I’ve apparently been the victim of growing up, which apparently happens to all of us at one point or another.
It’s been going on for quite some time now, without me knowing it.
I’ve found that growing up can mean a lot of things. For me, it doesn’t mean I should become somebody completely new and stop loving the things I used to love. It means I’ve just added more things to my list.
Like for example, I’m still beyond obsessed with the winter season and I still start putting up strings of lights in September. I still love sparkles and grocery shopping and really old cats that are only nice to you half the time.
I still love writing in my journal and wearing dresses all the time and staring at chandeliers.
But some new things I’ve fallen in love with — mismatched everything. Mismatched chairs, mismatched colors, mismatched personalities.
I love spraying perfumes I used to wear when I was in high school. It brings me back to the days of trying to get a close parking spot at school, trying to figure out how to avoid doing or saying anything uncool, and wishing every minute something crazy and out of reach like that. 😉
I love the freedom of living alone, but I also love things that make me feel seven again. Back then naivety was the norm and skepticism was a foreign language, and I just think every once in a while you need fries and a chocolate milkshake and your mom.
I love picking up a cookbook and closing my eyes and opening it to a random page, then attempting to make that recipe.I’ll never go a day without thinking about our memories together.