Today while reviewing posts I’d made “on this day” in previous years, I stumbled upon a post on reading my old livejournal entries and how it made me feel. In it I asked:
How would my 43 year old self react to the 33 year old me? I hope I will make her proud. I laugh at my 20s self, but there were things that remained constant – my desire to question and analyze every single bit of my life.
I am 44 years old now, and it is difficult to process that it has been 11 years since I’ve written that post. Am I proud of my 33 year old self? I think I am more concerned about how my 33 year old self would think of this 44 year old self.
My 33 year old self was misguided in some ways, emotionally immature in other ways, but I think she did her best she could at that time. Those years were still some of the best years of my life.
What surprised me from that post was a quote I included from my 21 year old self:
What is real, really? Who are we to define what is real?
I guess some things just never change.
Today also marks 10 years since I’ve moved back from the US. I don’t miss the place per se, but I miss the innocence and optimism I had while I was there.