The other day I spent sometime reading through journal entries I wrote back in high school and college. I strolled through the memories, recognizing many and a few seemed to belong to someone else.
After spending a few days ill, I decided I wanted to get a few posts ready and on hold in case I run into a particularly busy day, or feel too ill to sit down and post. So I began looking over files of poetry I’ve written over the years. Suddenly I remembered an old livejournal account I started in college.
Trying to log back into the site was a bit difficult. I remembered the username but not the password. Sitting down I tried to think back to what I would have chosen as a password back then. After a few attempts I figured it out and began browsing the entries. When I got back to the first entry I realized that I had an even older account from high school. Again I put myself in the mindset and finally tracked down both the old username and the password.
Reading the entries, I was transported back to the situations I was cryptically writing about. How I wish I could have told the 18 year old me that it would work out. That most of the insecurities I had back then would go away, while a few would linger and raise their head from time to time.
Rereading those entries I realized how much i have grown. Not only have I gained confidence, knowledge, and experience. But I’ve grown as a person. I have a strong sense of who I am. 18 year old me was lost. I wrote that I was clay, mold-able but without a distinct sense of who I was. Over the years I’ve sculpted myself, defined features, and hardened.
Still I occasionally struggle with my own sense of who I am. But mostly this is a struggle of not feeling like I am the person I want to be. I think this struggle is good though. It gives me something to strive for. I’m not complete. I still have pieces of my life to form and sculpt.