***
Recently, I had some down time so I thought I’d go through the folders and files on my desktop and delete the old and unneeded stuff. You know, for fun.
In one buried folder left over from a few hard drive transfers, I came across a total gem—a document containing several AOL Instant Messenger conversations (how retro!) that I had saved from when I was a freshman and sophomore in college about ten years ago (Side note: Ten years? WTF!?).
In these vintage conversations, there was shameless flirting with the boy that lived downstairs in the dorm. In another, homework was ditched for a spontaneous trip to Taco Bell; later we recounted the details of a failed mission to stock up on massive quantities hot sauce and sugar packets and discussed the line between taking what was free and what constituted actual stealing. There were inside jokes, detailed analyses of what our crushes’ cryptic away messages meant, adventures accepted at a moment’s notice, and mindless late-night banter.
These IM logs were like opening a perfect time capsule to what I was experiencing, feeling, and who was important to me at that precise moment in time.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been swept away in nostalgia’s love spell. Yearbooks, old photos, even passing encounters with the people who had previously left footprints on my memories can send me into a tailspin of waxing poetic about days gone by.
Yet, skimming back through the all conversations, I almost felt as if I was reading a stranger’s words. I believe that the people we are today matters far more than who we were yesterday, and I’m working on letting go of some of the stories of my past that don’t align with my current self (like my drinking history). I don’t recognize the person who uttered those words because I’ve collected life experiences that have molded me like a piece of clay into something the same, yet completely different.
But what do you do when you recognize that some of those layers hidden underneath had a beauty all of their own– beauty now obscured by the trading of youthful optimism for adult realities, insecurities of past failures, and the occasional bout of cynicism?
In this way, nostalgia can be like a chisel, cracking away at the layers to look for the shining gems inside. Leonard Cohen wrote, “There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” But my version of those lyrics might end, “That’s how the light gets out.”
In reflecting on these past conversations—as insignificant as they seem, I’m shown a girl who trusted herself even when she didn’t have all the answers, who didn’t have to plan to be spontaneous, who rode the rollercoaster known as ALL OF THE FEELINGS, who prioritized friendships above all else, who didn’t think so damn much, and who knew how to really enjoy herself regardless of circumstance.
I know I’m not the only mid-to-late 20-something who worries that they’re not fun anymore (I know so because I read it on Thought Catalog). But, hello, I’m a girl who now finds herself organizing and cleaning out computer folders FOR FUN—so in my case it might very well be true.
But the light—the joy, passion, confidence, and love—is still within me. It dims every time I get caught up in thinking ten steps ahead or analyzing every detail, and grows like a beacon as I bring my focus to the present moment.
The past two weeks, I’ve been telling The Questions and The Shoulds and The Have Tos to promptly STFU, thankyouverymuch. I’ve embraced the slivers of time where I do exactly what I want to do and let myself expand into all corners of the experience, like I used to.
Laying on my back in the grass to watch the stars come out to dance at dusk.
Swirling down the street on vintage bicycle just for the feeling of the sunshine and wind on my skin.
Buying three dresses at once at a thrift store for no reason other than I like the way they hug my curves.
Dreaming about how I can inject my friendships with more playfulness, spontaneity, and Real Talk instead of adult pleasantries and small-talk.
Having a second pint at the bar.
Eating dark chocolate for breakfast.
These moments are far from life changing, but they’re bringing me back to my center, to my light, to my heart. I trust that these are the kindling and the sparks that will stoke my spirit and help me with my theme to Ignite my year. I dare say I even predict that this shift towards joy is part of the process to get out of my head long enough for something big—yet currently nameless and faceless—to flourish within me. There’s something in there ready to grow, I can sense it.
Shine on.
{Image: Starry Night by anoldent}
No comments:
Post a Comment