why i'm glad i didn't take up menthol cigarettes and poets named lars

My friend, Rory, recently returned from her 10 year high school reunion and turned it into a great blog post. In it, she wrote a letter to her 18 year old self re-assuring her that all of the fears and insecurities she had at the time would soon be swallowed up in the messy glories of wife- and motherhood. I remember writing something similar to myself about the time I was 28, when life seemed good, innocent. Not easy, what with the demands of 3 young children and homeschooling and housework and never enough sleep--but ever so good. And filled with Barney songs. And Winnie the Pooh blankets.

I don't think I'd want to be the one to write a letter to my 18 year old self now. I'd probably scare the bejeebers out of her. The breadth of my life's good and bad is still too tangled up to say what would be a choice still worth the pain and what wouldn't. I'd like to say the choice of marrying Brad was worth the hell of divorce because I got my amazing children out of it. But it also hurts so much to see them struggle as a result of the divorce, and be helpless to make it better. Because of the occassional intensity of that pain, I may just tell 18 year old me to run away and go live in Germany after all,like we'd planned. Wear a lot of black. Smoke menthol cigarettes. Move to Heidelberg and take up with a poet named Lars. Pierce stuff. And keep an owl as a pet.

I suppose I should look forward instead, be the one to write a letter not to my young self, but to my ten years older self. 46 year old me. 46 year old me is a tough broad and only gets the bejeebers scared out of her (still) by moths:

Dear 46 Year Old Jennifer P.,

Hey--remember when we were 36 and we thought we'd be ancient looking at this age? You're not looking so bad, girl! Way to exercise and wear your sunscreen every day--keep doing that. But sleep a little bit more too, ok?

46 year old me, I know it's hard to look back 10 years and remember just how it felt at this point--how lonely the lonely was. How quiet the quiet. Remember that stretch of months when the only texts we got were from the LA Times updating us on sports scores? How, some nights after we put the boys in bed, we just talked aloud to ourselves so we'd have something to listen to? Those were dark days. Funny how even deep wounds have a way of healing over quickly. At least it felt quickly, if we really look back--we remember it was a year by year process of surrendering until we were comfortable alone. But all things do pass.

Look at all we have accomplished with God's help! We have nearly raised all our boys. They're happy, strong, talented, righteous young men. They take good care of us. They love us. I'm glad we had them and didn't run off to take up with a German poet. And really glad we didn't take up menthol cigarettes. And how about that Pulitzer Prize for your book?! Who knew, 10 years ago when we were struggling to master the craft, that we would do THAT?!

I'm glad we didn't give up on happy endings, not only in our stories, but in real life too. I'm glad we never gave up on believing that for as quickly as things could go bad, they could go good equally as fast. I'm glad we chased love for all it was worth. I'm glad we sat still and waited for it to come to us. I'm glad we learned to be as content on our own as we were to have company. I'm glad we inadvertently learned a lot about California sports teams and their scores.

Also, way to save up for the flying car. It's everything we hoped it would be!

Thanks for being the image of the woman we could be that kept us going when we felt like giving up. Thinking of who and where I wanted to be in ten years helped me stay ever mindful that doing great things is important, but so is doing humble, daily things in a great way.

xoxo,
36 year old Jennifer P.

**What praise would you give your older self?**