Recurring Dreams

A good friend of mine from high school passed away recently, and at her memorial, there was only one picture of her—her senior year portrait. It made me sad that time can collapse into a single moment, a single version of ourselves, as if who we once were is all we ever were.

For the last year or so, I’ve been having dreams about graduations—middle school, high school, college. No timeline, not based in any reality, just scenes that circle back over and over with different scenery and casts. After a lot of scrutiny, I think these dreams are tied to regret.

I’ve always thought my yearly bucket list was my way of staying ahead of regret—choosing my life on purpose, recalibrating, adding what I want more of, letting go of what I don’t. And I am good at that. But clearly there is something I haven’t let go of. Something my subconscious keeps replaying like a film on loop.

So I pulled out an old yearbook today to try to get some closure. I didn’t get any immediate answers, but I did find my 17-year-old self—overplucked eyebrows and all. At first, I focused on the youthfulness in that face that’s no longer present in today’s mirror, but then I thought: If she could see me now. The places I’ve gone, the challenges I’ve tackled, the fears I’ve worked through, the life I’ve built—she wouldn’t believe any of it. She couldn’t have imagined it.

This detail from my friend’s memorial reminded me that a single image never captures a whole life. I am not just who I was at 17. I am everything I’ve done and as long as I’m here, it continues to evolve. 

I’ve been wrestling with the weight of middle age—both literally and figuratively. The shifting body and face in the mirror. The irregular periods. The new aches. The grays. The deep desire to hold onto something futile when the world tells you that youth and beauty are the most valuable things you’ll ever have.

I try to remind myself that the real gift of aging is perspective. Wisdom. Depth. Confidence. 

And maybe my bucket list, now, isn’t just about doing more—it’s about letting go.

Letting go of the idea that the “best” version of me is behind me.

Letting go of the idea that I’m running out of time.

Letting go of the regrets that keep calling me back to a ceremony I ironically didn’t even participate in (in college).

I am here now.

And this chapter counts just as much as the previous ones. Even if the world tells me otherwise.