Julie Woltil

I can’t remember who I was then and I don’t quite know who I am now but I know I am happy.

I adore life.

I may have said it many times before on a bright, sunny afternoon when the sky returns a soft smile and breeze or when the leaves return to a perfect shade of green, and sunlight filters through. 

I always mean it.

I love when the birds chirp a familiar tune in the spring, and my mornings are brighter, and I can see the tree branches softly swaying with the wind. Despite my crippling fear of bugs, I love the buzz of the bees and the butterflies and all of my favorite flowers in bloom. I love the smell of spring and the sound of a trickling creek and the spring peepers humming a well-known rhythm engraved in my mind. 

Spring reminds me of my childhood and brings back memories of how life felt when I was seven, and everything in the world was right in front of me before evenings of running around our cul-de-sac with friends turned into sleepless nights working on homework. I may lament this sentiment tomorrow when the clouds return, and my life returns to the dull humming of a fan in the background, slowly droning on, but for now, I will appreciate what I have because I adore life.

I love the sound of my friends’ laughter when I say something stupid, I love the cool feeling of my sheets after a long day, and I love playing Wii games with my brothers when the clock rewinds, and we’re all young and naive again, falling into fits of giggles when one of us messes up. There are so many small parts of life that I forget how much I love until I live them again. Sometimes, I think of life as getting through one big event at a time and rushing through the in-between, but that’s when I stop making time for the fun moments; that’s when I stop adoring each second of life and instead speed it up.

The milestones make up so much, but in reality, they’re the same as the small moments: a blink of an eye. I could sit and restate the same cliché over and over again about how I don’t know when the time flew past me and when celebrating double digits turned into thinking about college, but it would be poorly said and far too regrettable to think of those years as small blips of my life.

I wish I could remember what flavor cake I had at my seventh birthday party or remember what exactly was going through my mind in 4th grade when I was sitting in the back of class and daydreaming. I don’t remember what it was like to be any past version of myself other than the one I am now, and it feels strange to say I in no way at all know or understand myself.

I wonder how many times I’ve felt the way I do now and how many times I’ve sat and pondered and reminisced. I don’t know how many times I have thought these same thoughts and wondered if they were unique or how many times per week I simply think about life. I fear that in a year, or a month, or even a week, I will forget what it’s like to be the way I am right now. Just the way I’ve forgotten before. 

But for now, I adore life.