So … I have an addiction to Facebook quizzes.
Do I want to know which character from Lord of the Rings I would be?
Do I want to know which type of book I would be?
Do I want to know in which fictional world I should live?
Why not? It’s fun. And some of them are semi-scarily-accurate.
Recently I took a quiz to see if the masterminds behind these quizzes could guess my age.
They said I was 29. 29! Ooooh!
For the record I am 41.
Oh, so long ago, I turned 29 on December 31st, 2001. Let’s see …
Hubs and I had bought a new house a month before. Ug. Two mortgages. And we were deep into remodeling so we could move in. Because when we bought it … ew.
I had no idea I wanted to be a writer.
My son was a week shy of being six months old. So I had just begun my life as stay-at-home mom and had not a clue what to do with the little bugger.
Weeks before, I had discovered that I was pregnant. Surprise! Not planned. I cried. For. Weeks.
So I was a bit stressed.
When I look back on that person, I cringe, I sigh. You couldn’t pay me enough to go back to being her. Heck no amount of money would get me to travel back to any period of my life. Awkward, shy teen-me with all her self-worth issues (some of which I still battle). Newly-married-scared-lost-me, who went a few rounds with depression. New-mom-me who stared at her kids and prayed to survive. The me who wet the bed until 11. The twenty-something-me who never told anyone what she really thought because they’d think she was crazy.
My kids roll their eyes whenever I tell them a story about when they were little, point out a cute cartoon they used to love, or pick up a once favorite book. Do they want that part of them to have never existed? Maybe. So I tell them to always accept who they were, where they have been, what they loved because that made them who they are. Never be ashamed of past you. Ever.
I embrace past-mes, making me who I am today. The most awesome-est version. Okay, possibly I exaggerate.
I am a work in progress. Always. Forever. I search for experiences to learn and grow.
What will 50-year-old-me think of 40-something-me? Don’t ask her. I don’t want to know yet.
Deep down, my core remains constant, the truth of me that I believe has always been and will always be there. Through all the changes, my truth doesn’t waver.
Everyone. All together. Give past-yous a hug. We needed them.
Any age, dear visitors, that you care to remember fondly … or not so fondly?