“If only I knew then what I know now…”
This sentiment has been swirling around in my head lately, much like the fallen leaves caught in the autumn winds. Not because I’m looking backward with regret, but because I’ve been remembering earlier versions of myself. Revisiting key decisions that changed the trajectory of my life. Reflecting on what motivated those choices and wondering how differently I might have approached them with the wisdom I have today.
As I walked around Portland, Oregon, this past week, I found myself remembering the first time I visited this city.
It was 2008, and I had come to visit my brother, who was one of the dearest people in my life at the time. I strolled the streets, walked along the waterfront, attended the jazz festival, and soaked up the wonderfully eclectic energy of the city. Everywhere I went, I felt an unmistakable sense of connection. The people, the bookstores, the art, the music, the independent spirit of the place. It all felt familiar in a way I couldn't quite explain.
I remember thinking, I belong here. Why am I not here?
I returned to Washington, D.C., with a longing in my heart that conflicted with my pragmatic self's insistence that I finish my federal government career and earn my pension. I had responsibilities. A career. A plan. And as much as Portland called to me, the sensible thing was to stay the course.
So I did.
And now, eighteen years later, here I am again.
Walking those same streets. Standing beneath the familiar glow of Powell's Books. Breathing in the crisp autumn air. Wandering through neighborhoods where colorful leaves gather along the sidewalks and coffee shops beckon from every corner.
And once again, I find myself thinking, I belong here. Why am I not here?
But something has changed.
I'm no longer asking, “If only I knew then what I know now.”
Instead, I'm asking, “Knowing what I know now, how do I want to live differently going forward?”
It's a subtle distinction, but an important one.
We are shaped by everything that has come before us. Our families, relationships, experiences, successes, disappointments, and the countless decisions that brought us to this particular moment. Some choices opened doors. Others closed them. Some were made from courage and curiosity, while others were made from fear, obligation, or simply doing what seemed sensible at the time.
And isn't it interesting how the passage of time changes our understanding of those decisions?
What once seemed like a mistake may now look like a necessary detour. What we considered a sacrifice might have been an investment in our future. And something we once believed was impossible may no longer be quite so far out of reach.
The question, I think, is whether we are remembering our past or still living inside it.
And as it happens, the Universe seems to have quite a bit to say about that this week.
The Universe Invites Us to Look Back
For those of us who find meaning in the rhythms of the natural world and the symbolism of the heavens, this is a particularly interesting week.
Mercury began its retrograde journey through Scorpio on October 24, continuing through November 13. Today, October 26, we welcome the Full Moon in Taurus. And on Saturday, we arrive at Samhain, the ancient seasonal threshold marking the end of the harvest and the beginning of the darker half of the year.
Quite the celestial gathering, wouldn't you say?
While I don't believe the planets make decisions for us, I appreciate how astrology invites us to reflect on the patterns and cycles of our lives. And this week's celestial activity seems particularly fitting.
Mercury retrograde is traditionally associated with revisiting, reconsidering, and reconnecting. With Mercury traveling through Scorpio, a sign associated with emotional depth and transformation, perhaps we're being invited to revisit old stories with fresh eyes. To see a past relationship with greater compassion, recognize the wisdom in a difficult decision, or offer a little grace to the younger versions of ourselves.
Of course, Mercury retrograde gets blamed for everything from technological meltdowns to misplaced car keys. But what if, instead of treating it as a cosmic inconvenience, we viewed it as an invitation to slow down and reflect?
Sometimes moving forward requires looking backward. Not to return, but to understand.
And then there's today's Full Moon in Taurus, traditionally known as the Hunter's Moon. Astrologically, Taurus represents grounding, security, and stability, while its opposite sign, Scorpio, represents transformation and surrender. Together, they offer a beautiful metaphor for the tension between holding on and letting go.
After all, familiarity has a way of masquerading as security. We stay in jobs, relationships, homes, and routines because they're comfortable, even when they no longer nourish us.
