9 Years

I said something once, to a friend, my freshman year of college.

"Every morning I wake up, look in the mirror and I ask myself, 'What the hell are you doing here?'"

Perhaps if it hadn't taken me 7 years to think about answering myself, I wouldn't be only two years into my undergrad at age 27 and another two years away from a Bachelor of Fine Arts in photography. I wish I hadn't forgotten about the 9 year old girl I used to be, who took a 110 camera to the Monterey Bay Aquarium and decided that as long as she had a lens to look through she would be okay. I wish I had remembered sooner the times I felt alive.

However, the last 9 years haven't been entirely wasted. I don't regret being a history major for awhile, or sociology. I don't regret the years I took breaks from school to "save money" or "travel." I wish there had been fewer broken hearts, crappy jobs and dilapidated student apartments but I wouldn't have a do-over, even if I could. All of my experiences make me who I am, and every day I like me more and more.

So now when I look in the mirror I say "It really doesn't matter, as long as you remember to live."