My cousin sent me this poem by Helyn Cornille and it really resonated. I hope you enjoy it too.
How Do I Get Back To Who I Was?
The answer, of course, is that I don’t.
None of us do.
And maybe we aren’t supposed to.
The woman I was twenty or thirty years ago had her life to live.
She worked.
She created.
She loved.
She made mistakes.
She survived things.
She lost things.
She learned.
And eventually, she brought me here.
I don’t need to become her again.
I can be grateful to her.
And then I can ask a different question.
Who can I become from here?
I like that question much better.
It doesn’t ask my body to do what it can no longer do.
It doesn’t require the people who are gone to come back.
It doesn’t pretend that loss isn’t loss.
And it doesn’t ask me to be young.
It simply turns my chair around.
Instead of looking only behind me, I can look at what is still ahead.
Maybe I cannot travel the way I once did, but I can still discover things.
Maybe I cannot spend a day walking through galleries, but I can still look at art and be astonished by something I’ve never seen before.
Maybe I cannot photograph the world in the way I once did, but I can still create.
Maybe the people who once filled my table are now memories, but I can still find connection.
And perhaps becoming doesn’t have to be grand.
We have spent so much of our lives being told that we should improve ourselves.
Be more productive.
More successful.
More disciplined.
More accomplished.
At this age, I think we have earned the right to stop turning ourselves into projects.
Perhaps becoming can simply mean remaining open to what comes next.
Learn something because you know absolutely nothing about it.
Make something because it delights you.
Change your surroundings because you spend more time in them now.
Read about something you never had time to understand before.
Watch a bird long enough that eventually you recognize him when he comes back.
Become the person who notices things.
Become the person who laughs more easily.
Become the person who finally understands that not everything deserves her worry.
Become the person who makes something completely unnecessary and beautiful.
Apparently, in my case, become the person who builds an enchanted forest upstairs because nobody was available to stop me.
Life takes some astonishing turns.
I don’t think growing older requires us to pretend that those turns are always welcome.
Some are heartbreaking.
Some arrive because our bodies have changed.
Some arrive because someone we loved is no longer walking beside us.
Some doors close and they really do stay closed.
But a closed door does not mean there are no more doors.
Sometimes we simply haven’t noticed the new one yet.
So perhaps when you catch yourself saying,
“I used to…”
let yourself remember.
Love that person.
Thank her.
She got you this far.
Then, every now and again, turn around and look the other way.
There may still be something ahead that you haven’t met yet.
There may even be someone ahead that you haven’t met yet.
You.
Not the younger you.
Not the old you restored.
Not some improved version of you.
Just the person you are still becoming.
Who can I become from here?
I don’t know.
And for the first time in a long while, I find that rather exciting.
Growing old is filled with endings.
I am beginning to think we don’t pay nearly enough attention to the beginnings.
— Helyn Cornille
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