The Life I’m Not Living Yet
Her:
There’s a version of me out there - somewhere in the ether - living a life that hasn’t happened yet. I don’t know exactly where she is or what she’s doing. But I do know what the vibe is. I know that her life feels full. There’s a spark in her again. A new understanding of what it means to be alive. She’s not dramatic or elusive or some version of me that I made up in a Pinterest board - she’s me, just a little further ahead.
And so far removed from the girl writing this now.
But I think about her a lot.
She lives the life I’m not living yet.
Not because I don’t want it. Not because I’m not capable. But because right now I’m still here - doing the things I need to do to keep this current version of me together.
There were moments when I got so focused on chasing that future version of myself that I started neglecting the life I have now. A kind of soft-core escapism. But I can’t do that anymore. There’s a version of reality that still needs me to show up. Even when my heads halfway in the clouds and halfway planning how my furniture will fit in an apartment I haven’t even toured yet.
Sometimes it’s not about running away. It’s about running toward.
But you have to walk there first. Crawl, even. And in the meantime, you’re stuck in the in-between.
You try. You plan. You say things out loud like, ‘This is what I’m going to do.’
You make moves.
Then you wait.
And the longer you wait, the more your life starts to look like the same one you’ve always lived. Nothing really changes. You start wondering, Am I still doing that thing? Or was that a phase?
You fall back into old patterns. You get comfortable. And just when you start to settle, something reminds you - this isn’t it. This isn’t the life you’re meant to live forever. And you already knew that.
It’s not that you hate where you are. It’s that you know you’re not supposed to stay here.
It’s a bit - exhausting.
This loop of wanting change, trying for it, waiting, doubting yourself, and then having to keep going as if nothing’s wrong. You have no outcome to point to. People stop asking how it’s going. You stop explaining. You become the only one still holding the vision.
And the worst part? You don’t even want more in some big glamorous way. You just want your life back.
Moments. Movement. Laughter.
It’s not about luxury. It’s about living.
You don’t need freedom in the sense of escape. You just need a reset. A second life. A breath of fresh air.
Because she isn’t some unattainable fantasy.
You’ve been her before, and you’re becoming her again. But she’s stuck - somewhere between all the things you’ve been trying, all the delays life’s thrown at you, and all the moments you were told to wait.
So you’ve kept waiting. And now you’re stuck in the cycle. Wanting out. Craving more. Trying to hold onto both ends at once.
But even in the fog, you know:
She’s not gone. She’s just not here yet.
