet You on Memory Lane

nos·tal·gia /näˈstaljə,nəˈstaljə/

noun

1. a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.

I have this distinct memory from my first year in college. I was sitting at the bar table in my campus' Starbucks, drinking a frozen hot chocolate. I had headphones in and was listening to Postcards from You by Life Below Elephants. I can even tell you the exact sweater I was wearing and the assignment I was working on. My boyfriend (at the time) met me there, and I slipped out one of my earbuds to chat with him about his day. He stood by me while I wrapped up my work and we headed to the dining hall for dinner. It was November.

What's important about that memory? Absolutely nothing.

Yet, there are so many memories similar to it from the last 4 years that I can remember with such detail. Because while these moments were not at all life changing or ground breaking, they were the moments that made up my identity at the time.

I feel like I've lived at least 4 completely different lives since I moved to Indianapolis (the first time). And I mourn each of those lives. I can still so easily see myself as so many different versions of myself that I will never be again. It's hard to not reminisce on who each of those girls could've been if things had worked out just a little differently.

But they didn't. And, just because things could've been different, it doesn't mean they would've been better.

So, instead of missing and wishing for that girl in the Starbucks, I just have to thank her for getting me to where I am today. I find myself wondering what moment I'm living right now that will become a core memory of the version I am right now. Will I miss this apartment one day? Will I miss the simplicity of sitting in my bed writing this right now?

Despite the grief I feel for the versions of myself that I've had to let go, I try to remember that I never lost myself. I just became who I was supposed to be now. And a year from now, I'll probably be someone different again. Sometimes growth hurts.

And when I feel that nostalgia creeping up, I just remind myself that the me I used to be...

she would be proud of me.