It feels like the credits should be rolling at the end of a coming-of-age movie. I should have learned something important about myself. I should be ready to move on to another part of my life. Instead, I find myself asking the same question over and over again: Why am I still here?
We all carry stuff with us wherever we go. Sometimes it’s whatever mood we’re in, sometimes it’s a song we just can’t get out of our heads and sometimes we’re literally carrying something. Lately, especially after everything that happened last year, I find myself carrying around two words in particular: “the past.”