They say with age comes wisdom. Which is why we so often like to brag about the advice we’d give our younger selves. But lately, I’ve been wishing I could have lunch with my 22-year-old self not to lecture her, but to connect over shared concerns and longings. I think my 22-year-old self (let’s call her 22-Teresa) would get me in a way maybe no one else currently can.
22-Teresa was freshly graduated from college, engaged to be married, and obsessing over issues of identity and purpose. Should she take her fiancé’s last name, as tradition dictated, or hold on to her maiden name? Would she always be an Idaho girl, or was her soul calling her somewhere else? Should she play it safe and look for a steady job or follow her heart and risk something more unpredictable?
Now, at 57 years old, those questions are long-since resolved, but I’m once again transitioning to a new phase in life and obsessing over new questions around identity and purpose.
22-Teresa was imagining future children and wrestling with the question, what type of mother will I be? Today, I’m parenting adult children and asking what type of mother should I be?
22-Teresa was wondering if she was brave enough and talented enough to become a writer. Currently, I’m questioning whether I’m brave enough and motivated enough to be something beyond just a writer.
22-Teresa longed to see the world but couldn’t imagine how she could afford to do so. I share that longing, but struggle to choose travel over obligations.
22-Teresa was tired of carrying so much responsibility and ready to leave a lot of things behind. I feel the same way.
But 22-Teresa was also afraid of disappointing others. I can totally relate.
In all honesty, I’d far rather have lunch right now with my 22-year-old self than my 40-year-old self. I’m pretty sure I’d find 40-year-old Me intimidating. She was juggling the schedules of three pre-teen children, managing the household while her husband traveled for work, building a new writer’s coaching business, publishing her fourth book, and maintaining an active social life while finding time to volunteer. Frankly, she was kind of a badass. I’m pretty sure if we sat down to lunch, she’d feel obligated to build me up while gently scolding me at the same time. “Come on, Teresa,” she would say. “You can do anything you put your mind to, you just have to find the will and carve out the time.” Ugh. Please.
22-Teresa, though, would say, “I know, right? Most days, life feels like a series of heavy choices and big decisions that could alter the course of our entire lives. I admit that sounds dramatic, but it’s true . . . Maybe we just take things one step at a time and try to have a little faith that everything’s gonna work out? I think that’s all we can do.”
I love chatting with 22-Teresa. Like me, she’s overwhelmed, confused, worried, and a bit insecure, but she’s also hopeful and trusting and willing to dream big. She tries hard and loves harder. She knows she can’t really change the world, but she wants to. She’s scared, but she’s not letting that stop her. She’s stirred by the potential she can feel inside her, driven by curiosity, and excited by her own ideas. She wants so desperately to please me, and I want so desperately to be worthy of her respect.
22-Teresa doesn’t need my advice, she just needs to know that I’m proud of her, I believe in her, and I’m grateful to her. She made 40-year-old me possible. And she’ll make 60-year-old me stronger. She’s as much a “sage” as I am, and I’m as much in need of mothering as she is. We are kindred spirits, that’s for sure. During lunch we remind each other that at our core, we are people of passion and conviction and gratitude. We don’t really need the answers, we just need to lean into the questions. We are badass women, too!
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