I like to reminisce sometimes. I like to look through old photos, noting how skinny I used to be. I like to read old journal entries, remember some of the hardest times in my life and how I got through them. I like reliving old memories.
I like getting so caught up in the past that I actually travel back in time and smell the metro or taste the acai bowl. I like remembering friendships I had. I like looking at those people now and seeing what changes they have made, or sometimes haven't made. I like living in my past.
Then someone interrupts me. They walk in, ask me a question, or nudge me as they walk by. And my thoughts are back to what is in front of me. I come to the realization that I loved my past. I find myself wishing that I could go back, play games all night with my friends, walk up and down the markets, and eat crepes outside the Notre-Dame cathedral.
I find myself holding on to the past so hard that it breaks my heart when I have to let go and move on to something that can be and is also just a great. I have a hard time with change.
Friday night I sold one of my ballroom dresses. I cried. I felt like I was giving away three years of hard work, memories, and beauty. I had danced in the British Championship Competition in England in this dress. As I gave the dress to its new owner I had to feel the satin in my hands, take a picture of it in my head, and then allow my heart to let it become someone else's perfect dress and a part of their picture book.
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