“Letters to My 18-Year-Old Self” are pretty popular lately (or maybe always?). I’ve seen them on blogs, in journals, in online newspapers and magazines, even in seminars and workshops, but I’ve given little consideration to the topic. Of course, I’ve wondered every now and then if I should have done some things differently, but I’ve never written a note to my younger self–until three weeks ago when Love Notes 25 kicked off with the prompt:
Write the words you would tell your 18-year-old self.
My assigned partner, Janet T, is new to the Love Notes community. She is a “mom to two beautiful daughters” in their 20’s, so she has probably had some recent practice with the prompt. She wrote her note in a card bearing a gold embossed mermaid silhouette:
Whatever gives you happiness–let that inspire you in your daily life. The things you love make you who you are and don’t let anyone influence you wrongly.
Have courage and be kind.
My most prolific penfriend, Christine, created the beautiful purple tulip [above] in honor of my sister Lori [and me] and wrote a six-item list:
- Bad things happen.
- Find people to trust and love as much as you can
- Make your voice heard
- Laugh until you cry and cry until you laugh
- Don’t hold your breath
There are many, many things I’d say to my 18-year-old self, much of it far too personal to share in a blog post or a note [to anyone outside myself], so I sent a list of things I find myself saying to my students over and over again–not so much a “letter to my 18-year-old self,” but little bits of counsel that I found (or should have found) useful:These sorts of exercises can be fun as long as we avoid falling into the pit of regret and the type of thinking that our lives would be so much better if we had present knowledge then. Our 18-year-old selves were just that. 18. Young. Inexperienced. Insecure. Overly confident. Full of life, contradictions, crazy ideas, and impossibilities.
Despite all the craziness of youth, I wouldn’t change a thing. My life wasn’t and isn’t perfect, but my 18-year-old self made many solid decisions and did more than a few things well. As for the things I didn’t get quite right, mistakes are inevitable and we learn so much more from our missteps than from our successes.
If you’re 18 or thereabout, maybe, you’ll find some usefulness in the lists above. If you’d like a more “focused” list, check out runner and professional coach Steve Magness’ post: Advice for the Young and Driven: A letter to my 18-year-old self.
If you’re waaaay past 18, like I am, what would you say to your 18-year-old self? Comment below.
In her October 11 #ThursdayTreeLove, Parul Thakur wrote about how people are oblivious to the trees they pass every day. She urged readers to “notice things around you and within you. Take nothing for granted. Nothing.”
My work environment is filled with gorgeous trees. I generally pass the same trees during my [almost] daily walk, but I “never, ever, ever” tire of them; there’s always something new or different to note. In fact, yesterday, as I was on my way to a warm spot to meditate and write, I was so distracted by the trees that my writing hour slipped away.
Unlike my tree venture two weeks ago, yesterday the trees provided the therapy I’d planned to find in writing.
Like Parul, when I’m enjoying the trees, I see others passing by with absolutely no awareness of them. Every now and then, they stop, wonder, and ask about what I’m observing or photographing. After a brief conversation, they pause and take note before walking away. I “cross my fingers” and hope they will no longer take the trees for granted.
If we’re not careful, trees will become part of the mundane, ordinary of our day to day, and they are much too beautiful, too knowing, too giving, too spectacular to be ordinary.
I am joining Parul Thakur for #ThursdayTreeLove every second and fourth Thursday of the month. If you would like to play along, post a picture of a tree on your blog and link it back to her latest #treelove post.
Last week the temperatures finally dipped into the 50’s and this morning we woke up to 30’s and a freeze warning. I am excited that autumn has finally made an appearance–in terms of temperature at least. [Note: I live in the South, so temperatures may well be in the upper 80’s or even lower 90’s by the end of the week].
I searched for signs of autumn while taking a short walk last week. There was little indication of the season’s change, but I was elated to find autumn leaves on a favorite Dogwood.
It is delightful watching this tree transition over the months, and though I look forward to the blossoms in spring, its autumn leaves beautifully illustrate why I love the season.
