Memoir: Friday the 13th

On my way to work this morning, it occurred to me that today is Friday the 13th.

I had to chuckle to myself.

You see, after the trip down to Utah midway through this week and seeing/talking to the women I went through the trauma/drama of high school with, I have been thinking about those days and the experiences we had together. Every now and then I have been known to take those memories out of my pocket and shuffle through them. I remember goofing off at lunch with the girls, classes and boys, first dates, first kisses, dances and plays. And the memory I pulled out this morning? Our Friday the 13th parties.

But when I tell people about memories that I have of those times, I am not sad. I don't wish for those times back, and I don't dream of reliving them again. I was happy then, yes. But I am also happy now. I know that every experience has changed or molded me in some way, and I am grateful for that, but I am not that person anymore.

I can remember them though. Without longing for the past, I can think of the silly things we did, the fun we had and the trouble we inevitably got into. I can shuffle through those memories, and when I am done, put them back in my pocket and continue on with the current. It does not hold me back, it does not make me sad.

That is who I was, just like I am now who I am,
and don't know who I will become.
(read it again, it makes sense, I promise!)