What day would I relive from my past if I could choose just one? My first thought was, absolutely not yesterday. Yesterday can stay right where it is, thank you very much.

There I was, working at a motel in the dark, in hundred-degree heat, with no air conditioning, no lights, and no real desire to become one with the humidity. It was not exactly the kind of day you put in a scrapbook with glitter around the edges. And yet, somehow, I made it through. Better than that, I had a few good conversations in the dark. I saw people adapt and help. I saw patience where I expected complaints. Believe it or not, I did not have one angry guest—just people trying to live through the inconvenience together.

On the drive home, I thanked God for that. Not for the blackout, mind you. I have not reached that level of spiritual maturity. I thanked Him for the people. For the grace that showed up in the middle of a mess. For the reminder that even an ugly day can hold a beautiful little witness if you are paying attention.

But choosing one day—one single day—to relive? That is harder than it sounds. What makes us look back and wish we could do it again? Is it love? Faith? Fear? Regret? The words we wish we had said, the ones we wish we had swallowed, or the promise of one last goodbye? Maybe it is not always about changing the past. Maybe sometimes we just want to feel something again exactly as it was… the warmth of it, the wonder of it, the version of ourselves who stood inside that moment before time taught us what it would mean.

As I sat this morning trying to wake up my mind, my daydreaming old-woman brain started flipping through memories like a Rolodex. There were the days my sons were born, each one held in my heart with its own light, the miracle of birth, the shock of becoming a mother, the sight of a tiny human who somehow belonged to me. There was the day my granddaughter Ada was born, and I watched my son step into that same awe I had once stood in. There was the day I started college, full of nerves and excitement and that delicious little whisper of finally, I get to do this. There was the day my first anthology was released, a dream made real, and my heart hoping my mama could see from heaven that I had done it.

Then there was the day I decided to move on, to leave home, to become my own person. The unknown stretched out ahead of me, exciting and frightening all at once. Would I do some things differently if I could go back? Maybe. But probably not. The past is funny that way. It is not just a collection of days… it is a journey. Each step leads to the next. Each choice, each mistake, each brave little leap becomes a building block of the life we are standing in now.

Or maybe I would relive last Tuesday. Nothing grand. No parade. No big announcement. Just a morning spent daydreaming and writing, then piddling around doing exactly what I decided to do. A long talk with my old-woman friend to cap things off, and a good movie before bed. A quiet day all my own.

Maybe that is the secret we learn with age… the simple things glow brighter in retrospect. When we are young and busy, life can blur past us like scenery outside a car window. But as we slow down, as we understand that the road behind us is longer than the road ahead, we begin to walk a little slower. We think a little deeper. We do less of what is chaotic and more of what feels true.

I do not believe there is one day I would go back and change, not really. There are too many variables, too many unseen threads tied to every choice. It reminds me of that truth in Garth Brooks song, “The Dance.” Our lives are better left to chance… I could have missed the pain, but then I would have had to miss the dance. And I would not want that. Not the pain, exactly—but the life. My life. The memories. The lessons. The love that stayed, the love that left, the faith that carried me, and even the fear that taught me I could survive more than I thought.

So maybe the days of the past are best relived the way they come to us now—in the mind, the heart, and the soul. We can visit them there without disturbing what they built. We can smile. We can wish, hear the whispers, and feel the emotion of the past if only for a minute, and then return to today, thankful for all of it.