My penfriend/love notes pal Andrea recently sent a bit of autumn-inspired pocket mail. In the one of the pockets she enclosed a list of six reasons why she loves autumn. [Click an image for a closer look].
Andrea ended her list by inviting “me” to share why I love the season. Of course, it doesn’t take much to get me to extol the virtues of autumn, so here are [my not necessarily top] seven reasons why autumn is my favorite season:
- Changing colors of the trees and foliage–especially now that I live in a place where I can see the brilliance of the season
- Milder temperatures–long-awaited relief from the oppressive southern summer and a short break from budget-busting utilities bills
- Boots and sweaters
- Hot chocolate/cocoa and popcorn [yum!]
- October–the best month of all!
- My new favorite throw [a birthday gift from a new friend]–chocolate brown, leaf embossed, plush–perfect for movie nights
- Pumpkin everything–except I’m not too impressed with Krispy Kreme’s pumpkin cake donut. It would be soooo much better if they’d lose the sugar/glaze on top
How about you? What do you love about autumn?
Although I had at least a dozen blog posts semi-drafted for the week, no matter how simple or complex they were, I could not find the words to complete any of them. All week long I’ve been admiring the sky. Then, as I was returning home from errands early this evening, I took the opportunity to pause and appreciate the sunset and the sky’s early transition to night. Such beauty needs no words.
The sky grew darker
painted blue on blue
one stroke at a time
into deeper and deeper
shades of night.
THE SKY GREW DARKER, PAINTED BLUE ON BLUE, ONE STROKE AT A TIME, INTO DEEPER AND DEEPER SHADES OF NIGHT.
HARUKI MURAKAMI, DANCE DANCE DANCE
I intended to share a different “musing from my younger self” today, but cannot remember where I placed the sassy poem. As I was looking through one of my poetry notebooks, I happened across the short poem below. It was hastily written on a sheet of paper from a yellow legal pad and was dedicated to one of my high school best friends and her sweetheart. They were inseparable and shocked all who knew them when they ended their relationship.
You ask of me what you cannot give,
and I do not understand.
I walked with you.
I held your hand.
You became a part of me,
not because I stopped loving you
or because you stopped loving me
but because somewhere along the way
you forgot who I am.
I do not recall the details of the breakup, but the line that ends the poem is telling. I’m sure my friend and I talked about the whys and hows of the relationship’s ending, and the point of his “forgetting” must have compelled me to write the short poem.
I wrote this when we were teenagers. I am slightly awed by our youthful understanding of the complexities of love. What really strikes me is that my friend–as young as she was at the time–realized the soul-damaging potential of remaining in a relationship with even a man she loved when he no longer valued her.
This was not a good week. I was ready to throw in the towel by Wednesday morning, but I got up, dressed, pushed through the rest of the week, and kept Philippians 4:13 on repeat.
I’m taking a mental health day tomorrow.
In the last couple of days, I was told twice–in so many words–that I was being negative. Me? The person who always finds the rainbow and gives [almost] everyone the benefit of the doubt? The individuals who commented were right. The heaviness of unexpressed grief, of holding it together, and of having to navigate all of life despite my feelings was seeping out in unpleasant ways.
Each time, I went back to my office and asked God for forgiveness and a little more of His grace. He didn’t give the scolding I deserved. Instead, He gave empathy, reminded me of my humanness, and affirmed my decision to take some time away from the usual maddening routine.
Normally, when I’m in an icky place internally, my camera and a slow walk with the trees work together to adjust my mood. Not so this week. I walked almost daily, spent time with the trees, looked for unique perspectives to photograph and…nothing. My mood was unchanged. I realized, sadly, considering the trees isn’t always an effective panacea.
Today is #ThursdayTreeLove and I was so sure I’d write a post about the lovely trees I’d considered all week. I’m not fond of the idea of sharing this week’s photos, so I decided to share some from a happier moment–photos from a walk through City Park in New Orleans with my mom, one of my older brothers, and my baby sister.
