I was going through some photo albums the other day-albums inherited from my grandparents-trying to decide which photos, out of hundreds, to keep, and I came across this picture. It’s the 22 or so year old me, taken at my sister’s wedding, and if I look closely at myself, I can see the black eye shadow, and the bleached out strip of hair. I thought I looked pretty cool at the time. Now, I think I just looked ridiculous. Still, I have a soft spot in my heart for the girl in this picture. It was a rough time in her life-and in the process of trying to figure out who she was, she took many wrong turns. She was more than a little wild. Didn’t exactly keep the best company. Still, she was sweet and kind, and if you peered into her heart-a good person.
I think about my other, floundering self, sometimes. I still don’t have the definition of who I am completely nailed down, but I have a pretty good idea. I am older now, and wiser-happy to have outgrown the growing pains that make you feel, when you are 22, that the world is coming to an end. And I ask myself-if I could be 22 again, would I want to be different? Yes, and no. I envy those who made it through their early years unscathed, but at the same time, it’s what I want for Amy. Or at least I want her to have an easier go of it than I did. And if the advice I offer her has more credence to it because I know what I’m talking about, and helps make the path she travels a little straighter-then every single second of my past was worth it.
Happy Monday, dear readers! Today I’d originally planned to post my recipe for breakfast sundaes, but the light in the kitchen wasn’t very good…