Life Begins Again
Letter board with quote from Hall and Simeral, “The more reflective you are, the more effective you are.”
Editor’s note: This post will continue to evolve as I do.
Welcome back, thoughtful souls and curious minds.
What began as a journey down memory lane has turned into something much more. The Past, Present, & Future series wasn’t just about revisiting old papers, it was about following the thread that ties them together. And now, here we are at the final piece.
The Past showed me that even the uncomfortable moments carry value. They remind us where we’ve come from and what has shaped us.
The Present grounded me in what life has taught me so far.
The Future leaves me hopeful for days, months, years ahead.
With those in mind, let’s return to a paper I wrote in my first year of college. Fittingly titled Secrets, which explores not only what is spoken but what lingers in the silence. One requirement was to wave in song lyrics, a detail that felt unusual at the time but now strikes me as a reminder that reflection often has a rhythm of its own.
I opened with Pink’s words from Dear Diary: “Dear, dear diary, I want to tell my secrets / ‘Cause you’re the only one that knows who’ll keep them.” I didn’t choose it because it mirrored my truth, but because it felt like a good hook, a door into my story of entering high school.
And that story was less about excitement and more about fear of the unknown. I was shy, uneasy about change, and deeply unsettled when a close friend moved away right before school started. Add in the possibility of my family relocating, and high school felt less like a new chapter and more like chaos in motion.
I thought I wasn’t ready. But do we ever really feel ready?
While the lyrics weren’t my truth, they gave me a chance to see my high school years differently. At the time, it all felt like chaos in motion, from events to classes to activities, always rushing by. I often felt more like a number than a person, moving through what was expected rather than what I truly wanted. I didn’t feel brave enough to take the classes that sparked my interest like, Marketing or Journalism.
Looking back now, I realize my high school experience was more positive than I originally expected it to be. My teachers, classmates, and teammates brought joy and shaped me into who I am today. But underneath all that, there was a quiet part of me that didn’t fully feel seen. It wasn’t the people, it was my own lack of confidence that kept me small, content to hide as a wallflower.
With distance, I can see that much of what felt overwhelming wasn’t the reality itself but the anticipation of it. I imagined all the various possibilities instead of just living in the moment and soaking it up.
That shift in perspective matters. Uncertainty doesn’t always mean fear, it can also mean you’re standing on the edge of something new. Growth, I’ve learned, isn’t optional. My greatest fear isn’t failure, it’s standing still.
The irony is clear: back then, change is what I feared most. Now, I see it differently, not as a disruption, but as movement. Proof that life is still shaping me in ways I couldn’t have predicted.
If the lyrics I used gave me a strong opening, the next ones pushed me deeper. Secrets by OneRepublic wasn’t so much a mirror of what I felt, but a way to express what I couldn’t yet put into words. Back then, I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe my emotions clearly, so the lyrics became a stand-in. Something I could lean on to explain feelings I didn’t know how to articulate.
When my closest friend moved away right before high school, it felt like the world had crashed down. We had planned everything together, and suddenly I was left with an ache I didn’t know how to name. At the time, I said it felt like depression, or like I was faking happiness, but really I just missed my friend. She was someone I could tell everything to, someone who saw me without trying to change me. That kind of safe friendship was rare, and losing it shook me more than I realized.
I leaned on lyrics lie “tell me what you want to hear” and “I’m gonna give all my secrets away” to explain what I couldn’t fully articulate. In truth, it wasn’t misery, it was loneliness, the ache of plans left behind, the betrayal of a friend.
But it wasn’t the whole story. New friends eventually stepped in, filling spaces I thought would always be empty. They reminded me that what felt like an ending was really an opening, proof that sometimes loss makes room for unexpected beginnings.
Looking back, I was just a kid. I didn’t know how to fully express myself, where I belonged, or how to make sense of everything. Most days I was simply figuring it out as I went. Still, my circle of friends felt more like family, a sisterhood.
