It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? I suppose that I could have seen my life unraveling for a while, I just chose to not acknowledge it. (Sidebar: what is it with the month of February? It’s been consistently messy for the last several years.) In case you’re new around here, no, I usually don’t go several months without posting. Apologies for that—as much of a cop out as it may seem, it was a necessity.

There were certain (unavoidable) things I kind of feared, and I was mostly vocal about that have oddly come to fruition in the last few months and it’s caused me to think about things and really reflect rather than writing about them. Some are dumb—like really dumb.

One of the stupider ones: my ex moving on to a new person before I do (the nerve!) and an irrational hang-up on my one desire to be that she does not have a perfect collarbone. (So much for “trying to make it work,”—not that I would want that anyway—and my sources confirm this to be the unfortunate truth.) Or how about losing my job in a nebulous, ill-defined, and frustrating way? (Check, check, check, check.) There were also milestones that were as joyful as they were difficult, like fully moving out of my Philadelphia apartment, which was bittersweet—though I woke up in a cold sweat last night missing it terribly and wishing I could take a late night walk to the river like I used to when things got bad. I’m thankful to have quickly found a new job, one which I happen to absolutely adore. I also had the most mature romantic conversation with a special someone that I’ve perhaps ever had. Things aren’t bad. Things are different. And I’m trying to be okay with that. (Oh—speaking of “different,” I happen to be somewhat blonde now.)

Is this just how it’s going to be? I know they say the only constant is change but this seems almost cruel. I barely even have time to feel sad about things I feel like I should feel sad about—is this maturity? Am I finally forming some semblance of emotional intelligence? Or am I this disconnected from the proverbial “it all?” How soon is it for our lives to reach the tipping point wherein we let more people go than allow new ones in? Is barely-30 too young for this? I’ve been growing increasingly guarded throughout my 20’s and now feel like I could not possibly open myself up to one more person. How did this happen? Why does everything feel so different? I feel like I can’t even write anymore. Is this my midlife crisis?

I’m afraid that I’ve done this to myself. I’ve talked so much on this blog about the concept of forward motion and never growing stagnant. I suppose that suited me for some time, but now, I want to slow down. I want to be comfortable, and it’s difficult to settle down when you’re constantly shifting shape, being placed somewhere new, and surrounding yourself with new people. Not all change is bad, but I sometimes do miss how things were. This new life is wonderful, it’s exciting, it’s fulfilling. However, there are some things that make my heart ache—and some of them just can’t come back.

The other side of the “wonderful new things” coin is a loss of familiarity, and that can be gut-wrenching at times. I often pine to go back to when things weren’t so exciting and new. I want to sit in my coffee shop where I know all the regulars, sip my black coffee that I know will be perfect every time, listen to songs that I feel were crafted for me, and bask in knowing that even when change is inevitable, you can sometime go back to a place where things were okay. I know that forward motion is a good thing but moving so fast is scary, especially when making a conscious effort to slow down the things that can be slowed down and everything else still feels like it’s moving at 20,000 miles per hour.

So what do I do? If you’re feeling similarly, what do you do? This could be the existential dread speaking but I think the only correct answer is to let it happen. To be present. To cherish the good times and accept that some things are only meant to be for a time. Is it better to have enjoyed the company of a family member who passed too soon than to have never known them at all? Can we be okay knowing what we thought was a “dream job” is eventually meant to be outgrown? Hypothetically, is a late springtime of bliss with the man of your dreams better than a train wreck breakup several months from now because you forced something to be when it wasn’t ready? I’m inclined to go with the former in each instance. I’m trying to be okay with the ephemeral nature of all beautiful things.

Apologies for the short, rambling, kind of dark post. This is where I am right now.

xo, e.m.