From Myself at Thirty-Five, To Myself at Fourteen

Note:  yes, Readers, clearly I have been reading Emily Climbs with the kids.  A little less mooning about the Alpine Path, a few more colloquialisms, a total lack of Dean Priest and voila! here's mine -- in reverse. 

Dear Gwen,

It's August 14, 1989 -- Happy 14th Birthday!

It's me, your future self, and I want to reassure you that life isn't going to turn out too bad at all. You're going to live to see thirty-five. You're not going to implode, explode or fade into oblivion and die alone.  You'll be loved, you'll be liked, you'll have friends.  You can put down that huge burden you've been dragging around, because your life is going to be fantastic.

You'll become best friends with your sister. No, really. You will. In fact, you'll wonder how you could ever survive without her.  You'll spend hours and hours and hours on the phone with her.  You'll phone and email like crazy and laugh at her blog.  Wait a minute, I guess I need to explain...  An email is kind of like a letter, but --  hmm.  You know what, it would take way too long to explain.  Just trust me on this one.

Good news: you get married. (Yes! It's true!)  More good news: he's a great guy. He loves you. And you love him back. He is somehow able to see past the freckles and the mascara-less rabbit eyes and the lurking self-hatred and see someone wonderful. 

By the way, you're better looking now.  Just relax.

Yeah, you'll have kids. Two of them. They're amazing and wonderful, and you end up loving them more than you could even imagine.  And about 19 years from now, you'll sign some papers that say you can't wait to parent a couple more.  You'll spend a few years attending transracial parenting classes, researching attachment disorders, cooking Ethiopian food and staring into space, imagining the day you'll meet your children.  And I can't tell you exactly how it will happen, because I haven't gotten there yet -- but one day the phone will ring, and that phone call will end with you clicking open an email and looking at two sweet little faces and reading the names of your new family members.

As for your love affair with Roxette? Well, it may have been love, but it's over now.  Amy Grant is no longer the Queen of Christian Pop.  U2 is still rocking the house (that means they're still really gnarly) and you'll start liking them in a couple years.  And you know Milli Vanilli?  It's not even them singing.  Dead serious.

About your patchy, fearful and inadequacy-cloaked relationship with God:  don't worry.  Things will get better.  The day will come when you can't wait to devour Scripture and pray.  You'll become fascinated with God, drawn to Him, unable to imagine life without the peace and joy and contentment that He'll bring you.  Don't give up on God because of the hypocrisy you see and the doubt you feel.  One day this will be the most important thing in your life.  All that worry you carry around, about what you believe and what's right and what's wrong.... it turns out okay.  It gets easier.

And all those fears and worries, the insecurity and the feeling that you'll never be good enough... that's going to pass.  I know it's hard to believe now, because you're in the thick of it.  Give yourself a break; you're not hopeless.  You're not useless.  Your life will amount to something great.  You're worth loving.  You're worth liking.

Take more risks.  Don't be afraid to open up a little. 

Drink lots of water.  Take your vitamins.  I wish I could tell you to start exercising now, but I know you won't.  Listen to Mom and Dad; yeah, I know, I know.  But they want the best for you, and you know what?  They actually know what they're talking about.  Give Grandma a big hug.  Hold on tight and try to store the memory away.  Write to Nanny.  Tell her you love her.

See you in a few.