What I’ve learned since then is that inspiration doesn’t always come from grand moments in time. Often, it lives in the people around us. The way they share their passions, carry wonder into small moments, or remind us to laugh when life feels heavy.
As I look ahead, I find myself searching for those kind of people again. The ones who welcome adventure, who make space for curiosity, and who aren’t afraid to let life feel playful. Because the right people don’t just shape the path, they remind you why you’re walking it in the first place.
And while I believe everyone is a sunshine soul for someone, not everyone is meant to be that for everyone. Sometimes we’re just a brief light in someone’s day, and sometimes we’re the kind of light that lingers. Both have value. But the rare ones, the ones whose warmth stays even when they’re not around, those are the friendships that leave a deeper imprint. They remind me that connection isn’t measured by time or proximity, but by the light it leaves behind.
Throughout my life, I’ve always listened to music for different reasons. Sometimes for energy, sometimes for comfort, and sometimes just for the joy of it. But every now and then, a song comes along that seems to capture a feeling I couldn’t describe at the time. Back then, “ ” by Plain White T’s felt like the closest thing to express a new best friend who entered my life at just the right moment. The lyrics may have been written as a love song, but to me they carried the same meaning: care, loyalty, and presence. She became a steady anchor during a season of change, a reminder that sometimes people show up exactly when you need them most.
As I look ahead, my hope is simple: to keep finding those light-filled souls who don’t just shine for themselves, but who help others shine too. The kind of people who carry their light in a way that invites you to step into your own.
I imagine them as sparks. Sometimes brief, sometimes lasting, but always unforgettable. They remind me that connection isn’t about clinging tightly, but about leaving one another better, brighter, more alive than before. Those are the friendships and encounters I want to keep seeking, the ones that spark something in me and remind me to reflect that light back.
But before I could recognize which sparks would stay and which would fade, I had to live through the in-between. The uncertainty of growing up, learning what connection really meant, and stumbling through moments that felt bigger than they really were. Still, the search for connection wasn’t always simple. High school was a mix of fleeting sparks and heavier lessons, moments of feeling seen and others of being misunderstood. And like so many memories from that time, much of it is tied to moments that captured the spirit of those years. While the days were filled with firsts from dances and car rides to late night talks with friends, there was a sense of wide-eyed hope, tangled with nerves, as if everything was just beginning and every moment carried more weight than it really did.
So, when I quoted, “Cause when you’re fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you’re gonna believe them…” I wrote about a brief high school relationship. He told me he loved me, and I believed him. But before spring break, when I was set to perform as part of a wind ensemble at Disney World, he assumed I was going to cheat on him out of the blue. And it was hurtful to hear, especially since he was the only one I was interested in.
At the time, I couldn’t understand it. I could barely talk to boys at that time yet alone consider cheating on him. Cheating is not something I choose to mess around with. If you’re old enough to make decisions for yourself, be considerate enough to let your partner know when your feelings are shifting, or at least ask for a break or a pause.
Now, looking back, I wonder what he might have been carrying from past hurt, trust issues, or a fear of being left behind. At the time, we were only fifteen and we were still so young. From my own experience, I trying to figure things out the best I could and imagine he was as well. But his doubt taught me an important lesson: I want people in my life who trust me, who see the best in me, not the worst.
And maybe that perspective shift changed with time. High school can feel like the whole world, but really it’s just the beginning. There’s always more to learn, more people to meet, and a wider horizon than we realize when we’re in it.
Even small moments like those give me perspective. While we both could’ve handled that situation better, it’s hard to know when you’re in the thick of things. It’s why there’s a saying that “hindsight is 20/20.” When you look back, it’s oftentimes so much easier to recognize the patterns, the miscommunication, or what’s been left unsaid.
Moving forward, I know what I want to build: relationships rooted in trust, respect, and reciprocity. If I’m showing up to support and encourage someone, I expect that same energy reflected back. Anything less isn’t connection, it’s imbalance.
