I Dreamt I was 20

I’m generally not one to get spooked by the passing of time. That’s why a few weeks ago when I woke up from a hyper-realistic dream thinking I was 20, I was surprised to find myself near tears.

Before I had proper time to mentally file the dream or pull out any specific memory to share with my partner later, it was gone and what was left—at least for a fleeting moment—was a strong conviction that I was 20 years old. 

And in that blink where I thought I was 20, the only thing I could whisper was, “I have so much time.”

Because you see I wasn’t 20 and in my college dorm room. I was 20 and in my New York City apartment with an extra decade of lived experience. And my 30-year-old brain could only think about time. 

This was all immediately replaced by a rush of emotion for the 20-year-old I was. Oh, how little that mattered. Oh, how I wish you’d learned sooner.

It was a lot of emotions before I could brush my teeth. I crouched next to the sofa and my normal response started to kick in. You have so much time still. 

And at the same time, wasn’t 20 a splash? 

It’s been nearly a month since the morning of the dream and I still don’t know what my lesson is. 

Am I to live each day fully and sweetly? Am I to forgive myself for circumstances of 21? Am I to remind myself that a decade can feel like a spark? Or am I to learn to hold the perspectives of many ages in this one body? 

I suppose I take all. 

I suppose I wish I could sit with my 20-year-old self and teach her a thing or two about love and community and maybe getting a good night’s sleep. 

But if I am every age I’ve ever been then perhaps I can do it now. 

Perhaps I can live in a way that honors that 20-year-old. And that 15-year-old. And that 10-year-old. And…

Perhaps I can live in a way that honors all the lives I’ve lived. And that embraces all the lives that are yet to come.