At 25, I was living in Chicago by myself in a shoebox of an apartment with little money, a broken heart, and no sense of direction.
I remember walking along the lake path every night in a cloud of depression wondering when things would start to make sense.
I wanted desperately to be able to point to an age or landmark in the future and say, “There! That’s when I’ll figure it all out.” If I could go back to my younger self and whisper some words of wisdom into her ear, here’s what I’d tell her: I love french fries in all their hot, salty glory, but for the longest time, I didn’t allow myself to eat them.
Read more on theeverygirl.com