My adolescent self was never wanting for advice.
I have always had an exact replica of myself with 25 years more experience whispering in my ear at every juncture. Her name is Jan, and she is my mother.
She knew what I was up to before I’d fully formed a plan for mischief. She encouraged me to be kind when I playfully tortured teenage boys for sport. And she believed that I could do anything I set my mind to.
She still does.
When I think about the mistakes I made, the things I wished I’d tried harder at, or practiced more, I realize I wouldn’t change a thing.
Every misstep, every flat-out moronic endeavor, every victory, every chance I’ve ever taken has brought me to here.
If I changed one thing, I might change my path, my life might go in a different direction.
The death of my brother, every broken heart, every brave moment, every kiss, every step, every friend, has made me who I am, has given me the most extraordinary life anyone could hope for.
If I could give any advice to my adolescent self, it would be to enjoy the ride.
And give mom a hug.
This essay was originally posted over on The Debutante Ball.
Google+
Comments on this entry are closed.