about the “right time”

I have always been a big reader. As a little girl I was infatuated with stories of other worlds, other lives, other situations. I was also a little girl with crippling anxiety, so the first thing I did before deciding whether or not to read a new book was flip to the last page and read the ending. Yes, I was that kid. But I wouldn’t spoil the ending for anyone else, it wasn’t out of cruel intentions or anything- all I wanted was confirmation that everything ended up okay in the end; if the prince ever found his way back to the princess, if the boxcar children ever got a real family, if Harry ever defeated Voldemort. I was so afraid of starting a story without knowing if it all ended up okay that I would spoil the whole thing for myself just to spare myself the heartbreak in case it didn’t. And for the longest time, I would have given anything in the world to flip to the last page of my life just to see where I ended up, and if everything turned out okay.

Flash forward to when I was seventeen years old. I was sitting in seventh period study hall staring at a blank document on my laptop titled “College Essay”, and the prompt asking about the time I overcame my hardest obstacle was staring back at me. At this point, I had spent weeks racking my brain of how to turn the darkest moments of my life into a beautifully worded piece that would convince the acceptance board of my dream school that I was enough for them. Somehow it came to me and the words began flowing and weeks worth of beating myself up over my first ever case of writers block was resolved in a mere hour and a half. I wrote about my love for reading and my childhood bad habit of skipping to the last page of the book, threw in a few trauma-dumping paragraphs about my childhood, and closed it off with comparing my life so far to the first few chapters of a book, explaining how much better the ending is when you don’t know what’s gonna happen.

Now I’m sitting here four years later, and I realize the girl who wrote that essay was lying to herself about not wanting to know how it all ends for her. I’m about to turn 22, my time at the school that essay helped me get into is coming to an end, and I’m an entirely different person. In these four years I’ve switched my major five times, suffered a few heartbreaks, failed a few classes, said goodbye to four family members and two dogs, and survived two shootings. That’s what seventeen year old Reagan would focus on. Current Reagan is more focused on the fact that she not only made it out of all the hardship in one piece, but allowed herself to grow from it, and in the meantime made more good memories than some people get their whole lives. I met the friends who turned into family and helped shape me into who I am now, and I changed every single plan I had for my future when I got here. I travelled more than I thought I’d ever be able to, and met people who have changed my life. I made memories I already can't wait to tell my kids about. I learned about who I am, how to have faith, what I’m passionate about, and what I want out of life.

After all of this, I would still be lying to myself if I said I wasn't dying to know how it all works out for me- if my book ends with me getting everything I ever wanted. Does the story end with the girl getting her dream job? Does the timing ever work out to let her find that one person again in the right moment? Does she create the family she always dreamed of having? Do her friends turn into bridesmaids and the aunts and uncles of her kids? Most importantly, is she able to look back on her life and say she lived it without the regret of not doing enough with it?

Recently it feels like time is just a rock sitting there in my path, there to trip me and scrape my knees when I’m running too fast towards the things I want. They say it heals all wounds, yet it’s what creates so many of them in the first place. During this phase of life, it seems like I have nothing but blind faith that things are all going to work out in my favor. There’s no evidence, no timeline, just quiet hope that what’s meant for me will come one day. The phase between college and figuring out what to do after feels like I’m in the waiting room for a nerve-racking appointment. It’s nearly impossible to sit still as I’m twiddling my thumbs and staring at the clock, my heart jumping every time the door opens—only for someone else’s name to be called. With every person who walks out clutching the answers to their life, it feels like my own are slipping further out of reach, as the voice in my head telling me it’ll all work out is slowly becoming quieter and quieter.

In this room full of fear for the future and goodbyes to the life I’ve had for the last four years, there is a door in front of me, and on the other side is a lifetime of excitement I can’t even fathom right now. I just have to remember I’ve survived this feeling before; the same girl who wrote that college essay about the future was in a waiting room too. She was on the verge of tears nearly every day, terrified of not getting into the school she had dreamed of since she was a kid. Then one day as she was sitting at a red light on the way home from school, she got the text “acceptances came out early check your email omg”, and next thing you know the entire rest of her life started.

I’m beginning to realize something- life is what’s happening when you’re waiting for the timing to be right. The most important memories, lessons, and people in your life don’t just magically show up after you get your plans figured out, they just show up somewhere along the way, and the right ones stick with you even when nothing else makes sense. These things and people are what make the waiting game a little easier. Life doesn’t get put on pause until you feel ready for it, it keeps moving. Don’t miss out on the beauty of what’s in front of you because you’re focusing too much on planning out the next step. What’s right for you tends to show up when you aren’t looking.

So no, none of us get to flip to the last page of our stories. As much as we wish we could, I’m beginning to realize that’s the whole point. Life is all about letting in new characters, surviving the plot twists and allowing ourselves to grow from them, and finding joy in the little chapters that seem insignificant at first. The unknown is terrifying and time has a habit of feeling like the enemy, but maybe that’s just because we keep trying to outrun it instead of letting it carry us. Maybe the only way we ruin the story is by being too afraid to live it out—by missing what’s right in front of us because we’re too busy waiting for the perfect moment to arrive.