I wonder if I knew…

I wonder if I knew, on some level. Back when I wrote this post.

I wonder if my 25-year-old self, who wrote it, knew that my 24-year-old self, in the photograph, knew more about living than she did. Weird, eh? How can you know less about living, after you live a year longer? I think we lose something, when we’re fundamentally unhappy. I know I did. I remember the moment, too. I was watching hot-air balloons for the first time ever, at a festival, and was completely uninterested. That is very unlike me.

I wonder what my 26-year-old self, completely uninvolved in either that post or that picture, would say today, about my 27-year-old self doing it, now.

I wonder what my 24-year-old self would say about my 27-year-old self doing it now.

I’ll bet my 26-year-old self would say: “I knew it!”

My 24-year-old self would probably say: “HELL YEAH!“

And my 28-year-old self will say: “So glad we knew what we knew, forgot, and learned to appreciate it all over again.”

I’m pretty sure this will make complete sense to no one but me.