I Would Tell Her...

Photos pop up on our phones, randomly generated by some app or another, evoking memories at all hours of our days. Sometimes we are faced with images of our much younger self, one forgotten but remembered too. It was such for me, as I glanced at the text message with a photo of the younger woman.

Me, smiling at a party.

Her hair is long and lustrous, this is before she will lose it, but she does not know it yet. Her skin is smooth, she smiles assuredly with an easy, seductive trust. For she believes that she has more years ahead than behind, if she even considers time at all. And her future is still a right, rather than a gift, the biggest gift of all, something she will learn later.

But for now, she does not see any end, no, only her glorious middle that could go on forever. And ever and ever.

Except that it won't...

...so what would I tell her, I wonder now. This lovely one. As I sit with lines on my face, my body a warrior, having fought some mighty battles.

I would tell her to run up hills at sunset, rather than wait. For waiting is a dangerous game. To reserve that plane ticket, go to Paris and find the ocean.

To go, to go, to go.

To paint rooms with bright and rowdy colors if she likes them, not wait for someone to smile and agree or for a sunny, convenient day. To play tennis and take a barre class, because she wants to. And because there will come a time she cannot and her possibilities will shrink sooner than she thinks and it will be too late then.

So do it, do it all, and do more than what she thinks she can, because she is strong and capable and she is promised only one day.

Today.

I would tell her to eat the chocolate and the donuts, to rest her mind, not rely on it so. To remember her heart, for she has a good one, we all do. I would advise that broccoli is one option, but so is champagne...and to raise a toast on more than new year's eve.

I would assure her that babies eventually sleep and there isn't a need to fret so much, to pour over parenting books and ruminate about homework, to kvetch about small and annoying things and forget to watch her children play. To get down on the floor with them. But to be patient with herself when she's yelling like a crazy lady in the deli, because the shopping trip with toddlers just pushed her over the brink. Because she's trying her mighty best and she was up with a crying babe at sunrise...

...and at the midnight curfew hour, when her eyes are closing but the phone it out, I would tell her that teenagers eventually get less sassy, and they stop being embarrassed by their mom, at least as often or they usually do. So I would urge her to try to take it all less personally and remember these young ones are doing the hard work of growing into real whole big people. I would remind her to trust that all kids have their own wisdom, their own destiny, and to force something on them is a folly business, an insult to their souls.

And I would suggest that she listen, yes, but also ignore the advice sometimes too. From the ones whose children ate all their vegetables, you know. For she has an intuition that can be wise beyond years...if she listens to it, to herself. That she will grow into being a wise mother, not overnight, so to be patient with her becoming.

That tough and rough things will happen in her life, but it will be best not to label these things as good or bad. To accept them, rather than try so hard to define them. To flow more with what happens, to enjoy the story, hers. That a friend can help her breathe again...just by saying, Me Too.

I would tell her that angels are real, and she will know this truth, especially when she weeps in her future and opens her mouth to pray, to give form to her wishes. For archangels and all the company of heaven will flock to her then, like all of us, when the darkest of monsters threaten to destroy her hope, to bury her in despair. I would urge her to remember that she is safe, even when she crawls onto radiation tables in scary hospitals, and they play 80's music there too. Music that will take her back to the dancing. All the twirling forever locked in her treasure chest of memory, no matter what happens next.

And of big import, I would tell her that she will be able to do what she must do. To not worry so much. To (un)screw the what ifs, because change is our one constant, of this we can trust in the waves of our lives. So again and again go find the ocean, now.

To choose with speedy abandon, and remember love is the most dependable thing in her life, even when she forgets that love is patient, love is kind. For her husband will become a hero, when she is no longer young but worth more than ever to him, and he to her. Yes I would urge her to look the other way when he annoys her by not cleaning this, that or the other thing, when schedule conflicts rage and life's logistics threaten rule over them. These two trying their mighty best in their union, a love from the stars and in their mundane.

And of course I would tell her to remember her power, to walk to Africa and back again, for dreams can come true. And that other people need her, for to whom much is given, much is expected, so let's please try our best.

But I would remind that her body will be tired sometimes, and when it is...to stop, to rest. That one doesn't need to wait for an illness to fall into bed, that it is acceptable to turn out the lights...after running up that hill at sunset. To buy the pretty lotion, and use it this time, not leave it in the bottle because, again, waiting is a dangerous game.

Yes, I would tell her all these things and more. But mostly I would tell her that life will go quick. And it will all be okay, she will be okay. Because she is enough, we are more than enough.