A year has passed.
She sits at what she’s beginning to think of as “her table” in her favorite coffee house, soaking up the atmosphere and reflecting on the past 365 days.
It’s been a long walk to get here, and much of it covered rocky ground. Her feet are calloused, and her knees tender. As she looks about the coffee shop and sips on her strawberry tea, she again wonders why it happened this way. All things happen for a reason – a belief she clings to – but even now, she doesn’t know what that reason could be.
Perhaps she’ll never know. She thinks that to herself and nods. That would be okay; she doesn’t have to solve all of life’s mysteries. Ambiguity – in some instances – is acceptable.
In any case, she’s come to accept the circumstances of the past year as lessons well learned. The uncertainty and magnified insecurities were scary at the time, yes. But she looks back to who she was twelve months ago, and she knows the changes have been for the better. At last, she’s beginning to consider herself a woman, not merely a little girl lost.
She has become her own friend. She has the confidence to pursue her dreams, but the presence of mind to know that things won’t always work out as she hopes. She’s prepared to face either situation. Risks are no longer something only other people take, but journeys that she too is willing to embark on.
Tangible evidence of the changes of the last year is something that she lacks. The stamp left on her life, though, bears witness to the good that trials may bring.