I was reading through an old Five Star notebook of mine and found this small piece that I wrote back in early 2017. It’s always interesting to read what I was planning out, even more, to read was I was going through at the time. And to see how I used to reflect on my past goals, and how I thought my life would turn out next, or at least how I hoped it would. So, here’s an old memory of old memories. – R.P.D. Sanders
I’m trying to find myself; again. I’m peering through my past so that I may see what I’ve done, who I was to get where I am presently. I can see my future, I just don’t know who to be to get there, other than myself. But I forgot who I was when I was first headed in that direction. All because, somewhere along the way, I got caught up in trying to be someone who others wanted me to be. That – I will continue no longer.
My friends aren’t just in other states, but other nations, and that astounds me. The past hurts at times, remembering, but it reminds me that I have indeed lived and loved. The streets are painted with memories: the gas station we would frequent; the paths we took when we got into biking; the dorm hall we stayed up all night in, talking about life, religion, and realpolitik.
I can’t physically go back to all those memories strewn out across time and space. Those memories, with all our different sets of we, are etched in the past forever. I’m different now; we all are. We, every different set of we that was. I won’t forget about every you. I won’t forget about us. I won’t forget about every we. Even if we never speak again.