I miss not knowing who I am yet, while simultaneously knowing it deep in my being.

Not like now, when I don’t know who I am, but I’m supposed to have it figured out and the deep knowing has retreated to corners of my being I can't find the password to.

I’d be a teenager, lying in the grass, a little bit bored, noticing a bug landing on my thigh and a strand of hair sticking to my eye lid. The sky is too blue, and the sun is too hot. I swat the bug and pull the hair away, slowly, asking if my friend has gum. 

There’s no gum. We don’t have anything between us - except an endless summer we will share generously, and secret dreams we spill with abandon.

Maybe that’s what I need to do. Turn my phone off. Buy the cheapest popsicle. Lie in the park and be bored and dream of who I want to be, and knowing I have time. 

Because, older or younger, we all have the same time in front of us, and the right to the same number of dreams - and the need to be peacefully bored to embody them.