In this image, I think I’m 17 or 18, judging by my haircut.
I had wanted short hair since Megan Follows’ Anne Shirley chopped hers off after accidentally dying it green. Oh, I wanted short hair.
So badly.
But my parents said, “No.” My hair was too pretty, they said, to be cut short. Plus my face wasn’t right for it, and my hair was too fine–it would look thinned out if I cut it into a bob, or, God forbid, a pixie.
So the hair in this picture was a compromise. For my seventeenth birthday, I was finally allowed to cut off 12 inches of hair and have it fall just above my shoulders. I still remember the effervescent pride and glee I felt when I stepped out of the car at school the next morning and caught the eye of one of the popular girls. Her jaw literally fell open with shock. It was a movie moment. It was glorious.
But even with my makeover, I would never be one of the popular kids. I was forever socially awkward and anxious. I didn’t just like books. I loved them. I lived and breathed them. It exuded out of my clogged pores like a bioluminescent ooze. I was irrevocably homeschooled and sheltered. I was a nerd, and I was trying so hard to deny it, but you can’t write a fantasy story at 15 without being a nerd. I spent so long fighting it.
I don’t know what I’d say to the girl in the picture. I feel like I’d disappoint her.
No, wee Sarah, you do not get skinnier. Not ever. Stop letting the media and your insecurity convince you you’re fat. You’re not. Not even remotely. You’ll get much heavier. I’m sorry about that. Genetics are not in our favor, there.
No, wee Sarah, you are neither a shiny beacon of prosperity nor fertility. You’re a hard worker, and you do well at the projects you take on, but you’ve hit a rough patch recently. You’ll learn about the economy, eventually.
You’ll get that scholarship you wanted, and you’ll get to teach like you wanted, but that’s about as far as it goes. The rest of your life will be very different from what you envisioned.
You’ll marry the boy you’ve had a crush on since you were 15 (spoiler: he’s secretly crushing on you, too–real bad–it’s fantastic). But your family won’t look like how either of you envisioned. It’s not that it’s a bad thing … it’s just different. And you were right, wee Sarah: you’re an awesome couple and you look really good together. You may only make one baby, but what a cool, handsome kiddo he is.
No, you won’t be a popular published author. You hit writer’s block for over a decade. I’m sorry about that. But you’ll write a lot, and you’ll work hard to make that a career. Maybe it will work, maybe it won’t, but you never lose that part of yourself.
Maybe I’m a disappointment, teenage Sarah. Maybe you look at me, and you’re not sure you want to grow up.
But you ARE good at your job. You’re creative still, and you’re gritty. You’ve been knocked down over and over again, and somehow you keep standing up. You don’t stop learning–you take on new things, and you figure them out because that’s who you are and what you do.
And you’re kind.
Damn it all.
You sincerely care for other people and want to help them feel better. You smile at every fast food worker and every sales clerk you run into because you know their days are hard and they need someone to appreciate them. They have a hard job and people are jerks. Be sunshine.
You hold doors open for people. You put your shopping carts away. You compliment strangers because, golly, doesn’t it make a person just light up inside to feel SEEN?
You love to cook for your family and others because cooking is a form of creating, and nothing is better than when something you’ve made makes people feel better or happier.
You give a lot of grace. Maybe more than you should. But you see how people are hurting, and it breaks your heart.
A little kindness goes a long way.
Don’t lose the things you love.
Don’t be ashamed of where you are or where you’re going.
Maybe, one day, I’ll write a letter to myself in my thirties, and I’ll look back and remind thirty-something me, sitting in my office, typing and feeling like a failure, and I’ll say, “Oh, honey, you’re just getting started.”
I hope that’s the case.
I hope this is just the valley and we’re heading to a mountain soon.
SJ Bocci Writes 