Not sure what it is with our little town, but we see mushrooms that we've never seen before. Could it be the old soil? The old wood on the old houses? The old trees that tent our streets and blanket us in moisture?
Though I wanted to share all of these pretty mushrooms that we've found, I also wanted to share being old. I know I'm not old. But when I turned 25 earlier this month, I felt like a switch went off and suddenly I am reminiscing about the past more than I ever have. Perhaps it's because I can look back and 10 years ago I was 15. It doesn't feel that long ago. I remember my emotions, how I was feeling, who my friends were, the things I did... I remember the songs that I listened to and how they made me feel. I remember the girls I looked up to and I'm glad that some of them are still my friends today. I remember the boys I had crushes on and the boys that never knew I existed. I remember always wanting to be like my brother, social and always out with friends. I remember my favorite outfits that made me feel confident and my terrible hairstyle choices. I remember the first boy to make me feel loved and the first boy to show me that he really didn't love me.
It's not school that I miss - I'd rather be working at the museum rather than worrying about assignments. It's not that time of my life that I miss - I'm happiest going home to S and Mordechai knowing that just their presence, the smiles, the laughs, all give me comfort. Quite honestly, I'm not sure what it is that I miss, but I have a wreaking nostalgia when I look back to photos or read past journal entries. Was that really me? It feels like a different life, and at the same time it feels like it wasn't that far away.
A few friends and I have chatted about this and they say welcome to the quarter-life crisis and that it's totally normal when you turn 25. If this what happens at 25, I don't think I want to grow up anymore. What happens at 30? 35? 40? Instead of spending my evenings reading a new novel or writing in my journal, I'm pouring over my stacks of old journals. I'm reading my teenage years like a young adult novel, chronologically. I'm wasting my present nose-deep in my past. I have all of my most embarrassing moments written down, my most treasured AIM conversations printed, my most romantic movie date ticket stubs, and because of that, I think indulging in a little personal history, personal growth, personal reflection, just might help me get over this obsession with the past. At least I hope. Come save me if I start reading my old LiveJournal entries.