Looking Back

I’m working on trying to turn these blogs into something cohesive… maybe even publishable.  So I’m looking back and re-reading my old posts. 

It’s surreal to go back in time like that.  To crawl back into my own head and remember what it was like to be me nearly a decade ago.  

I wrote about giving Cam a piggy back ride.  When I read it, it brought tears to my eyes.  Even then, I was lamenting that he was growing up so fast, and it might have been the last time I hoisted him onto my back.  Now, he’s 6’2” and just months from becoming a legal adult.  If he jumped on my back, I’d wind up in traction.  As I read,  I couldn’t help but marvel at how much (and how little) has changed.  There’s another blog where I describe the miserable, whiny mess he becomes when I finally make him do his homework.  That particular quality has remained steadfast.  🙂

*****

Reading back over these old posts is a little like looking into a funhouse mirror. Who wrote these things?  Me, but not me.  Me with a little less life under my belt.  Me with a little more anxiety and a little less chill.  Me with a little more energy and a little less confidence. Me, looking for connection and validation and commiseration.

And I suppose that much is still true.  When I write, I’m looking for connection.  I’m packaging  a portion of my life and presenting it to the world with a note on the wrapper… “You, too?”  A message in a bottle, eagerly awaiting a response from the unknown.  A fervent prayer.  Please tell me I’m not alone. 

And you answer!  It’s incredible.  Some with a response to the post.  Some with a phone call or a text.  Some with a heart emoji or a like.  Some with something deeper.  A grasped hand in the hallway at work.  Thank you for sharing.  Something intentional.  I printed it and left it in the staff room.  I thought people should see it.  Something heartfelt.  It’s like you’re in my head.  So I keep writing.  

*****

I imagine my future self.  I’m retired, sitting by a lake somewhere.  It’s early morning, and I’m on the deck with my coffee and my laptop.  The font is a little larger, and my thoughts are a little slower.  Maybe the grandkids are on their way to visit.  Maybe Jack is making breakfast.  

And maybe I’m reading this post.  Looking back on the version of myself that could barely tolerate the thought of an empty nest.  Reading my own thoughts, and thinking, “Oh, how sweet and… clueless… she is.” Recognizing myself, but seeing, too, how much I’ve grown.  I love the idea that there could be that much life ahead of me.  That I still have so much to learn.  And I love that my writing gives me a chance to step back and get a big-picture look at it all.