20 years ago, I was a college freshman. I had plans back then, you guys. Like Plans in capital letters. I was thinking about this baby version of myself the other day as I was living my fully grown, decidedly non-college freshman life. This train of thought quickly turned to “Oh my goodness, what would 18 year-old Me think if she were plopped down into my 2019 day?”
(I can’t be the only one who has thoughts like this every now and then. Right, friends? …Right?)
SO. Here’s what I think.
If 18 year-old Me scooted through time to visit with 38 year-old Me…I think she’d be a little surprised. I like to think she’d be at least a little pleased.
18 year-old Me would probably wonder about the following things:
Grown-up me rolls around town in- and downright adores- a red Honda Odyssey that drives like a surprisingly speedy dream, possesses heated leather seats and a backup cam, and will someday be the car that’ll be able to transport her two (2) dollhouses from her parents’ attic in Western Massachusetts to her actual home in Chicago.
She’s going to have three kids, not five. (Oh, optimistic, well-rested Young Keely.) Two of them will have the names she picked at a super-duper young age, and the third will be from a song that made her cry mid-pregnancy. She won’t find it odd that she became a Mom- and a mostly good/great/fine one at that- but she will definitely be pleasantly startled by how much fun she’ll manage to have with them most days.
We haven’t made it to Australia (yet), I’ll have to inform her, and that whole acting shebang took a back seat to writing around 2008. (She won’t be sorry about it, either.)
We’re not so good at the whole self-care thing (yet), and I’ll probably find myself apologizing to her for the state of my crow’s feet. (Still won’t be really sorry, though.)
Here’s what I’d probably feel compelled to tell 18 year-old Me:
Moisturize.
Read as many classic novels as you can in your downtime. Carry ’em around by the truckloads. Cement this as your go-to boredom habit so that “mindlessly scrolling through Instagram” doesn’t even approach anything you’d eventually consider a hobby. (Also- invent Instagram.)
Pitch more, network more, commit to whatever project you’re working on with the fire of a thousand suns- or at least with the energy of a woman sans small children.
“Can we talk about that guy?” I’ll ask her about the person she’s currently/in the past dating. “You’re not going to marry him. ..Or the him after him. Nor the one after him, either. And I’m sorry to say, there’ll be another you don’t quite marry.” (“But hang tight,” I won’t be able to resist saying. “Because when you’re ready to be found, the best relationship you’ve ever had is gonna steam roll you flat with its awesomeness. Hoo boy, it’ll be a doozy, and you’ll marry the heck out of him in your parents’ backyard.”)
I probably wouldn’t mention that her high school had recently been torn down, her college was in very real danger of shuttering forever, and that her Mom would most likely sell their home and leave the town she’d grown up in within the year. Those kinds of things aren’t really helpful to a time traveler.
I definitely wouldn’t tell her about each and every single person she loves who no longer exists in 2019, but I would have her run and tell her favorite people how wonderful they are as often as humanly possible— and I wouldn’t let go of her hand until she promised to force our Dad to get a goddamn colonoscopy sometime before 2010. (Boy, this got a little dark, didn’t it?)
I know for a fact that 18 year-old Me would…
…Be pleased by how much I work out (up an easy 1000% from those ol’ college years), but she’d have more than a few questions about what the hell had happened to my boobs.
…Need an explanation about how I ended up in Chicago— and why I’ve stayed so long— but I’d take her to the tamale cart and the best restaurants on my block and a neighborhood festival and movies under the stars and at least one evening at the ballet and then I just know she’d get it.
…Ask me, “You bought a haunted house?” (Also, “There were how many rats?”)
…Like my tattoo.
…Love my cats.
…Be impressed- and relieved- by the caliber of friends we have in our life.
(And- by the time I’m done driving her around, at least- she’d love my car, too.)
Okay, now I’ve gotta know…
What would 18 year-old you think of YOUR life?!
Speak Your Mind