I’ve moved on in my life in such a way that my past is happily tucked away where it belongs. In the past. I didn’t shove it there and ignore it. No, I dealt with it and moved on to not just the next chapter but the next book. I tucked the other book nicely on the shelf and went in a forward motion.
The funny thing about this new job of mine, with old friends, is they have all these memories and old stories that mingle with my old memories that have been tucked away in that book. There really aren’t a whole lot of other people in my current life that know much about the old life. The old life that had other friends, a different husband, a different job and a different me for the most part. I’m not ashamed of that old and different part of me, it is just the fact that I’m not used to an old story being mentioned about that one night out at the bar that I had left tucked away. And that day at the office we gave up on work and spent the afternoon drinking martinis. Do you remember that meeting where we all just about gave up? Suddenly a past that never runs into the present is no longer black and white. There are grey areas.
I’m slowly getting used to this grey area that they give me. I always knew the past with its stories, memories and even people were going to sneak out of that book and accidentally be standing in my present whether in my office or elsewhere. They are good memories that, shockingly, I can look at now and smile and see the good in them without my brain going to all the pain that eventually came. The good parts outweigh the bad parts. I can say that when those pieces fall out of the book I am reminded of just how far I’ve come and it makes me want to kiss my husband one more time before I tell him goodnight because I am one lucky woman.