Yesterday I went into the house, I put my head on my Dad's shoulder and closed my eyes. I took in his smell, the feel of his warm skin on his arm, his chest rising and falling as he breathed. I remembered being a child, and feeling, smelling, hearing all these exact things with my head on his chest hearing his heart beat. I wanted to take this all in, because I can.
Life is a weird thing. It's predictable and you make plans until something comes alone and shakes you to your core. Then you figure out how to cope, until the next thing happens. And one day you die and it's all over. And what did you make of it? There's no second chances. Your active story ends there. What continues on is in the hands of those you left behind.
I'm twenty-seven. I remember not too long ago thirty seemed so old. I would see pictures and hear stories of people this age and thing they were old--they were the wives and mothers and successful whatevers with stories and their lives together. I'm twenty-seven with nothing to show for it--or so it would seem.
When I thought back on everything I would have missed had that wreck been worse, it shows me that even though I may not have a list of typical accomplishments, I have a very full life.
I would have never danced more than those first two weeks--not even enough to be known. Jackie and I would have been friends. I would have never gotten to babysit Piper or meet Bo. I never would have met--let alone live with--Kara. Never would have seen Bianca's wedding. Or Sarah's. Or Jamies, or Kim's, or Carolyn's. I never would have met Evelyn Barron. Kim would have been at my funeral. I never would have known Andie or Annika or Allison. Never would have gotten to know Hannah. I never would have gone to Munro, wouldn't know half my cousins. I wouldn't have ever done another recital or gotten pointe shoes. I never would have done Nutcracker, or met the Rowland's or Cortez's or Elizabeth or anyone else at the studio. Countless people would have had to have found a different photographer, or just not have pictures of certain events. My ballet blog wouldn't exist. Dad would have never built my house. I never would have seen Amsterdam.
The last four years have been pretty definitive for my life.
I may not be married or have x number of kids or some fancy title, but I have a pretty great life; one I'm glad I haven't missed out on. Even with its trials and hardships.
And there's still more ahead. How much more, one can never be certain.
And I'd like to think that my life is defined by more than just the number of years I'm on the earth, but rather what I do with those years. A full life shouldn't be defined by length, but rather depth. Squeezing every ounce out of every day you get to wake up again. I don't want to waste one precious second.
I'm different. I know I'm different--it's clear. I'm learning more about my differences and how to hand life living with these differences, but sometimes life is unforgiving. Change happens and you can't control it, you have to accept it as part of the story instead of an error. People die, people hurt you, things end up differently than expected. You have to handle it. But you also have to know when enough is enough and to make a change. Sit tight until you know it needs to happen--then do it. Do it and don't look back.
This is your life--your one, precious life. Don't let other people hold you back. Be kind every second you can, fix your mistakes when you make them. Apologize--and mean it. Strive to be a better you. There is always something new to learn; some way to grow into a better person than you were before.
There will be pain, and mean people, and cruel things that don't make sense. But these things don't define you, they refine you.
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