I wish I remembered all of the things that mattered to me. I mean actually remember, not just that I went to a place or saw an event, but remember what was said and what I liked about it so much. I wish the pictures I took reminded me of something other than the sadness of leaving or the fact I am no longer in that moment and that I do not know when I will be able to return to those moments. I have to wonder, how strong do I have to get to be able to carry all of that around? And every time I go somewhere I’ll come back with more of the same.

And then I remember this: I am far too privileged to complain about anything. I have been given too much and too many chances. The threat of failure is always on my mind but how serious can that threat be when I can so easily start over?

There is a high school acquaintance who keeps a blog here. It’s much better than this one. She once wrote that she wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing in life, if she had made the right choices after college. I’m not sure if I said that right, because it was everyone else wondering if she made the right choices, and not her. She knows she did. Some day I’ll tell her that I envy that, because I never gave myself those choices. All I have done is work.

I don’t remember the work, but I bet she remembers her adventures. I only have one memory of her from high school. A party neither of us really wanted to be at I think, except I was too worried about fitting in, and she was just fine not fitting in. I wonder if she remembers that too.

I like to think that some day, we’ll both be everything we wanted to be. I imagine that she’ll look back and remember the wonderful journey, and I’ll be busy trying to forget.

But we’ll have both made it.