on adulthood

Tonight I threw away my journals.  I have been on a mission to simplify, to get rid of the stuff.  And tonight, my journals went, but first I read them.  I kept journals fairly regularly from high school through college, horribly embarrassing journals that I could barely re-read and would never subject my children to if the journals happened to live on longer than me.  I wrote about friendship, a lot about good friendships - I have had incredible friends in my life.  I wrote about boys, so very much about boys.  I loved Chris; oh my goodness I loved him then in a way I barely remember now.  Not more or less or better or worse, but different.  Occasionally I would come home after drinking (Grog House frequently noted) and rant away in pretty colored pens.  Fights with friends.  Royal Village drama.  Mark the Baptist (noted here because I had forgotten most of him).  Vicars.  The agony of deciding where to go to college.  Summers.  Quotes.  Poems.  Ridiculously trivial sections (e.g. lots of talk about tanning) and parts that sound like me today (e.g. I want a boy who loves God and Dave Matthews and plays board games).  

What hit me is that I have been married nearly as long as the period during which these journals were written.  The time during which I journaled was a period of intense feelings and change and growth; and now, here I am: adulthood.  I have no regrets.  I am happy and I lead an intensely fortunate life.  And I think it is okay if I miss Journal Me a little even if I embrace adulthood.  It is not my turn anymore.  Annie and Maren will be the ones who make beautiful pre-marriage friendships ('cause they are different), meet boys, go to college, think big thoughts, and, hopefully, write in journals.