The Me I Have Not Met Yet

Recently I came across this piece written when I was 43. It strikes me that now, twenty five years later, I am the older self she (I) wished she could check in with.

Reading it now makes me feel wonderful, and weird.

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1998

I wish I could check in with an older, wiser Me. The Me I have not met yet

Hi Older Wiser Self, 

It’s 1998. I’m so busy, pulled in a million directions. I have a rewarding, creative career as founding artistic director of a non-profit youth chorus, right here in our town of Encinitas, California. My husband, Bill and I have four fantastic kids, Laura and Alice, our two eldest, are now away at college. I miss them in a maternal way, a tugging feeling somewhere deep inside.  I know you understand. It's as though a magnet is pulling me toward them, like those maps with stick pins connecting two locations by colored strings.  One string is stretched up the coast to Long Beach where Alice is. The other is pulled further upstate, to Laura in Santa Cruz. Lisa, 15 and Tommy, 10 are still at home.

About my life, can you help me to slow my pace? 

What is that look on your face? Is it one of disgust?  You are not terribly patient with my going on about what I wish were different... You are shaking me by my shoulders with that look, pushing me toward the mirror.

       “Look,” you say, “You are the same person today who was discovering herself as a teenager twenty years ago. Breaking away, headstrong, and independent.  And you’re the woman who in ten to twenty years will be remembering yourself as you are today, with wistful nostalgia.”

       You've let go of your grip on me.  You sit, looking at me, wanting to hear more. 

Well okay, today for instance, I awoke nervous, but I rose, showered, dressed, aware of my energy transforming from worry to a confident surge.  It was like a chemical reaction in my brain, and my body.  I felt the creative splash, that fuel like Mom and Tony have.

You are sitting up now.  I got your attention.  But you know all about my mother and my brother, Tony and about their swings, the speed of the manic bursts and the fast plunges into their dark holes of depression., You aren’t afraid for me but I’ve piqued your interest.  You want to see if I can tap into this energy and go with it. 

I did go with it today with the kindergartner music class I taught at Flora Vista School.  We sang and bent our bodies into tree shapes. We tossed bean bags.  I felt at ease and...

What’s wrong?  What are you glaring at?  You want to go past the day to day activities?  You want me to look within...to let my inner wisdom be my guide.

   “Just Do It!”

Did you just say that?  Just do what? Where are you going? You have moved away from me. You are outside in the garden.  You are pulling weeds to let the wild flowers spread and flourish.  The orange poppies are dancing in the breeze.  You are bending down, kneading your hands in the rich soil. 

Do you paint, as well as garden?  I wanted to paint that scene I saw out Susan’s window, when Tommy was playing with Carson and a few other boys.We moms were sipping tea and talking about everything and nothing. A long train passed, with the ocean in the background. Oh, I wanted to paint that old rusty truck, too, the one behind Lana’s house. 

I was so excited to get to my writing circle this evening. I was running a little late but felt compelled to to pull some photos, to write from. There’s our childhood  house, the neighborhood, the curved sidewalk, and the meadow in the middle.

Oh, you look settled, peaceful.  Your hair is silver.  Your body is healthy.  You spend time alone.  You read and take walks.  You sleep well and you listen and care about others, without attaching.  You are independent and you are the richer for it.   

Maybe we can stay in touch, now and then.

Sally, 43