Hindsight is a Wasteland

Last night I died my hair because today I turned another year older.

I didn’t want to wake up with my hair peppered with white; my undercut, which once served me well, now the nesting ground for the creepers that can’t be hidden.

A photo on my dressing table as I changed this morning reminded me of the fresh face I wore some seven years ago.

Each year from now I move further away from my twenties.

And each birthday I wrestle with the thoughts and wishes that I could somehow go back and do those days again knowing what I know now.

But hindsight is a wasteland.

And I’m not sure that if those days were any other way – if they somehow had’ve turned out differently – if I’d actually know what I know now. Actually, I know I wouldn’t. And even if I did, had those days turned out any different, my life would not have been so colourful, I would not have been so colourful. I simply would not be myself.


You see hindsight is a wasteland.

So I sit here in my thirty-somethings and I wish for nothing to be any different, for it all to just be as it is. I woke up today and went to a job I love, sharing my loves. Throughout the day, I got to read messages from the people I love; the incredible, wonderful, magical people whose paths have crossed with mine. At the end of the day I picked up my incredible little man from school and got to hug him tight, wearing our matching watches, and hearing all about how he made more transformer robots with Mobilo. I got to watch him practice his loudest kia at taekwondo and then I got to go back to the place we call home and share food and noise and mess and laughter with my family. And when all that was done, I sat down at my computer and I wrote like a woman possessed. And now I will fall asleep in my thirty-somethings, my belly full of cake and my heart full of gratitude.

I wish not to waste another day in hindsight because I am blessed. And what is meant for me will not pass me by.