It’s always funny to recall being a little girl, with dreams bigger than I could imagine, in my now, twenty-something years. I can remember phases of my “what I want to be when I gown up”. First it was an actress, and then it was a singer, and a businesswoman. I knew I’d wanted to grow into something that was greater than me—something that made use of all my quirks, talents, and pleasurable pastimes.
I chuckle as I write, because it’s so amusing that as a child, there are no limitations to your desires. I am, many times, reminded of all that I dreamt of being. All that I said I would be while journaling in the daybed of my Hello Kitty-themed room, with those tall yellow walls surrounding me. Recently, I asked myself if that 9-year-old Braea would be proud of me? In short, I said yes. But, oddly enough, this was surprising for me.
Never-ending to-do lists and prolonged goals continuously compel me to overlook where I am in this moment. Late nights lead to planning what move I should make next, and harassing myself about why I decided to go shopping when I should have saved (for shopping?) But, when I really stop and think about it, who I am, in this moment, is more of the woman I have wanted to be than I appreciate.
While traveling this passage of becoming, I always keep in mind my adolescent dreams of being. And, while a little of my criticism (to achieve these dreams) can be helpful, a lack of compassion for self leaves little room for applaud or (self) love. I find that a love for myself is merely enough reason to push (it to the limit) and win big.
I’m beginning to realize that I’m still 9-year-old Braea, just living out her 9-year-old dreams. The road for damn sure isn’t easy, but I thank my 9-year-old self for such great of a challenge I have accepted. For her, I can no longer be discouraged by day-to-day hardships. Besides, that’s just not what life is about, is it?
It’s about loving you within the process--even when time is against us.
All that has come. All that has gone. All that has yet to be.