The Past Whispered.
The Dream Roared.
I stood at my bathroom vanity, foundation bottle in hand, and for a moment—just a moment—I felt the years.
Not in a heavy, sorrowful way. More like a gentle wave of nostalgia that washed over me as I stared at that little bottle of base. It used to be a given, a swipe-here-swipe-there part of my everyday. Now, it only comes out for rare occasions—like dinner with a friend. These days, preparing to step out into the world feels like a ritual, not a routine.
As I dabbed the makeup across my face, I remembered a time when everything about getting ready felt effortless. Back then, I didn’t think much about it—I just moved through the motions like someone who had nowhere urgent to be, and all the time in the world to get there.
But as that soft wave of nostalgia moved through me, something else rose up alongside it: memory.
I remembered being a flower power teen, filled with the wild, glowing belief that love really could solve everything. I didn’t know how the world worked. I didn’t know how marriages worked. I certainly didn’t know how churches worked. But I knew—knew—that love was the answer.
I was part of a youth group that rode a rickety school bus down to New Orleans, of all places, to walk among the tourists and invite them to church. I wore the leather vest, the Jesus sandals, the hip-hugging jeans that did me no favors—but I wore them with conviction. Because back then, I wasn’t dressing for approval. I was dressing for purpose.
It’s funny, the things we remember while holding a bottle of foundation.
Looking back, I realize I was always carrying the dream. Even in those dreamy, untethered years when life felt expansive and eternal, the desire for something more—something meaningful, something uniquely mine—was always quietly present.
I just didn’t know how to name it yet.
And maybe that’s the grace of these in-between moments—the quiet rituals that give us a second to reflect. Not on our age, but on our aliveness. On who we’ve been and who we’re still becoming.
So yes, it takes me a little longer to get ready now. But in that time, I remember who I was. I honor who I’ve become. And I catch a glimpse of who I’m still unfolding into.
Not aging. Just arriving.
I found some comfort in my journey back in time. You may, as well.
Try this: Take ten quiet minutes this week to revisit something you once loved—an old song, a piece of clothing, a forgotten dream. Let it stir you. Then ask yourself: What small step can I take today to honor who I was—and who I’m still becoming?
Amd! If you feel that same tug—the quiet sense that your dream is still alive and waiting—you're not alone. Nostalgia may whisper, but your soul is calling you forward. If you're ready to let that dream breathe, my Reclaiming Dreams Workbook is waiting for you:
