Lunch with My Younger Self
Yesterday, I went and had lunch with me forty years ago. She was a half-hour early; I was right on time.
She spoke about things that she was certain of, like her country and what it meant to her and her persona in the world—how it would always be that, changing maybe, but still what the Pledge of Allegiance said to her every day of her elementary school life. I marveled at her lack of thought around the investment she might need to make to keep it that way.
She brushed aside my questions about what her body provided her, as if that marvelous, firm, athletic body never bothered her or got in her way. Or that it would do anything other than what it did now in the future.
I spoke about how I wished I had invested just a bit more and about things that mattered to me, like the inalienable rights my country provided, and a grateful acknowledgment and care of my body, which truly has done more for me than any other body I know.
She listened, but I could tell she couldn’t relate. Her future in those areas was not in jeopardy. But she had dreams for what she wanted in the years to come, and I watched and wished she was more sure-footed that she knew she deserved them and was talented enough to get them.
She spoke about daily tennis games and movies and rushed walks with her two-year-old. I spoke about the wonders of the woods I walk in every day and that the half-hour I spent on the phone with my now thirty-something daughter last Thursday night was the highlight of my week.
We spoke about our parents—she, without any understanding of the damage and the times in which they lived and how it affected their parenting, and me, with awe and a bit more understanding about how it all came to be. Forgiveness and empathy were foremost in my stories. Not so much in hers.
The lunch flew by. She ate a burger, fries, and red velvet cake. I willed myself to have salmon over salad and then joined her for the red velvet cake.
I decided that we have to have lunch more often. And that next time we do, I have to tell her that she would make Maya Angelou proud because every single time she talked about how she had changed from the girl she was ten years earlier, she reminded me of Maya Angelou’s line, “I did the best I could, and when I knew better, I did better.”
Our conversation showed me how far we have come both together and apart. One of the great lunch partners I’ve had. I highly recommend a monthly lunch with yourself, all those years ago. You will learn a lot.