Where do I belong?
A little deep. Maybe a tad dramatic, but hey, what’s a writer if she doesn’t have a touch of drama. Today I read a quote about belonging.
If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t belong there anymore.
At first, I may have rolled my eyes, in the subtle way that no one noticed. But as the words sunk a bit deeper, I felt them squeeze somewhere in my stomach.
That thought of regrets. I have so many. I’m not the type to sling out the phrase that everything happens for a reason or live without regrets. Sorry, I have them. A small pile. And I share them freely…I’ll work on it.
A few weeks ago, I hosted two of my friends of 20 years, and over our morning coffee and girl talk, we got chatting about our biggest life regrets. Easily, we all tossed ours out on my kitchen table, no hesitation.
Today, I still wouldn’t scoop those regrets back up as if I’m wiser or more reflective. Now, I see the regrets, but I also see something else. That vision of myself, standing there in the middle of what I wish I’d never done. Not the me of that time, but the me of now. Today.
As if I’m watching from a secret corner or a ghost visiting the past, I recognize that I could never plop myself back into that single scenario that I feel threw my life off course. I couldn’t revisit it and alter things. I simply wouldn’t belong. I wouldn’t fit. Like standing at a house party where everyone’s so cool, and I’m just…me. These aren’t my people. This isn’t my place. I’d do anything to find the exit.
So as much as I wish I could go back and turn the wheel the other way or slam on the brakes before I did that one thing. I simply wouldn’t belong there. It wouldn’t be me. The thoughts that live in my head, the dreams in my heart, the little voice in my spirit—those aren’t the same as they were back then.
So there’s no going back, sure. We all say that. But maybe there’s no wanting to go back. That’s what I’m starting to believe.
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