I’ve been thinking alot about wanting to be the strong woman I was when I was 16. She had values, stood up for what she belived in, looked adversity in the eyes and loved to write, take long walks, and listen to jazz in her room (alone). I miss her. But then I think… Am I limiting myself by wanting her back? Yes, 8’m not at my best but isn’t best your best til the next best. Isn’t it just better, or another phase. How about the me of tomorrow. Maybe she’ll specialize in human rights and international law and be a yoga instructor and the mother of an adopted child. Maybe she’ll be a loving friend. Maybe she’ll make this world a better place. I’ve spent much of these past four years regretting not being who I used to be. Maybe who I will be will be far more interesting and beautiful than 16 year old me. Than me now. But I’ll never know this badass humanitarian unless I stop missing the Catholic school girl yearbook editor.