By: Emily Eileen Moreshead
I found my old passport yesterday.
I looked at it and saw myself at twenty-four and wow, it was so surreal. I remember that picture perfectly and the circumstances around taking it. Seemed like a lifetime ago but yet almost as if it were yesterday.
I’m four months away from thirty-seven years old today. Today. That means I’m very close to forty and that scares the hell out of me. It’s only a number, yes, but I feel like I was just worried about turning 30! Twenty-five too. I had a quarter-life crisis at 25. It makes me laugh now, especially since my oldest nephew will be that age by early 2018. But back to that passport picture.
It was raining, the first Saturday in May, 2005. I sat at the post office for an unusually long time, waiting to fill out form after form after form. Yes, I was me. Yes I am an American citizen. No I’m not on the FBI’s Most Wanted, and no, I don’t owe an insufferable amount of back taxes. Later I took my picture wearing a raincoat and with my hair a little more than damp. I was frustrated, tired and wet. And there you have it. Frozen. Me at 24, halfway to 25. Crazy isn’t it?