I enter the coffee shop and walk slowly over to the corner booth, sliding quietly onto the bench. When I look across at the table, it is my own eyes that I see staring back at me. For minutes, we sit in silence. A waitress makes her way over to our table, and I can feel the girl's eyes on me as I order - "hot caramel and vanilla latte please, sugar-free syrup."
"Just a water for me, please." She glances over my way. "We drink coffee?"
I chuckle. "Yes. Sometimes illegal amounts of it." I eye her slightly rounded belly and smile.
Silence falls again. And it is in silence we sit until the server makes her way over the booth with our drinks. We both take a sip before she asks, "So, do we figure it all out?"
I think for a second before I respond. "Yes and no."
"Are we happy?"
"We have been. We are. And we will be again."
"Do we become who we thought we would?"
"No." She looks disappointed by that answer. "We become someone better."
"How?"
"It's taken us some time, and our fair share of heartache, but we finally understand that life doesn't have to look impressive from the outside to feel right on the inside."
"Do we ever stop caring what people think?"
I laugh. Loudly. "We damn sure try."
"Have we lost people?"
"Yes."
"Does it hurt?"
I smile as I reply. "More than we thought it could."
"Then why are you smiling?"
"Losing someone doesn't make their part of your story a mistake." My eyes wander, thinking of my Grandma and my mother-in-law, and the ripples felt by those losses. "Some people are chapters. Some people find their way back to you. Others come along and stay."
"Do we become less sensitive?"
"No."
"I thought we might grow out of that."
"We didn't. And surprisingly, one day, we're grateful for that."
"Really?"
"Really. That part of us is our core. The part that stops for sunsets and loves to have a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table. The loud laugh. The way we love with our whole heart."
"Does that get us hurt?"
"Sometimes."
"Then, why?"
"Because, I'd rather be someone who feels, than someone who just gets by."
"Are you proud of me?"
I take her hands, and with tears in my eyes, I answer. "Sweet girl, if you only knew. You're going to survive days you thought would break you. You kept going, even when you wanted to give up. You've had the hard conversations. And you've finally let go."
"Do we ever stop wondering if we're enough?"
"At times."
"Well, that sucks."
I chuckle. "You might be right. But, eventually we realize we don't need to worry ourselves with other's opinions. They're none of our business really."
"What do you wish I knew?"
"That you don't have to rush. That some of things you're afraid you'll miss just aren't meant for you yet. And some of the things you haven't even imagined will become the most beautiful moments."
"So, what do I do?"
"Keep going. Love hard. Laugh loudly. Take the picture. Stop for the sunset. Say what you mean. Eat the cake. Order the margarita. Take the trip. Live a life that doesn't wait for tomorrow."
"And you? What do you need to remember?"
"That I was once you. That I've survived everything thought I couldn't. That I'm allowed to change my mind. That I'm allowed to want something different."
"Promise me something?"
"Of course."
"Don't forget me."
"I couldn't if I tried."
And maybe that's the real conversation. Younger me reminding present me who I was before the world taught me to doubt myself. Present me reminding younger me that I've made it farther than I ever could have imagined.
And somewhere, between the two of them, there is a girl who wasn't actually lost. She was just becoming.
