If I could go back in time and give advice or encouragement to me one year ago, I don't know that I would. I think me now is hell of a lot stronger and more resourceful for having to relearn how to live without much in the way of examples. If I could go back in time and give advice or encouragement to me one year ago, I don't know that I could. Me one year ago looks different and talks different and doesn't know nearly so much. She hasn't written hundreds of pages of poems and essays and plays because she hasn't experienced the hurt and the joy that will demand them to be written. She hasn't yet lived. She hasn't yet learned how to be.
And as I look ahead now towards another year forward, I realize with a dawning certainty that even me now has a long way to go, that she has no idea where life will take her anymore. The compass has cracked; the road maps have gone up in flames. There are goals I have, of course, like going to Madrid with a Fulbright Fellowship or doing advocacy work and playwriting in Washington, D.C. Getting married someday in a beautiful dress. Having kids. Growing old even though I can't even imagine what that looks like anymore. Making a difference. Living happy.
A year ago on another continent, a moment passed in which none of these dreams existed. October 14th didn't exist. Just right then. And to think about the sheer amount of shit (good and bad and hard and lovely) that has happened since then only makes me surer to be wonderfully unsure about the rest. My five-year plan is a solid, achievable one that I believe will fulfill me, but so were past plans and look at what happened to them.
I guess what I'm saying is to plan for the future
It's worked out pretty damn well for me thus far.