Cleaning out closet and life

I was cleaning out my closet, and putting away the spring & summer clothes, when I fell on a shirt I had squirelled away from ages past. And by ages past, I mean from 6-8 years ago. The shirt is made of black velvet, extremely low cut, had the red anarchy A patch, strategic holes where I had sewn chains, and ludicrous pentacles galore.

You see, when I turned 16, I went through a goth/punk phase for a few years, which transmuted into my skank phase later on. There are very little pictures of me, I think my grandmother is the only one in possesion of one, actually. IMO, the less evidence, the better.

Back to the shirt, I had completely forgotten that I had kept this shirt, and essentially hidden it away. Having it fall in my hands was like an instant flashback. I compared that shirt to the rest of my wardrobe. Stark difference. I had, have, and probably always will have this tendency and preference for dark and especially black clothing. And that is where the differences stop.

I dont own any more low cut shirts. I dont own any more velvet shirt. Purposely ripped clothing has been replaced by wear tears, and chains have been replaced by mending thread. There are no more A's, there are no more pentacles. I would never wear this shirt, not as a costume or as a joke. This shirt belongs to someone else.

Epiphany, of a kind. Ive been strugging for the past year about taking those two paths, which is how I feel my mind, soul, and heart have been divided. Old Cynthia vs New Cynthia. Goth skank vs modest wife. Rebellious anger vs prayerful intent. Will to force change vs will to upkeep & create.

But seeing that shirt, and knowing I couldnt even fathom wearing it anywhere, ever, forced me to look at things like they were. I can feel some sorrow, yes, about not being the same 16 year old anymore. But I cannot be that 16 year old, because I took her and evolved her into something so much better. I still have that passion for change, but I channel it into something completely different.

Im a responsible adult. I have the right to drink, gamble, own & drive a car, get into and out of debt, vote, I have complete control over every aspect of my personal life. I am married to the most wonderful man in the world, and should I be so blessed maybe one day God will see fit to give me children. But for now, I have the awesome responsibility to be a replacement mother for 8 beautiful 2 year olds. I challenge and get challenged in ways previosuly unthought.

Why in the world would I mourn Old Cynthia, when she is part of New Cynthia, just less angry at the world?