I was 23 the summer I fell in love.
We had summer jobs at a resort in one of the most spectacular places I’ve ever seen. Towering mountains, shimmering lakes, wildflower meadows that stretched forever. We lived right there, surrounded by all of it, and soaked in the kind of freedom and possibility that only exist when you’re young and your whole life is in front of you.
He was kind. Smart. Funny. And he made me believe in myself again. That summer, he made me feel like I mattered. Like I was worthy. I didn’t even realize how much I needed that until it happened. And I fell in love.
But I never told him.
I was terrified of rejection and I believed it was inevitable. I thought saying the words would ruin the connection we had. So I stayed silent. And when the season ended, I let him drive away—without me, without asking him to stay, without asking him to take me with him.
I thought I was protecting my heart. But by letting fear decide, I guaranteed that it would be broken.
That summer changed my life.
We grew up. Lived our lives. Built families.
As my children grew, I made sure to pass along something I wish I’d understood back then:
• Take the risk
• Say how you feel
• Love out loud
Because if you live in fear of rejection, you guarantee the regret.
I don’t know that if we met today it would be the same. We’re different people now. I don’t wish I could find him to see if something is still there.
In fact, I think that might ruin the memories I’ve carried all these years, the dreams of what might have been.
I’ll never know. And maybe that’s the most bittersweet part of all.
Postcards From Dirt 