I took a long minute and looked into the eyes of my former self. The one who wore lipstick and had eyebrows. The young woman who had only one, very thin chin and wore a fine cedar hat.
She sparkled. She was firing on all cylinders. I remember. That self was eager, curious, brave. She was willing to say yes. She’d try something because she thought that given a long shot, if everything in the heavens aligned, she might be able to do it. She was ready to find out. She was game.
She raised her kids. Much of the time alone. And anyone else’s kids who needed a mom. She made macaroni and cheese. Not Kraft dinner. Those neighbourhood kids thought she was a gourmet cook.
She talked to them about politics, religion, history, ethics, responsibilities. She let them know when they were great and when they messed up.
Oh yes I remember that young woman. She worked too much and didn’t pay attention. To a lot of things. She said yes when no would have been a better choice. She pushed ahead when holding back would have made more sense. She didn’t sleep much or eat a lot. There was no time. She had to do the things she’d promised. She had to worry about the places where no would have been the right answer.
And then there was God to think about. Who the hell was He and what did he want from her? And if she was going to tell the kids about the meaning of life she had to figure it out first. And then there was the Indian reserve, where they lived. How the hell could such a thing happen in her country? And poverty? And racism? She needed to change the world. It was a big job.
What would you say to your younger self? It’s the writing prompt asked at every writing workshop. It’s also something most of us older selfs think about.
I’d say to my young self, “You did spectacularly some of the time. You did the best you could some of the time. You messed up some of the time. It’s all good. You did it with florescence and verve. You gave me an interesting story. What else is there?” I’d say, “Thanks for trying so hard.” And. I’d say, “I really like your hat.”