Through My Younger Eyes

Yesterday someone liked one of my photos on Instagram. Actually several people did, it was a good day, Instagram-wise. As I always do, I went to each person to see who they are and what it was about my photo that they found enticing enough to make them tap their screens.

But this one girl … it could have been me twenty-five years ago. The same passion, the same determination, the same utter conviction.

What would our younger selves say to us if they could see what we did to their passions, their determination, their utter conviction? Would they be proud, pleased, puzzled? Scornful, derisive? Touched and humble?

I think mine might slap me around a little for not working hard enough, not staying the course, not following the stars. Words like “sell-out” and “bourgeois” might have come into it. Perhaps I could not have explained to her how dreams and the people who have them can change and evolve, how we make choices even though we sometimes know them to be the wrong ones. How other options, other lives, also need to be tried.

Perhaps now, if she is watching, she will forgive me and be glad to see me heading back along the path once more.

We only get one shot at this. Why shouldn’t we spend it following our dreams? Even we fail, at least we can say we tried.

I also got the impression from yesterday’s Instagram that people like the idea of historical novels. So yes, it was a very good day.


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