I've been thinking about this quite a bit as I navigate retirement and the possibility of creating a very different life. For years, security meant a steady paycheck, a pension, and a loose plan for retirement. Those things served me well, and I'm grateful for them. But perhaps security in this season of life means something different. Less about knowing what comes next and more about trusting myself to navigate whatever comes.
What is worth preserving, and what is ready to change?
As we approach Samhain this Saturday, a time of remembrance and honoring those who came before us, I'm thinking about the quieter forms of inheritance. The beliefs, expectations, habits, and stories we carry from one chapter of life into the next.
Some are beautiful gifts. Some have become unnecessarily heavy. And some were never really ours to carry in the first place.
Simplicity Living Practice: Keep. Release. Reclaim.
This week's practice is a simple invitation to reflect on your own journey. You don't need to follow astrology, believe in the influence of the planets, or perform an elaborate ritual. All you need is a little quiet time and a willingness to be curious about your life.
Find a comfortable place where you won't be interrupted. Perhaps light a candle, make yourself a cup of tea, and bring along your journal. If you enjoy connecting with nature, gather a fallen leaf, an acorn, or a small stone to remind yourself of the season.
Then consider three simple questions.
What do I want to keep?
Think about the people, experiences, lessons, traditions, and qualities that have nourished you along the way. What has helped you become the person you are today? What still brings meaning, connection, and joy to your life? Choose one thing you want to carry forward with intention.
What am I ready to release?
Perhaps it's an old expectation about who you should be or what your life should look like. Maybe it's a regret you've revisited a thousand times, an outdated belief, or a responsibility you've been carrying long after it stopped being yours. You don't have to solve anything today. Simply acknowledge what feels heavy and consider whether you're ready to loosen your grip.
What am I ready to reclaim?
I love this question because it reminds us that growth doesn't always mean becoming someone new. Sometimes it means remembering who we were before the world convinced us to be someone else.
Perhaps you've set aside your creativity, curiosity, adventurous spirit, or sense of play. Maybe there's a dream you've tucked away because it didn't seem practical. Or perhaps there's a part of yourself that has been quietly waiting for permission to return.
What would it feel like to welcome that part of yourself home?
When you've finished writing, take a few moments to step outside. If the sky is clear, look up at the moon. Feel the ground beneath your feet and the cool autumn air against your skin.
Notice how nature holds both stability and change. The trees remain rooted even as they release their leaves. The seasons move forward without clinging to what came before.
We can do the same.
Sage Wisdom: We Are Not Who We Were
I've been thinking a great deal about the woman who first walked the streets of Portland eighteen years ago.
I remember her enthusiasm, her curiosity, her desire for adventure, and the way she felt so immediately at home in a place she'd never lived. I also remember her responsibilities, her determination, and her belief that there was a particular order in which life was supposed to unfold.
I have tremendous affection for that woman.
She made the best decisions she could with the information, resources, and wisdom available to her at the time. Some of those decisions brought wonderful opportunities. Others came with sacrifices she couldn't have anticipated.
But I don't need to judge her choices through the eyes of the woman I am today.
And I certainly don't need to keep making the same choices simply because they once made sense.
We are the accumulation of countless experiences, but we are not obligated to remain defined by them. We can honor our upbringing without preserving every belief. We can appreciate an old relationship without returning to it. We can love the person we once were while making room for the person we're becoming.
That's what remembrance means to me this year.
Not simply looking backward with nostalgia or regret, but looking backward with understanding. Recognizing the gifts, acknowledging the wounds, appreciating the lessons, and deciding with intention what deserves to accompany us into the next chapter.
I don't know exactly where I'll be living a year from now. I don't know what my life will look like or which decisions I'll make along the way.
But I do know that I no longer need to ask why I didn't choose Portland eighteen years ago.
That question belongs to a different woman, living a different chapter of her life.
The question before me now is what I choose to do with the life that's still unfolding.
Because the past is part of our story, but it does not get to write every chapter.
We carry forward the love, the lessons, and the wisdom. We lay down what has grown too heavy. And sometimes, in the quiet space between remembering and releasing, we discover something extraordinary.
We are still becoming.