Of late, I’ve been imagining life as a series of seasons. Some are brilliantly bountiful – where struggles seemingly don’t exist and living is easy. And everything seems trivial compared to the fullness you feel. In these seasons, there is love and beauty and excitement and hope, and everything feels good. Think back to a time when you felt truly happy – truly grateful to be alive – and I guarantee that you were caught in a season of life’s abundance.
However, there are also seasons of great difficulty and change – where you’re humbled to the point of near defeat and those bountiful moments seem like nothing more than a distant memory. In my 22 years of living, I’ve discovered that these seasons are, indeed, the hardest to bear. However, they are also the ones that enrich one’s life story. If you think about it, no one ever writes about life going according to plan. They write about getting knocked down, but getting up again. They write about coming from nothing. And they write about defeating the odds.
I am currently in my own season of difficulty. I have to somehow balance this idea of going out into the world on my own with the crippling fact that I haven’t lived up to the person I thought I would be at 22. But as tough as that idea has been, and as much as I wish this season would pass, I am so inexplicably grateful for it. Right here, right now – in this very moment – I am shaping my story. I am living the tale that I will someday tell. And when the day comes that I finally surpass some of those goals I’ve been striving to for so long and I am once again feeling the strength of a good season, I will know exactly where I came from and all that I have done to lead me out of that place. xx, t.
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