Then ask me what it’s like to have myself so figured out. I wish I knew.

I got a letter from my missionary friend, Brooke, a few days ago. You know how getting home from a mission is like stepping out of a forward time warp? This letter was like a backward time warp. I haven’t heard from her since last April (this is my fault), so it’s been a while.

By the time I was 23, I thought I had myself figured out. The world made sense. I knew what kind of degree I wanted. I knew what kind of girl I wanted. I had some fantastic friends, and the future was set. Reading my letter from Brooke, I was suddenly a year younger and surprisingly different. At this age, I wouldn’t have thought a year made that much of a difference, yet I had the very distinct feeling that Brooke was writing to the wrong person.

I’m saddened that we’ve grown so far apart. I’m saddened that she can’t see the person I’ve become (or at least, the person I’m becoming). The two years I spent with/around her seemed decisive, finally she was seeing the real me. Now I look at those years like an author might look at the first book he wrote.

In June I suppose I’ll see her again. The us chapter has long since ended, and our dissimilarities will probably be even greater than they were before. I want to be excited to see an old friend again, but right now, I can only envision a stranger.