embracing past versions of me

A blurry pic of me from last fall.

Looking at pictures of myself used to be an uncomfortable proposition. For a myriad of reasons too long and too nuanced to list here.

But these days I feel something different. These days, when I come across a picture of my past self, I feel such a swell of love and gratitude for that girl.

Even the unflattering ones.

Even the ones involving questionable fashion choices and/or haircuts. (so many bad haircuts)

Even the drunk and puffy faced and dead in the eyes ones.

Even the blurry and unfocused ones.

I remember the girl in those pictures. I remember what she was grinding on. What her fears and insecurities were. And how, despite whatever poor life choices she made (and there were plenty), she kept on.

And even this one, from just one year ago, I look at her fondly and think, oh girl you have no idea what this next year will bring.

And each version has brought me to who and where I am today. And not that there’s any culmination or pinnacle here. Just another snapshot in time. The unfolding of a human life. In all of its pain and grief and joy and beauty and glory.

Wishing you a grand unfolding, my friend.