The core traits of my very being, the signature "Laurenisms" that make up a complex whole, have been there since the days of mid-day naps and snack time. But who am I kidding, I still enjoy a good mid-day nap and snack time. Proving Adler's point. And I'm still stubborn. Sensitive. Worrisome. Loyal. Spontaneous. Genuine. And, displayed so clearly above, unable to stay very serious for very long.
Yet regardless of our similarities, young Lauren and I have some stark differences. The blonde, freckle faced, preschool version of me concerned herself with the tiniest lies and disloyalties of her friends at recess, working herself into a frenzy and inevitably breaking down into tears. Now, particularly over the past decade, I have been devastated to a point where I forget how to breath. I've had my heart broken. I've attended friends' funerals. I've made mistakes beyond anything little Lauren could have ever imagined. The everyday tragedies of being a teenager and young adult have impacted me to a point that I sometimes feel that I'm losing her, that part of me that was so sure of herself, sure of her relationships, and sure of the world around her. I fear the pain of my past has mellowed me to a point of being jaded and disconnected, the very thing that I swore I would never let happen. So in an attempt to reconnect with that sweet, innocent version of myself, a girl so filled with hope and optimism and just a few years later so much angst and rebellion, I decided to write her this letter.
My Dearest Lauren,
This is an older, hopefully wiser, you. I'm the same silly girl I was sporting that Barney tee shirt and pencil behind the ear. Good look for you, by the way. And keep on rocking those bangs because they become a trademark. You're 22 now. Married. Buying a house. Happy. And yet, all these years later, your questions are still a part of me: Will I be liked? loved? ignored? lonely? Will I be happy? What will I be when I grow up?
I hate to break it to poor, inquisitive little Lauren but you may never find the answers to those questions. Some days you will feel liked and, yes, loved - loved so intensely that it will make your heart race and your head spin. You will meet boys who set your world on fire, who make you dance, inspire you to dream bigger. You will marry your best friend. But there will be days, many of them, when you will feel confused. Frustrated. And, your least favorite, lonely. As for what you will be when you grow up, I would love to tell you that you will be a pediatric neurologist like you always wanted but math and science skills are sort of a prerequisite and you missed the memo of where to pick those bad boys up. I can tell you this: Continue to write. Get better and better. This will be your outlet, your therapy, and your passion. I don't know what you will do for a living but I do know that you'll be happy. More days than not, you will feel SO happy and SO blessed.
I'm the same anxious teenage girl I was sitting in that car next to a gorgeous 16-year-old boy, full of insecurities and unlimited potential. How does he see me? What is he thinking? Why was I cursed with these short legs and man hands?
I want to shake you, girl. I want to tell you that her "short" legs are strong legs and you "man" hands are your dad's hands. And that boy, the one that makes your heart pound so loud you're afraid he will hear it, he sees you more accurately than you think: a girl full of insecurities. But he likes you. And what is he thinking? I think you know the answer to that one. He is thinking what most 16-year-old boys think about while alone with a girl in a car. Obviously. But cut him a break. Don't be too hard on him when he makes a mistake. You'll learn too quickly that nothing lasts forever. Not pain. Not jealousy. And not even life. When he apologizes, forgive him. Hug him goodbye. You won't get the chance again.
I'm the same giddy college student I was sitting in the passenger seat of my future husband's car. Where is this going? Does he love me like he says he does? Am I really willing to commit to one person... forever?
Simply put: it is going somewhere wonderful. YES he loves you - the kind of love you always prayed for. Steady. Unconditional. Strong. That's the kind of love worth committing to.
I know that you're scared. I know that you are filled with doubts and questions that seem suffocating. The best advice I can give you is deceivingly simple but I promise it will help. Be you. Work hard. Call home. Sacrifice. Be smart. Listen for God. Trust your gut. Keep learning. Never lose your humor. Pray. Don't get jaded. Remember to breath. And, above all else, love each moment for what it is and not what you wish it were. That, my dear, is the greatest lesson you will ever learn.
Love Always,
Lauren
P.S. Don't ignore mom and dad's calls when you're at parties. They're not idiots. They'll make you do yard work.. with a hangover.. in the July sun. Just trust me on that.
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