Being
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Don’t Forget Me Though I’ve Been Gone

There was a dirt hill exiting the woods leading down to a path across a rickety wooden bridge at my neighborhood playground.  I remember this hill being very high and steep.  It was challenging, exciting, but never dangerous.  I remember running down it each time we wanted to reach the park, but do not have any recollection of falling down or slipping.  There was no fear or hesitation in my steps, and because of it, I was able to successfully get from point A to B each and every time.
Today, I would likely see that hill as slippery, unstable, dangerous, and intimidating even if it is smaller to an adult as it was to a nine year old.  I can just see myself today, trying to scale down it sideways and still slipping while kicking up enough dust to fill an ankle boot.  In my attempt to be cautious, I would surely risk more injury than if I used secure but large and quick strides to come down.
I have thought of that hill often.  I have thought of going down it each afternoon, but instead of showing up as a carefree girl wanting to get to the park, I am an adult who worries about tumbling down it accidentally.  Where it was once a tiny adventure to leap across a weathered bridge I now think about how it can collapse beneath my feet in a split second.  All of the things I was aware of but didn’t bother with then are the things that hold me back now.  Is older always wiser?  I just want to get to that park.
Isn’t caution to be thrown to the wind?  Why do I hold onto caution with a vice grip as of late?  So ready to stop over thinking.  I know I haven’t written at all lately.  I am so sorry.   Don’t forget me though I’ve been gone, okay?
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