Women and the city

The weather isn’t exactly letting us romanticize our autumn lives, but the kids in the park brought back a kind of nostalgia I thought I’d forgotten.

I work near the high school I attended as a teenager, and every time I see those kids, it’s like watching a version of myself come back to life.

I remember meeting my friends in the park before class. We’d smoke a cigarette, gossip about absolutely everything, pretend we had our lives figured out, and eventually walk to class together.

Looking at them now brings back memories I haven’t thought about in years.

High school sweethearts. Lost friendships. Stupid decisions. Lessons I didn’t know I was learning at the time.

And honestly?

I don’t regret a thing.

I smile when I think about the past.

Not because everything was good, but because I can finally look at that girl without wanting to change her.

She was doing the best she could with what she knew.

I was just talking about how I wasn’t exactly a girl’s girl back then, but don’t worry. I’ll tell you the spicy stories eventually. In detail.

And yes, I will accept the judgement.

Because honestly?

I have no regrets.

I was who I needed to be then, so I could become the woman I am today.

But seeing those girls in the park made me wonder something:

What would I tell myself at fifteen if I could sit next to her for five minutes?

First, I’d tell her that everything passes.

Even the darkest night eventually gives way to a beautiful sunrise.

I’d tell her that some of the friends she thinks she’ll have for the rest of her life will eventually become lessons.

I’d tell her that every heartbreak feels like the end of the world until you turn twenty-one, meet the love of your life, experience your biggest disappointment, and accidentally create a six-year character-development arc out of it.

I’d tell her not to take every boy so seriously.

Actually, I’d probably need a whole afternoon for that conversation.

And I’d probably tell her to stay away from idiots.

But most importantly, I’d tell her to remain honest.

To be true to herself.

And whatever she becomes, never become Carrie Bradshaw.

Because being heartbroken is fine.

Being a dumbass bitch is a choice.

And I know she wouldn’t listen to me anyway.

Back then, I only accepted my own mistakes. Advice was merely background noise until I was ready to make the mistake myself.

So maybe I wouldn’t try too hard to change her.

She had a pretty good life after all.

Maybe I’d just sit beside her.

Let her smoke her cigarette.

Listen to her gossip.

And watch her laugh with her friends before the bell rings.

Because looking back now, I know something I didn’t know then:

I’m exactly the woman that little girl would have admired.

And that makes me so damn proud.

Sometimes I’m so focused on what I still want that I forget to look at everything I’ve already become.

How much I’ve learned.

How far I’ve come.

How many versions of myself I’ve survived.

How many times I thought my life was falling apart, only to discover later that I was simply becoming someone new.

And maybe that’s what growing up really is.

Not becoming perfect.

Not having everything figured out.

Just slowly becoming someone your younger self would look at and think:

“Wow. We actually made it.”

So I think this is a gratitude kind of post.

I’m grateful.

For every experience.

Every mistake.

Every heartbreak.

Every friendship that stayed and every one that didn’t.

Every embarrassing decision I can now laugh about.

Every nostalgic moment that catches me completely off guard.

And whenever I remember that little girl, I smile.

Because she had absolutely no idea what was coming.

And somehow, she still became me.

I’ve come a long way.

Until the next time 🤍