"in five years..."

When I was cleaning the walk-in closet yesterday, I came across a big, dusty tupperware bin in the back of the closet. I knew which box it was because I was avoiding it at all costs. When I opened it, I found all of my writings over the past eight years. Bounded, sealed and forgotten about.

There were some photographs of old friends and times so long ago. Looking through them, I felt these familiar pangs of guilt and nostalgia. Those thoughts of, "Did I do that right? Was I a good friend to that person? Why aren't they in my life now?"

I found binders of old love letters and poetry that I had written in the early days of college. Pages with streams of consciousness of dreams and aspirations about my future. As I flipped through the pages and scanned the words, I noticed that I didn't recognize the handwriting. It was different. It was young, almost. The words on the page weren't familiar to me, and I asked myself, "Did you really write this?" The writing was open, honest and real.

As I read more, I had to close the books. I couldn't read anymore. I was feeling lost and ashamed that I didn't keep up what I had aspired to do. In between lecture notes and term papers, there were short stories and poetry falling out of the binders. Words like I had never seen before. And they were my own.

You know when you are young, and you make promises to yourself? Mostly, its your imagination working in overdrive, but... I always knew since I was little that I wanted to do something big. I never felt like I fit in with the rest of the crowd. Not that I felt like I was too good for the crowd, it just never felt right. I never had a clique or a group that I belonged too. I floated around and made friends with all different people. A lot of times, dare I say it, I was a loaner.

During the times I spent alone, this is when I did my best dreaming. My writing was alive on the paper. I had drive to do things. When I was going through all of the old books, journals and handwritten notes, I couldn't help but think in a lot of ways I let that person down. Me. That artistic, fearless, hopeful, hippie girl that wanted nothing more than to be something in this big world.

Here's an excerpt from one of the loose papers I found in a binder. It's dated February 1st, 2001. It's entitled "Where Will I Be in Five Years?" It was a timed stream of consciousness, as my professor called it. I was not supposed to think, just let the pen write. I was twenty years old. I had been back for three months after spending a semester in Florence, Italy where I made friendships that will last me a lifetime, saw the most breathtaking art and architecture and fell in love with a man that I knew I would never see again.

"Dreaming of my future finds me stuck in my shoes unable to move or realize where I want to be. There is plenty of time to be where I want to end up. Happiness is the main factor in my future plans. Grabbing onto a hand that crosses all boundaries of true love. Snuggling on my own squishy couch, watching the sunrise from my own flat in London. In five years, I want to have mastered the frame of mind that will be able to unleash all of my deepest fantasies and desires for becoming that cultured and educated woman with wings that I long to be. In five years, I will be in the world of official adults, either floating or drowning in a sea of long days. I want to have a job that satisfies my soul and gives my talents the ability to shine. I want to leave this place for the sea until I find a harbor that will indulge all my senses and smells. In five years, I will still be dreaming of all of the magnificent sights that I long to see with my own eyes, standing mystified and realizing that I am in a walking fairy tale where the man of my dreams carries me off into the sunset to a beautiful and everlasting place where I am surrounded by genuine friends, music, and loud laughter. In five years, I will be sharing a glass of sangria with my father and indulging in and intellectual conversation over a fat cigar."

Five years after that was written, I was living in New York with my future husband. Surrounded by genuine friends, music and loud laughter...