The journal was ten years old and pressed under a pile of books on a shelf that wasn’t mine anymore. I spied the edge of its familiar cover and dragged it out from the weight above it.
Ten years. I wrote on those pages when I was 15 years old and poured out my questions about love, faith, and identity.
I read through the journal last night and grew a little wistful for the past but also more than a little happy to see how much I’ve grown in the past decade.
I wonder what I’ll be thinking ten years from now when I look back on these blog entries. I’ll be 35 then, possibly with a few more children to tote around, a few more crows’ feet, a couple (dozen) new stretch marks, a slightly smaller mortgage, some new friends and some old cronies who stuck by me, a husband with salt-and-pepper hair, and many joys and heartaches that will have shaped me.
Ten years ago I hoped to be where I am today. Not everyone gets to say that.
I hope that ten years from now I’ll be able to say the same.
8 Comments
Watch out, 35 isn’t that old!!!! Ten years from now for me…now that is old!
Oh wow – that’s quite cool! If I read my journal from 10 years ago, I think I’d cringe. Good luck to you for the next 10!
Spoken like a true 25 year old! Stretch marks, crows feet, salt’n’pepper hair, indeed! You’ll scarcely look any older at all, I’m sure.
How lucky you are that you found that. I kept a journal every day for years and years, but i can only find a couple of them. Tres triste.
I just love old journals. *wistful sigh inserted here* And oh my gosh, you are a BABY!!! 25??? I feel really, really old now. No wonder you could jump up so high (referring to one of your last posts…)
I love that you are right where you wanted to be. I hope I get that too!
Great perspective, my friend.
shweet!
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