I miss me. More specifically, I miss me circa 2019-2021. That may sound crazy because we spent a huge chunk of that time in a global pandemic, but, circumstances aside, I felt more like myself then than I ever have. I can still feel that sense of connectedness in that space in my chest where I tend to carry all my emotions.

So much during that time was changing, so much was changing me, but somewhere in all of that, I found myself. I traveled. I hiked. I visited friends. I felt good in my body. I felt grounded in who I was.

Then perimenopause hit. And the last few years have felt like a never-ending attempt to find my way back to that version of myself, trying one thing after another in hopes of feeling steady again. But I don’t think I can go back. I think that version of myself might be gone. Just like the me before cancer so many years ago doesn’t exist anymore. And now I find myself having to adjust to a whole new me again, kind of like I had to back then. But I don’t know how to settle into this new version of me, how to not miss the old one so viscerally that sometimes it hurts.

It makes me wonder if this is life is made up of a series of moments of finding ourselves, only to have life happen, and for better or worse, leaving us to do it all over again. Sometimes that process feels hopeful and spacious. Other times, it feels like grieving.

Lately, I’ve become hyper-aware of time passing. Friends are retiring. Places that were once meaningful to me are closing. And I keep asking myself: am I really using my time well? Am I where I’m supposed to be? Do I stay here in the city? Do I move to the mountains? Should I finally build the tiny home I’ve talked about for years and visit the mountains more often?

As much as I feel so certain about something in a moment, time passes. And I have this ability, maybe most of us do, to get used to where I am, to forget the urgency I once felt for things like access to nature, space, and mountains. But in the meantime, the days keep passing. Months, even years. And I’m still unsure of what I’m meant to do, or when I’m meant to do it.

I do know a few things. I want to spend more time with Oliver, my dog, because he is a bundle of love, joy, and wonder, and we don’t get enough time with our pups. I want to be in nature more. I want to have more control over my schedule so I can keep up with the things that keep me steady like yoga, working out, or getting enough sleep, without the strain I feel now of having to get up so early to be at work by 8:00 am. I want to figure out a financial plan that helps me feel more secure about the choices I need to make now to have the future I want. I want to build community. I want to use my voice and my skills to make things better and do something meaningful.

I’m not sure how to wrap up this piece, because I don’t think there’s a smooth conclusion. I can say, that in this moment, on this sunny spring-like morning, after having come back from a walk to my favorite coffee shop with my little pup, early enough that the streets are quiet, I feel happy. And it’s not that I don’t feel happiness regularly, I do. I also keep feeling this quiet pull toward a different way of living, one that reflects what we know helps people thrive that includes slower days, more time in nature, space to breathe. And yet, so much of life seems designed in the opposite direction. I just keep wondering how to shape my life so that, when I look back, I will feel like I’ve experienced enough of the things that matter most to me.