by Mia Lane
I used to think I’d recognize change when it happened. That it’d be an obvious, defined point you could look at and say, that is where I changed.
But it rarely is.
It occurs softly, in moments I don’t even register until later. The way I pause before answering some questions now. The way I don’t feel compelled to fill silences the way I used to. The way I hear the inflections and nuances of what someone actually means versus what they say.
I didn’t consciously decided to start doing any of these things.
It just occurred.
I used to think everything needed to be understood immediately. That not having an answer or a reaction at the precise moment of its occurrence meant that you were missing out. But I’m learning not everything is meant to be solved on a live broadcast. Some things can only be truly understood long after they’ve happened.
Even memory is like this.
You can recall something I didn’t think was significant then, an uneventful conversation or an insignificant decision, and see it differently with years of hindsight. Not because it changed, but because you did.
That’s the bizarre reality: The past stays exactly the same, but I move, constantly altering my perspective on the pieces of time I’ve already passed through. And that is why reflection is often difficult; it is not about a single answer, but about seeing patterns of learning I didn’t recognize when I was inside them. Learning these lessons quietly, and without an official announcement.
I still don’t know who I am evolving into.
But I’m beginning to realize I don’t need to.
About the Author
Mia is a writer who loves nature and writing. She draws inspiration from the vast landscapes, and the natural world,