The truth is, relationships aren’t just about lighthearted moments or easy days. They should remind you of your worth, especially when things get messy. That’s why the next lyrics I used, from “Believe in Me” by Demi Lovato, felt right. Because real connection isn’t about perfection. It’s about being seen, supported, and believed in, even when you’re struggling to believe in yourself.
“I’m losing myself / trying to compete…I just wanna believe in me.” I chose these lyrics because of an incident when someone assumed I was anorexic. In reality, I was just a picky eater, who was sensitive to tastes, textures, and smells. But their assumption made me self-conscious. Suddenly I felt like I had to comment on being skinny whenever body image came up, as if I needed to justify myself.
It was confusing. On one side, I was told I looked fine, and on the other, I was told I was too skinny. It left me feeling judged, silenced, and misunderstood. As a teenager still figuring myself out, it chipped away at my self-worth in ways I didn’t know how to name at the time.
Even now, I hate being reminded of it. Because it shows how quickly misplaced words can bruise confidence. And yet, it also reminds me of this truth: real support isn’t dismissing someone’s pain, it’s listening, even when their struggles don’t look like your own.
In the future, I hope we all become more sensitive to the words we choose. What feels small to one person can stay with another for years. Words don’t disappear once spoken. They linger, shaping how someone feels seen, or unseen. That’s why listening matters just as much as speaking. Silence can be healing when it’s paired with presence, but when voices are cut short, that absence can weigh heavier than any word.
That’s what led me to use “Gone Too Soon” by Simple Plan. The lyrics carried my grief for my brother, who passed away unexpectedly and not from natural causes. At the time, it had been only three years, and the pain was still raw. What made it harder was the silence. My family shielded me from the details, court cases, and conversations because I was “too young.” In some ways, it protected me. In others, it left me feeling like an outsider in my own grief.
With time, I’ve come to see it differently. Silence may shield you in the moment, but it doesn’t always support healing. Grief has no single path. Sometimes we need space to process on our own, and sometimes the very act of being included, being heard, is what makes recovery possible.
Now, I try to hold both truths. Distance can be restorative, giving us room to breathe and reflect. But honesty and openness create connection. Healing can be quiet or shared, solitary or collective. Both make sense and both matter.
Looking back through this series, I see how each stage carries its own weight. The past reminds us where we’ve been. The present asks us to sit in what’s real right now. And the future holds space for what’s still possible. Then, there’s reflection. It doesn’t bind us to who we were, it shows us how far we’ve come, and how much we’re still capable of becoming.
So as this chapter closes, it’s not really an ending but a renewal. Because every time we grow, shift, or let go, something new begins. And just like that, life begins again.
Now if you’ve ever struggled to move on from the past, you’re not alone. Reflection isn’t always easy. Sometimes looking back feels heavy, confusing, or even impossible to put into words. But here are a few small reminders that can help:
Start small. You don’t have to unpack everything at once. Begin with one memory, one lesson, or even one feeling you’re ready to acknowledge.
Write it out. Journaling can give your thoughts a place to land, helping you notice patterns and perspectives you might miss in the moment.
Share with someone safe. Sometimes healing happens when we let others in whether through conversation, therapy, or even creative outlets like art or music.
Shift the frame. Instead of asking “why did this happen to me?”try “what did this teach me?”That shift doesn’t erase the pain, but it can turn hindsight into wisdom.
Be patient with yourself. Growth isn’t linear. Healing takes time, and moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting, it means carrying your story with more lightness than before.
Most of all, remember that reflection isn’t about reliving the past, it’s about learning from it so you can step more fully into what’s ahead.
As a signature of my blog, I’d like to end this post with a suggestion to “Pass on kindness.” There’s no time like the present to Inspire Those Who Inspire You. Acts of kindness, no matter how big or small, can have a direct, positive impact on someone else. Go out there today and change someone’s life for the better!
***These are my personal opinions and may not be those of my employer.***
