Nostalgia is as common a feeling for me as happiness,
sadness, hunger. I spend most of my time thinking back on my life: how many
people I’ve met; all the chances I made; all the opportunities I missed. Did I
make a mistake by not keeping in touch with the people I once called friends?
Did I ruin things by having a friends with benefits, and not following through?
Did I allow my emotions to get the better of me? Actually the answer to that
last one is almost always yes.
There are so many things I wish I could have done
differently. I wish I would’ve gone to a different school for college. I wish I
would have had more experiences. I wish I would have stood up for myself and
tried to make new friends when I had the chance. I wish I wouldn’t have been so
picky about the guys that I wanted to date. I wish I would have watched my
weight, tried working out more, really getting into fitness. I wish books and
reading wouldn’t have dictated my life so much, and that I would have been more
into video games. I wish I wouldn’t have fallen down the rabbit hole that is
podcasts. I wish I would’ve stopped while I was ahead. I wish I didn’t go to
concerts by myself. I wish I wouldn’t have been so damn annoying, and that I
had friends to go on trips with.
But at the same time, those choices I made at those times
made who I am today. Had I not gone to the college I went to, or if I had even
transferred out like I wanted to, I wouldn’t have met the people I did, made
friendships that still mean something to me today. Because I got my degree the
way I did, it led me to all these other choices, like the decision to start
temping, and that eventually leading to my first job. Had I not been miserable
there, I wouldn’t have made a good friend I would bitch to, or look for (and
ultimately find) the job I’m at now.
Had I not been big on reading, I might have never found
podcasts, and had I not started listening to podcasts, I wouldn’t have found
things I’m really interested in. I wouldn’t have found true crime podcasts, and
found my random love of serial killers. I would’ve never read Thomas Harris’
series on Hannibal Lecter, or watched “The Silence of the Lambs.” I wouldn’t
have found psychological thrillers, probably one of my favorite genres.
I would’ve missed all the concerts I went to had I not gone
by myself. I wouldn’t have seen a The Smiths tribute band, or The Pixies, or
Simple Plan. I’ve been able to see all these bands that I never would’ve
dreamed of seeing. I’m so thankful that I got the opportunity, and it was
because I went by myself that I got to see them.
I have so many past “regrets” that I now question everything
I do and say in my present life. Does this person like me, am I making a fool
of myself, does the person even care about what I’m saying, should I just keep
to myself and not even reach out to anyone? Am I too fat for anyone to care
about, does this shirt make me look bigger than I really am, are these pants
too tight, does this hairstyle make me look stupid, should I change my whole
outfit?
Nostalgia sucks, especially when you use it to look back and
replay all your faults. But now the question is “What does this mean for me?
How do I change the way I feel about myself?” I wish I could tell you I have
the answer, but I really have no clue. I have to stop letting things bother me
so easily. I have to stop thinking about what-ifs and shoulda-coulda-wouldas. I
should be looking toward the future, not necessarily worrying about what could
happen, but keeping in mind the idea that people, places, memories come and go,
and that I shouldn’t try to change things already in motion. If I don’t try to
change now, nothing is going to get better, and I’m going to end up miserable
and alone way more than I already am.
That’s it for this post. Until next time – I’m Charlotte
Carmichael, and thanks for reading.
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