And Now, Back To You

I miss the way you would look out into the vastness of the world and see possibility. I miss how you dreamt so big back when nothing felt unattainable. The world was full of magic and color, and there was an endless catalogue of opportunity, and the sky was the limit, and you truly felt it and believed it with all your heart. 

Now, when I face that vast expanse, there’s a fear that clouds the wonder and whimsy. The opportunities seem limited, our dreams once painted in the brightest hues are a little duller, and I worry that if we met today, you would be disappointed with who we’ve become. 

I try to remind myself that just because you and I are separated by years, perhaps we don’t have to be so different. Every time I silence your voice telling me to dream bigger, reach higher, run faster and further, a nagging guilt silences me, and, for the briefest of moments, you and I become one again. 

You are my greatest loss. 

I chase after you in sleep when my mind becomes our mind and feel a rejuvenated sense of youthful exuberance. The woes and worries flit away until it’s just me and you laughing and remembering what it is to feel truly alive. You remind me that being alive is not the same as living and give me a stern look that says “pull it together; we’re better than this,” and I laugh at your chastising because, really, I’m just talking to myself. But it isn’t the same as looking in a mirror or at photographs. You are me, and I am you, but most days we live as two separate entities quarreling over how to simply be. 

We graduate in two weeks. I have never been more aware of the expanse of options to come. The fear of that vastness only grows exponentially, and I find myself drawing on your ambition, your hope, your wonder more and more. It feels like trying to grab the wind. 

It’s curious that with how alike you and I continue to be — yes, I know, we’re the same person, and it shouldn’t surprise me — the gulf between who you were and who I am only seems to grow deeper and wider with every step closer to the next undiscovered version of us. You were so excited to be me, and now all I want is to go back to you. It’s odd how many people we can be in a lifetime. Every evolution is supposed to be a growth, but they only seem to pull me further from you, and the farther I get the sense of loss tugs harder and harder. 

I don’t know who we will become in the next days, weeks, months, years, but I know that I regret having kept you so far away for so long. I miss who I was when I was you, and I think that, whatever comes next, I have to let you take the wheel a little bit more. I’m terrified of you. It feels impossible to see the world from behind your eyes again; the rose colored glasses you see the world through are so hard to trust. 

But in a stage where things seem to be so large and scary, I don’t want to run away from the fear anymore. I got lost in the noise of growing up and left you in the dust, and for that, I am sorry. And to whoever comes next, take care of us. It’s easy to lose sight of what matters when things seem to be moving 1000 miles a minute.  

We graduate in two weeks. 

I turn 22 in seven weeks. 

But I hear a 10-year-old girl who I’ve ignored for years telling me that she knew we’d make it through college, and that she’s trusting me, but am I sure medicine is the right path after graduation? 

And to that, I say: welcome back, kid. I missed you.

• college
• graduation
• Next steps
• reflection
• self