Dear Self,
Some things I'm still learning today and everyday
My niece graduated from high school last week, so when I was brainstorming ideas for this post, the idea of writing a letter to her popped up. As much as I love a good graduation epistle, I pretty quickly dismissed the idea. I'm not a big advice giver (or at least I strive not to be). I try to lean pretty heavily on my counseling roots of listening without judgment, pointing out patterns, and helping with access to resources while allowing people to find their path forward.
Then I thought about writing a letter to my 17-year-old self. The "what-I-wish-I'd-known-then" sort of thing that also makes a popular reflection. "What advice would you give your younger self" is a question I've certainly asked guest speakers who visit a course I teach, but I wonder if perhaps the very best answers to that question are the ones that come a little more off the cuff than written and edited essay style. (Or perhaps I just feel subconsciously intimidated by Cheryl Strayed's essay like this-- see Beautiful Thing below.)
While neither of those felt like a perfect way forward, this concept of some sort of letter or list of lessons had fully taken up space in my brain and seemed not to want to move along until it was employed in some manner. So instead of advice to new graduates or a list of things I wish I'd known when I was their age, here is a list of things I'm still learning in my mid-forties:
That life is short. In my 20s, this song from the musical Rent was the touchstone that reminded me we're only here for so many minutes. My early 30s kicked off with the unexpected loss of a childhood friend-- the absolute worst and best way to be reminded of life's fragility. In my 40s, Oliver Burkeman's Four Thousand Weeks has provided a thoughtful reminder about how I use my days. Despite all this, I still spend too much time scrolling my phone mindlessly or allowing time to slip through my fingers in other ways.
How to parallel park.
That creativity can ebb and flow and that it's okay to embrace the quiet, fallow times. It helps to think of the image of a tree in winter, storing up energy to bloom in the spring-- but it doesn't always make it feel easier when the ideas aren't flowing.
How to access the custom wallpaper and widgets from the home screen of my iPhone despite the fact that my (recently graduated!) niece has shown me a gazillion times.
That most of the time I just need to make a decision. Especially about little things. I have a few affirmations I run through each morning after meditation, and "just decide" is one of them. Of course, there are big things in life that warrant reflection, discernment, and decision matrices-- but what to eat for lunch is not one of those things.
How to do a VLOOKUP in Excel. Every time I need to compare two lists of things in spreadsheets, I have to watch a tutorial (or call my spouse).
That grief isn't linear or predictable. I've been surprised that seeing my niece graduate and plan for college has brought up all the memories from that time in my own life, much of which was shared with that friend I lost at 30. It also feels especially poignant that my father-in-law isn't here to celebrate with her. He would have been proud beyond measure. Old grief and new, all mingled together.
How to get just the right amount of garlic in pesto.
That trying new things is laced with ambiguity and almost always feels awkward for longer than you think it will. The concept of "sitting with the uncomfortable" in service of personal or professional growth always sounds so much easier than it feels.
So there it is. A relatively short list of some of the things I'm still learning. The robots will probably park my car for me before I ever really nail that skill. It's likely I'll figure out the pesto thing. I'm certain I'll get better at being decisive. But I hope beyond all hope I keep the ones I've loved and lost close and never get "good" at grief and that I will always choose to sit with those itchy awkward feelings in service of growth.
And so I suppose if there is any wisdom I'd want to impart to my niece or any other 17-year-old, it would be to never stop learning.
Oh... and not to let anyone tell you that high school (or college) is the best years of your life. There's lots more to come. And so very much to learn,
Again and again.
Beautiful Thing of the Week
Just one little thing bringing me joy this week (read last week's longer list here):
Keeping with the theme here: Cheryl Strayed's letter to her twenty-something self from Dear Sugar, is a classic. If it's new to you, enjoy. If not, this is one I always find worth a reread.
Would love to hear about what you're still learning these days! (Or any favorite graduation speeches or otherwise inspirational things.)
Be well, find tiny joy-
Mary Chris
I had never seen the Cheryl Strayed column before, and I love it. My other favorite is this one, turned into a spoken word performance by Baz Luhrmann in 1997: https://www.chicagotribune.com/columns/chi-schmich-sunscreen-column-column.html
"You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked."
And high school is definitely NOT "the best years of your life". For me, college was an experience I absolutely did NOT make the most of while I was there, and would happily go back to do again, but the best years are undefinable, since the concept seems to insinuate that other years are somehow lesser. And that's not true.
I love that the list of things you're still learning is so long. As long as we're learning, we're growing. As long as we're learning, we're young. There's so much to learn, even when our school days are long behind us.