The Last

One of my favorite things lately is re-reading my old blogs when they show up in the traffic. Sometimes it’s because I’m pretty freaking funny. Other times, it’s because I find wisdom I forgot somewhere along the way.

Today, someone read a blog I wrote about how I try to be intentional in sharing kindness, just in case I’m the only person who shows them kindness that day. I wrote about changing my mindset from, “What if I’m the only one today?” to “What if I’m the last?”

What if I’m the last person who has a chance to tell someone they’re beautiful before they give up on ever believing it?

What if I’m the last person to tell someone I love them before they stop believing anyone can?

What if I’m the last person they trust…and I mess that up…and they never trust again?

I have lived that way.

So re-reading that post didn’t remind me of wisdom I’d lost.

It hit differently today.

It made me realize that this feeling inside me…it’s that I’ve reached a lot of my lasts.

I have lived much of my life hoping that one day it would get better. But I don’t have much of that hope anymore. I just have a lot of plans for how I’ll live without those things.

When I think about anyone ever treating me like I’m beautiful, I don’t have hope. I have a list of people who told me I wasn’t. And a plucky, “Oh well” attitude.

“I don’t need to feel beautiful. I’ll live without that.”

When I think about anyone staying, I don’t have hope. I have a list of people who didn’t, and a lot of jokes about becoming an urban legend in the woods.

When I think about anyone caring about my feelings or my boundaries…

You get the point.

I keep going. I keep being “resilient” (I hate that fucking word). I keep laughing and living.

But hope that it will get better?

I’ve already had my lasts.

All I can do now is make sure I’m never someone else’s last.