After the Deadline: Present Tense
I scrolled through my Instagram profile the other day, the way one does when they seemingly have nothing better to do, or when nostalgia sets in.
There were moments of happiness, moments of pain, and reminders of how far things have come.
Once, I was so hopeful of a brighter future. A certificate of achievement from the Chamber of Commerce recognizing me as a valued contributor to the community. Snapshots of food establishments now shuttered, books once read now collecting dust, and beloved pets that are no longer with us.
I can look back at each post and recall that snapshot in time. I do not post as much as I used to.
I believed in the American dream. Work hard. Build it. Reap what you sow. However, I was blessed with an undesired crop and tainted soil. It’s not the cards we are dealt, but how we react to them.
Mistakes were made. I focused on fighting the old instead of building the new. I believed the lie we told ourselves, that “we were happy.”
As with most truths, it settles in slowly and you realize it is more than just a passing feeling.
My favorite flashback is of a podcast guest who once said, “We need a place where people can go to find information about their community and events.” She said it straight-faced to a newspaper publisher. I smiled. Ironic.
Do you ever feel like 2019 was the last real year? The last real year you retained a memory that was not obscured.
Maybe that is why the feed feels different now. Not because the photos changed, but because I did.
Disillusionment has a way of stripping things down. It removes the polish. It forces you to look at what was real and what was performance, even if the performance was only for yourself. The filtered square was not a lie, but it was not the whole truth either.
Somewhere along the way, I learned to be patient with myself. Not the kind of patience that waits for something to happen, but the kind that allows room for growth. I learned that mistakes are not indictments. They are instruction. The advice I so easily give others about resilience and perspective occasionally needs to be reflected back in the mirror.
It is easier to encourage someone else to start over than it is to admit you need to.
I am moving toward a life that feels more like mine. There have been significant changes, the kind that rearrange routines and unsettle expectations. For the first time in a long while, they feel right. Not flashy. Not triumphant. Just steady.
Perfection was never the goal, though I pretended it was. What I am after now is something quieter. It is not about being perfect. It is about perfectly being. Present. Honest. Willing to begin again when necessary.
When I scroll back through those old posts, I do not feel regret. I feel recognition. That was who I was. This is who I am becoming.
And maybe that is enough.