I turned
39 yesterday, and looking back on 20 years, I have some advice for my old self.
Plus, as a mother of two daughters…this is to you and me.
You’re probably sitting there, right now, in the
middle of an existential crisis.
The sun is shining rays through the window, and you’re
questioning yourself. Have I made my
parents proud? Have I lived my
potential? WTF am I supposed to do with my life?
First, I want you to know that things are fine. Chill. The. Fuck. OUT. For real.
Those thoughts you have, about not being good enough? They lie to you.
You’re going to find someone who tells you every single day
just how beautiful you are. You’ll find
a hollow validation in that.
Your heart is going to break over love. Into a bazillion pieces. You will live. It’s going to hurt--deep down in the marrow of your sternum, and
it will take your breath away. But, you
will live.
Someone will fall in love with your mind and you’re never,
ever, going to let them go. Ever. Because you’re going to realize the scale
doesn’t matter. You’re going to realize
that the guy buying you drinks, only tells you have pretty eyes for one reason.
You will fall in love with yourself...and that's better than anyone else can give you.
You are going to lose your best friends. Not over the petty drama of boys and silent
treatments. They are going to really die. They will pass on to watch over you. Always with you in a way they couldn’t be
before. This will teach you to appreciate getting old. You will learn to tell everyone, “I love you!”
because you finally know you might not have the chance tomorrow.
You will learn that an education doesn’t make you
intelligent or guarantee a job. You’ll learn new things anyway.
Sadly, you’ll learn who deserves your tears, and who doesn’t. Happily, you’ll come to know laughter through
tears is the best emotion.
You will live through a moment where you think you want to
feel the depths of human emotion, then you will learn they don’t call it deep
for a trivial reason.
You will fight with your mother. You will realize entire libraries exist
telling this story. You will hold her
hand and tell her you love her anyway.
Your dad will be your hero again.
You’ll travel. A
lot. It will make you realize you grew
up, not in a backward place, but in beauty and love.
You will embrace the different.
You will realize your strength when you give birth. You will wipe tears, heal wounds, and give
slobbery kisses. You’ll feed ice cream
to broken hearts, throw rocks at boys, and comfort the sick.
You’ll confront more than your fair share of bad.
You'll feel guilty for not being the perfect mother. You'll find grace when they turn out fine.
You’re going to have breakdowns and meltdowns and
throwdowns. You will still get back up,
maybe even not knowing you’re better for it.
You will hate stretch marks, but love the memories of kicks
in your belly.
You will hate crows feet, but learn to bask in the sun that
gave them.
You’re going to fight over what is right. You WILL lose. You’ll fight anyway.
Things aren’t going to turn out like you planned. They’re more beautiful.
You will fight your head.
Stop it.
Stop asking why. Stop asking, “Should I?”
Or, to my girls, maybe you won't. Maybe there is a different route for you to find. Find it. Embrace it. Love it.
Know you are loved.
Buy the ticket. Take
the ride.
You will come out on the other end
happy, beautiful, and just like it was supposed to be.
Just be.
Namaste.
