This weekend we visited Riley Days, an annual festival celebrating poet James Whitcomb Riley near the town I grew up in. It’s become a tradition for Chris and I, but I also have memories of going as a child with my family.
It never fails when I head home (which isn’t too far from where I live now) that I become nostalgic and reflective.
I think about choices I’ve made, where I’ve ended up, and where I could have been.
I think about the messes I’ve made, the relationships that I treasure, and the things I wish for.
And I understand what Elizabeth Kubler Ros means when she says “beautiful people do not just happen.” Because this life can tear you down or build you up. And it’s not necessarily the things that happen to you that make you beautiful, but how you react to them.
And I want to have a beautiful life.
The most beautiful people I know have the richest stories.
Recently I’ve had the feeling that my story is starting a new chapter. It’s scary and exciting. The unknown makes me feel too vulnerable, but I’m trying to grow in spite of it.
Because I understand my story, my beautiful, isn’t done yet.