On Growing Up

9 Jun

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I used to believe my life had a finite number of perfect moments.  That whenever I experienced something take-my-breath-away wonderful it was at the cost of Future Jill’s happiness.

I remember the night I came up with this theory. It was an achingly lovely evening with an achingly lovely boy.  I was wearing a pink pleated dress and the stars aligned and I was so exquisitely happy I said, “This simply isn’t fair.  No one person should get to be so happy.”

The boy thought I was being silly.

I insisted, “No, I am using up all the happiness allotted for my entire life, just in this one moment.  Things will never be so good again.”

It’s funny how your big, bold Life Ideas change.

It’s funny how you look back through the fuzzy lens of time and strain to relate to a former version of yourself.

The girl in the pleated dress is a faded memory, almost like someone I read about in a fairytale. Her open life and open heart don’t exist anymore, and that is tragic and necessary and a very good and a very bad thing.

Maybe this is what we call growing up.

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