Occasionally, like an annual check-up, I visit my kid-self. I go back, poke around in my oldest memories, then speedily exit before I get lost in the swirling maze of “Why did I say that?” and “What was I thinking?” After all, what’s done is done, and the poor kid didn’t know any better. I give myself a gentle pat on the back for surviving it all, then hurry back to the present where things are… well, mostly under control.
Life moves along, chapter by chapter, like an enthusiastic Jenga tower—some blocks stacked solidly on the steady experiences of “then.” At the same time, others wobble as if they were placed by a toddler determined to test gravity. You’d think it’d all come crashing down, yet somehow, there it stands, a testament to my questionable but creative life choices.
They say, “Don’t regret the past; it made you who you are.” And sure, that’s beautiful, but I sometimes wish the “who I am” came with less baggage and a little more winning lottery numbers. Yet here we are. Regrets and all, the show goes on.
So, as I plan my next drop-in on my teenage self, I’m tempted to arm her with a bit of wisdom—or at least a heads-up on the pitfalls ahead. But here’s the kicker: she can’t dodge the bruises, the heartbreaks, or the times she’ll fall head over heels only to land squarely on her pride. So here’s the message, short and sweet:
“Dear Me, brace yourself. There will be faceplants, some metaphorical and a few literal ones. The pain is part of the package. Yes, you’ll try to help others, but sometimes you feel left out in the cold when you need it most. But remember this: you’re a good person, and sometimes doing good means putting your hand in a puddle. Just own it, be proud of it—and don’t forget to laugh about it.”
Of course, I intended this letter to be a pep talk full of chuckles, but as the melodrama queen, I couldn’t help but add a profound reflection. So here goes the official letter:
Dear Dana,
At thirteen, you’re bursting with energy, ideals, and visions of transforming the world. You truly believe that, with your unstoppable optimism, you’ll spread peace and love far and wide. Who knows? Maybe you think you’ll teach the world’s villains to find redemption through your dazzling insights. You see yourself leading the charge, armed with wisdom and courage, to make everything right.
Fast forward a few chapters. You’ll cruise through adolescence, marriage, motherhood, and all those big life stages until you finally hit the grand, golden threshold known as… pre-menopause. (Spoiler alert: this is not the triumphal finish line you envision.) Then, you’ll get the rude awakening: pardon my French, life is a bit of a … mess. And spoiler alert #2: even your heroics won’t entirely “fix” it.
So, if I had to leave you with one little nugget of advice, it’s this: Dear Dana, you’re a dreamer—and a bit naïve. But hey, what’s life without a few good dreams? Keep going.
Dana Obeid
