These Happy Golden Years


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Nov. 11: Always a golden birthday!

Ok, so the title of this blog post is also the title of one of my favorite books in the Laura Ingalls Wilder “Little House” series, but it’s also supposed to be the theme of this period of my life right now, right?


I’m young, I’m single, I’ve got a job I enjoy, I’m in a city I love, I’m financially stable. All good, happy, golden things right?

One year ago, as I was preparing my 25 birthdays post before I left on a trip to Germany, I wasn’t quite thinking that my life would be what it is right now. Not that I had grand plans or anything. Or maybe I did. One year ago, I thought I was going to be engaged by now, living with my boyfriend (fiance?), perhaps here in DC, perhaps somewhere else – where I wouldn’t be happy and golden. I remember at this time last year, I was convincing myself that it would work out, that things would all come together, that life was good. I remember talking to my dad on the phone in the airport lounge before my flight to Frankfurt, being reminded to take the time on my trip to reflect about what I wanted for myself in the next year.

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Good times, bad times, new times, old times. Long times, short times. Sad times, happy times, miserable times, amazing times.

We all talk about the moments in our lives as “times,” as in, “I had such a great time last night” or “That was one of the best times of my life.” But what is it about these times make us remember them so vividly or maybe not so well at all? What makes them affect our dreams and our experiences and our futures?

As I have been on my journey of healing and reflection and renewal, I’m prompted to remember the time I did this or that, or the times when someone was nice or mean or hurtful or loving. I struggle to recall if something happened at a certain time or if my memory has embellished certain details because it all blurs together. I worry that by remembering really good times with certain people if I’m doing away with the progress I’ve made to admit the wrong they’ve done. I realize that passage of time can heal most, if not all wounds, and that sometimes the bad times don’t have to determine future good ones.

As time goes on, I think I’m understanding it more each and every day. What does time mean to you?