It Was My First Time Living Too

 The future is coming fast, but some of life's greatest treasures are still waiting by the shoreline. 

In today's episode, we take a journey back to a time when life moved a little slower and childhood wasn't measured by screen time or notifications. Through personal reflection and storytelling, we explore the importance of holding onto wonder, embracing simplicity, and remembering that it's okay not to rush through life.

As technology continues to reshape the world around us, there is value in staying grounded and keeping close to the shoreline—the places, people, and memories that remind us who we are. Sometimes the greatest adventures aren't found in racing toward the future but in appreciating the quiet moments that helped shape us.

This episode is an invitation to slow down, reconnect with your roots, and reflect on the parts of yourself that deserve to come along for the journey ahead.

If this story speaks to you, consider sharing it with someone who could use a gentle reminder that growing older doesn't have to mean letting go of the simple things that make life meaningful.

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:01

Welcome back everyone. Today is Throwback Thursday, a day where I like to look back at the moments that shaped who I became. Not because I wish I could relive them, but because I think there is wisdom hidden inside our old memories. Today's episode is called It Was My First Time Living Do. I want to talk about growing up before the world sped up, before social media, before smartphones, before we were expected to always be available. And I want to talk about something even bigger than technology. I want to talk about forgiving the person you used to be. I sometimes think about how lucky we were not to grow up too fast. Not because life was perfect, it wasn't. But because there wasn't an endless stream of voices telling us who we should be. If I wanted to talk to him, I had to call a neighbor's house and hope they answered. Can you imagine that now? He took a six-hour bus ride to come and visit me once. At the time, I didn't think of it as romantic. I was young, I was impatient. I was tired of waiting. We broke up not long after that. Back then, I thought waiting was the hardest part. Now I realize I was waiting for people to become what I needed them to be. Technology changed so much after that. Email arrived, the internet exploded, cell phones became normal, suddenly we could reach almost anyone at any time. But there was something nobody warned me about. Just because there was something nobody warned me about. Just because you can reach someone doesn't mean they will reach back. Technology can make communication easier. It cannot make people care. It cannot heal old wounds. It cannot keep families together. I love my family. I still do. But one of the hardest lessons I have ever learned is that love has to be nurtured. Relationships need time. They need effort. They need forgiveness. You can't simply assume they will survive on memories alone. I miss the feeling of family. I miss the idea that everyone would always be there. Sometimes I wish I knew the exact moment everything changed. But maybe there wasn't one moment. Maybe life simply happened. People grew up. People moved away. People got busy. People got hurt. If I'm honest, I think my own life started changing the moment I got my first boyfriend. I thought love meant becoming whatever someone else wanted me to be. He influenced the way I thought, the way I dressed, the friends I spent time with, even the dreams I had for myself. Looking back now, I realize how easy it is for young people to lose themselves. I wasn't weak. I was young. I think there is an important difference between those two things. Maybe that's why I write. I write for the girl who feels lost. The one who is changing herself to make someone else happy. The one who thinks she has to earn love by becoming someone she isn't. I want her to know that she doesn't. The world has changed. Technology is everywhere, but the feelings underneath it all haven't changed very much. People still want acceptance. People still want to belong. Families still struggle. Relationships still break our hearts. And people still lose themselves trying to be enough for someone else. I know I did. I made mistakes. I burned bridges. I hurt people. I hurt myself. I spent a lot of years trying to figure out who I was supposed to be. If I could sit down with that younger version of myself today, I don't think I would lecture her. I wouldn't tell her every mistake she was about to make. I wouldn't warn her about every heartbreak waiting around the corner. I think I would simply sit beside her. I would tell her that she is stronger than she realizes. I would tell her that one broken relationship doesn't define her future. I would tell her that families are complicated and that people carry wounds we cannot always see. Most of all, I would tell her that she did the best she could, because it was her first time living. No practice rounds, no second chances, no guide book. No guidebook explaining how to survive heartbreak or disappointment. Just one young girl trying to find her place in a world that was changing faster than she understood. I think that's what Throwback Thursday means to me. It isn't about wishing we could go back. It isn't about pretending we could do everything differently. It's about looking back with compassion. It's about thanking the person we used to be. She survived. She learned. She kept going. And because she did, we are here today. So if you've been carrying guilt about the person you once were, I hope you'll give yourself a little grace. You were learning too. You were surviving too. And maybe, just maybe, it was your first time living to you. Thank you for spending a few minutes with me today. If this episode spoke to you, I hope you'll share it with someone who might need the reminder that they are allowed to forgive their younger self. Until next time, be gentle with your past, be present in your today, and never stop believing that your story still has chapters left to write.