For a long time, I thought I loved change, that I was flexible enough to alter myself to fit any and every situation I found myself in – whether it was where I was or who I was with. For an even longer time, I thought I knew myself infinitely better than most people know themselves – how could I not? I felt so entirely aware of my emotions, my feelings, and my thoughts compared to the rest of the world’s population (the majority of which can not figure themselves out for the life of anything much less any one else, but I digress).

Now though, I know that I absolutely hate change (perhaps I don’t know myself as well as I thought). I’ve come to find that I’ve become the nostalgic kind of person who mourns the losses of former selves that (at the time) I disliked, the losses of places that I (once) hated, and the losses of times that I (previously) wanted to fast-forward. I will always order the same things (choosing new menu items sparingly), I will always choose action movies over horror films, and I will always miss my hometown (no matter how many times I’ve tried to convince myself I don’t). Needless to say, I’ve come to realize that I’ve changed into a person who does not like change.

And this realization began to unravel in my mind when I walked into a Starbucks with every intention of ordering a new drink, but still ordered a Grande, white chocolate, mocha Frappucino when the barista asked me what I wanted – like I always do and like I always have since the very first drink I ordered seven years ago.