We captured loads of photos on that walk, but today, we’ll take a look at one of the gorgeous Oak Trees in the park:
My photos aren’t great, but I’m sharing them anyway because I love the structure of the tree, the network of branches, and the way the tree seems to reach across the park toward the other trees.
You can somewhat see the massive size of the tree if you note my “tiny” brother in the lower right corner of the photo.
Trees and buildings in the background are puny by comparison.
The 1300-acre City Park of New Orleans is home to 30,000 trees, and proudly boasts “the oldest grove of mature live oaks in the world, including the magnificent Anseman Oak and McDonogh Oak, which are between 750 and 900 years old” [See Trees in City Park].
My guys and I spent so much time in the Park when we lived in New Orleans that we captured hundreds of tree photos. We were (and still are) especially fond of the Oak Trees. The trees are simply breathtaking. One day, I’ll go through my collection and select a few to share on the blog. For now, enjoy a little extra #ThursdayTreeLove with a few more City Park Oak photos on my hubby’s blog. I think you’ll enjoy “The Root of It All.”
I read somewhere that trees are self-healing. I don’t remember all the details of the process, and I certainly don’t expect to do the healing work alone, but there’s wisdom in turning inward, taking care, and doing my part. I coped a bit better last week because I was intentional about spending some time daily, allowing myself to feel and write and think. I did none of that this week and it showed.
Moving forward, I’ll put into practice the lesson of the trees.
I found the postcard below in my file cabinet among a stash of cards purchased at least a decade ago. We should have some fun with it before it finds a new home.
Can you name all seven of these television moms and their shows? Comment below.
Hint: Their real names (Clockwise from top left): Florence Henderson, Shirley Jones, Marion Ross, June Lockhart, Barbara Billingsley, Jane Wyatt, Esther Rolle).
“I’m thinking of you, praying for you, and I am here as your friend.”
We close “A Written Word” week with a postcard and note from my longtime friend Cy. She checks on me and sends a virtual hug regularly.
It was nice to find the super cute postcard in the mail with the simple message (above). The note warmed my heart and the Tiare Smith image of girls playing “jacks” brought back memories of childhood and playing “jacks” with my sisters. [Side note: I’m a “jacks” champion. In middle school, I won the competition during field day]. 🙂
“I’m here” is the most comforting phrase I’ve heard over the last few weeks. Even though I may never take some up on the offer to be a listening ear or a shoulder to lean on, it’s consoling to know that I have people to turn to should I need them.
When you don’t know what to say or how to approach someone who is grieving, know that the words above, spoken or written sincerely, are sufficient.
I trust you were inspired this week by the messages of encouragement and hope from my friends. It was certainly beneficial for me to take some time each evening and meditate on the precious words and just allow myself to be with my feelings. Thank you for taking a part in the journey with me.
If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there; if you’re kicked in the gut, He’ll help you catch your breath.
Psalm 34:18 MSG
I’ve read the letter many times in the quiet of the night and when I pause during the day. Tyhara’s soothing words remind me into Whose arms I can fall when the darkest despair descends:
When you feel too emotionally worn out to get through the day, when your heart aches too much to let you fall asleep, I encourage you to close your eyes…breathe…imagine yourself cradled in the loving arms of our Savior. Feel free to bury your face in His chest, and feel free to feel the ache and sorrow of loss. Sob if you have to. He understands. Feel his arms wrap tightly and protectively around you in your broken state. Listen to His whisper as He reminds you of His promises of life eternal, everlasting joy, comfort during trials, and His nearness to you always. Stay in His embrace as long as you need. When you’re ready, open your eyes, know God is always with you, and claim the power of God through Jesus to get you through…
I carry Tyhara’s letter with me throughout the day. It remains in my “pouch of pretties,” available when I need to refer to it. The tulip, Lori’s favorite flower, rests on the mantel. In Tyhara’s words, “a small thing to bring comfort […].”