It’s that time of year again.

Graduation season is here, which means everywhere you look photos of children in caps and gowns are popping up. It doesn’t matter if it’s a snap of high schoolers, college grads, or even the new phenomenon of preschool ceremonies (yes, that’s actually a thing)—unless you are a total curmudgeon, these photos bring smiles. They also stir up emotions for everyone who ever donned a cloak, and experienced the pure magic of expectation mixed with dreams (along with a sprinkle of fear and dash of uncertainty). 

Parents simultaneously lament the inevitable letting go of their offspring’s childhood (and the joys associated with raising little children who mispronounce strawberry, gleefully pick their noses in public, and still believe in the tooth fairy, Santa, and everyday miracles), and express gratitude for the privilege of watching their children grow into awesome human beings (ones filled with potential, promise, and personality, ready to conquer adulthood and slay whatever dragons they face). 

It’s a magical season, really. So much to celebrate, so much to be grateful for—and so much of life left to experience. All captured in full color and posted on Facebook for all to see. It’s no wonder we get all emotional seeing photos of children getting ready to launch into the real world, leave home for the first time, and pursue their dreams. Those photos are precious because they remind us of ourselves—our dreams, the dreams we have for our own children, and the dreams we have for our shared world. 

The gift of time gives us adults a different perspective, for we know life only gets more complicated after graduation. We know on a cellular level that growing up is where the pure magic lives, therefore we truly appreciate the journey that brought us to adulthood. We may long for another taste of that simplicity, but deep down we wouldn’t want to do it again. We know the freedom of childhood is vastly different from life in the real world, where mortgages need to get paid and we are the ones pushing the grocery cart. We also know that along with every setback,  moment of sadness, or bad day, that we are our happiest when the world supports us, wishes us well, and celebrates our accomplishments. 

When we look at these photos we smile because we see pure opportunity. We collectively lift these children up in our hearts, as if breathing possibility and confidence into their souls. We smile because we support them, wish them well, and remember what it felt like to be fresh faced, and ready to rule the world. We smile because we remember what it felt like to graduate high school, to walk to the podium at our college commencement, and to suddenly be expected to live in the world as an adult. 

The girl I was when I accepted my diplomas didn’t know what the future had in store for me, or my friends. I simply dreamed of living a rich life, and knew it was time to get started being someone other than a child. I didn’t know I would grow up so fast. I didn’t know that by the time I was 31 that two of my dearest friends would lose their dads, and that their mothers would also die before we reached our mid 40s. And I didn’t know that one of them would lose her hair from the stress of losing her mother. I don’t know my grandma would die with Alzheimer’s, or my young son would kiss the gravestone at his great grandpa’s funeral. I didn’t know my college sweethearts mother would die at 46 from breast cancer, or that in the days before her funeral I would start a deep, life long friendship with his sister—because really being there for someone during that kind of loss and grief bonds you in ways that cannot be explained. I didn’t know that some 20 years later my own mother would be diagnosed, go bald, and suffer side effects from the same damn cancer. I didn’t know my dad would almost die from sepsis, or that he would live in constant pain. I didn’t know I’d almost stroke after the birth of my second child, or suffer PTSD from the guilt associated with almost leaving my children motherless. I didn’t know I’d be diagnosed with an autoimmune disease, resulting in a nodule on my neck that needed to be biopsied for cancer—twice. I didn’t know I’d have debt, or that I wouldn’t buy a house till I was in my 40s, or that I’d know so many adults with diagnosed depression and anxiety. 

But you know what else I didn't know? I didn’t know I’d get to be a mother to two of the most amazing children, children who love me no matter what, and sneak into our bed for cuddles every night. I didn’t know I’d get to meet the most amazing and interesting people along the way (tarot readers, old hippies, aura readers, musicians, artists, environmentalists, activists, free thinkers, cigar loving ladies, teachers, writers (oh, the writers), alpha moms, dreamers, truth tellers, healers, helpers, old ladies with stories to tell, and everyday people, too)—and I didn’t know I’d get to call them friends. I didn’t know I'd get to work with artists for a decade, making work fun instead of stifling. I didn’t know I’d actually meet a man who wanted to get married, and have kids, and grow a life together. I didn’t know I’d see my grandpa live to 96. I didn’t know I’d live in three states, only to end up living three miles away from my best friends—my mom and my sister. I didn’t know I’d get to work for acupuncturists and therefore meet many, many, many incredible patients—including several with stage four cancers. And I didn’t know that getting to know them, and watching them navigate devastating diagnoses, would forever change the way I view medicine and what it means to be well. I didn’t know I’d get to fully experience a community as a writer, learning about an unfamiliar city as a new mother by writing stories about new businesses and interesting people, not because I had time to go places, but because it was my job to do so. I didn’t know I’d dream about moving to Minneapolis, and actually do it. I didn’t know I’d get to live in a 108 year old house, smaller than any of my childhood homes, but fall in love with it anyway—because of the sunniness inside, the surrounding community outside, and the fact that it’s the last affordable house in my crazy town. I didn’t know I’d meet some of the poorest people with the richest hearts, or some of the richest people who somehow remain lost. I didn’t know I’d eventually believe in angels, or the power of thoughts, or pure magic. 

And I didn't know everything was gonna be ... ok.

I didn’t know these things because I was a kid with a diploma, and not a clue what to do next. And to me, that is the real beauty of this magical graduation season. We aren’t supposed to know—we are supposed to live.

So with that, my advice to anyone gearing up for their grad party, or their new job, or their big break—just be you. Life is gonna find a way to smack you around a bit, and you’re gonna spend some time in the weeds. But I speak from experience when I say that the best thing you can do about it, is to be true to yourself, and to be the person YOU want to be. Don’t be what you think others want you to be, or what your parents expect you to be, or what makes you uncomfortable in your own skin. And try to remember that you will get many, many, many chances to reinvent yourself throughout your life. So be yourself, whatever that means at this very moment, and just let your life happen. 

And remember, it's gonna be good—even when it isn’t.