Things I Wish I'd Done, Today

A Random Note, From Future Me

I have a short list of things I wish I’d done in my 20’s (respected my more-amazing-than-they-are-now legs, spent more time with my grandparents, backpacked through Europe). It’s ridiculous, really, because I couldn’t possibly have mustered the energy to do any of them. What I wanted to do in my 20’s was what I actually did in my 20’s: worked, worked out, had three babies, watched them nap.

I don’t keep those lists anymore.

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Here’s what I want to do in my 40’s:

???

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I know my future self will likely wish that I’d volunteered more, will likely wish I’d worn a bikini (it’s only going downhill – literally – from here, folks), will likely wish I’d yelled less when Morgen poured two buckets of finger paint onto his carpet (I’m painting, Mom!).

I wish that, too.

But wishing is wishing.

Living is something different.

What I think my future self will wish I’d have done in my 40’s is precisely what I’m doing in my 40’s: floundering, failing, living, breathing, lamenting, celebrating, questioning, doubting, enjoying, trying, doing.

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Outside, today, it is sunny. My future self would say: ‘Brenda – go play! Dance in it, sing in it, you’ve still got your knees, you crazy kid! Use ’em, for the love!’

But it’s sunny, and I don’t know how to appreciate my knees yet.

So I write.

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I’ve always had this sort of paralysis with too much future talk, too much hypotheses, too much crystal ball peering. I don’t read the news. I like small, and quiet, and today. Give me what I already have. A nap, a walk in the park with the ones I love, perhaps some cheese in the fridge.

It has been said: “When the student is ready, a teacher will appear.”

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A surefire formula for a teacher’s arrival, and a student’s readying:

Failure. Desperation. Heartbreak. Dieting the wrong way, so we can eventually learn what it means to do it the right way.

Frame of reference to bring the ready made meals to my door in exchange for a table and chairs.

Age. Wisdom. Experience.

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And so, I hope my future self tells me this:

“You’re not gonna get it. You’re not gonna believe me when I tell you that your legs are immaculate, that your parents are geniuses, that backpacking through Europe is an incredible use of your small, hard-earned resources.

And you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t believe me. You’re not there yet.

You will be.

And you can believe all those things when you are.”

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Cosigned,
Future Me