An Epiphany about Nostalgia

In the decade of our brilliant youth we had so much beauty and so much love. These things existed in excess, so much that they were all we saw, at times -- it was either these things or the darkest, ugliest parts of life. It was as though we never lived in the in-between. Our senses and reflexes were keen, and we dealt in gorgeous extremes. And we were fearless. Perhaps we weren't truly courageous but we were certainly cavalier. All that mattered was what mattered to us, and all that mattered were the series of moments we barreled through. Time moved quickly, but it felt like an eternity of endless magic, and I felt as though I'd either live forever or not give a damn if I died, as I would die in a glorious implosion of light. I always think fondly of those times, and find myself missing them -- missing myself, in a way. I've said as much, that I want to get back to my "true self," she who didn't try to control everything, and wasn't concerned about silly things like time management and risk management, but rather allowed things to be what they were and always sought to be present in each moment. But then I realize I'm like a forest, with all the layers. In our wild and free youth we are shrubs. We have so much possibility and to all the world appear green and bright, and we are beautiful and plentiful. But we do not all live to grow from that point; we do not know how delicate we are. And in the end, maybe it's alright because those of us who do not leave that place really do depart in a glorious implosion of light. These years, as I begin to build the forest canopy of my life, it's difficult to see that shrubs still exist beneath my deep green leaves and my ever-stronger, if yet somewhat willowy trunk. I feel my deepening roots, but the ground layer just above those roots goes largely unnoticed. I realize now: the issue is not that these elements are lost. I'm just too busy looking up, up to the rain, sun and wind that continue to strengthen me and help me grow. But all that's beneath me remains and it feeds me, too. All that beauty and love? I made it, it's a part of me and continues to grow with me. It's the inner knowingness that comes with my fully-realized growth that's not quite there yet, and it is that knowingness which allows me to see myself in all my layers, and use those layers to define, impassion, protect, refine and develop the tree that is me. I own it all, it's deep in the rings of my history, and the beauty shows in the deepening color of my leaves.