As the wind blows away the dust of who I have been, what are the parts of my life I want to remember?

I want to remember who I am when I walk in nature. I want to feel the wind blowing through my hair, the sun warming my skin, and the grass beneath my feet. I want to remember how the sounds and scents of the natural world make me feel connected, whole, and at home. I want to hold on to the beauty I’ve witnessed—the vivid color of the sky, a single leaf, an eagle soaring overhead, the remarkable shapes of mushrooms growing on a fallen tree. These sights fill me with awe.

I want to remember the love I carry for the people who have shared this life with me. I want to remember to forgive—both myself and others—because life is messy. We are all stumbling through as best we can. I want to remember that it is okay to set boundaries and love people from afar. I want to show up each day with love, in spite of my flaws or theirs. I want to remember that everything happens for a reason, even when the reason is unclear. My responsibility is my own healing. It is not my job to heal others or to decide if they need healing—that is their journey.

I want to remember the love of my grandparents, and the love I hold for my grandchildren. Why does the separation of a generation seem to intensify relationships? My bond with my grandchildren feels so different from what I had with my children—not better, not purer, just different. The same is true of the love I felt from my grandparents; so very different from my parents. Now, as I walk this path without any grandparents in physical form and step fully into that role myself, I hope that long after I am gone, my grandchildren will feel my love—helping, guiding, and supporting them in ways I cannot do today.

Do I want to remember my journey through this lifetime? Are the occurrences and experiences important to my story? Every page I have turned along this path has shaped me, drawing me closer to the truest version of myself. I understand who I am today in a way I never did in childhood, or in my twenties, thirties, or even forties. The missteps and stumbles, the masks and roles, the passions and goals—all of these have been essential to discovering Stacy.When faced with the question, “What do I want to remember?” I think the answer is simple:
I want to remember who I am.