In a box not opened for years, at the bottom of a stack in the garage, a torn piece of notebook paper poked out from where it had been tucked inside a long-forgotten novel.
I pulled it out, read the first line and knew immediately what the messy scrawl was describing.
A scene from seven years ago flashed through my mind before I shook my head to clear it away.
I remembered what I was going through at the time. How broken I felt. The words on the page describing thoughts of despair, worry, uncertainty, and pain. All those years ago, I’d written them through tears with my hand shaking.
Easily one of the lowest points of my life, if not the absolute lowest.
I didn’t even finish reading the whole page.
I looked around me, my husband working at my side to get us moved into our new house, my three kids playing in the yard. A family I love more than anything. Good friends I can count on. A job I adore. Sunshine and fun summer plans. A life I couldn’t possibly fathom when I wrote those words seven years ago.
When I thought the world was collapsing around me.
And yet now, I don’t even think about the events that caused me to feel like that.
While everything that happens to us makes up our story and makes us who we are, the past still has a way of melting into blurred memories.
Even those things that seem earth-shattering at the time can fade as we focus on moving forward and the life around us.
I saw no reason to hold onto such a tangible record of the past. So I added it to the growing pile of trash caused by a move.
And choose to focus on the present.