Sometimes, I imagine my younger self and current self passing by one another without recognition. The differences too vast to believe or admit they’re one of the same.
Other times, when I’m daydreaming in audio and color, I see my older self whacking all the rest of us in the head with her purple polka-dotted purse as she bellows, “Get over it already! Life’s too short for all this clutzing around!”
I like to believe, though, eventually we’ll all end up at the same party, clinking glasses and making peace.
Welcome to Carvings on a Desk
My midlife self’s new place for writing the stories down
Well, at least it has been for the past 20 years. Since the day I traded in my surname of Czechoslovakian descent—shared by my eight lovely siblings—to marry a kind-hearted, LEFT-BRAINED, sports lovin’, Scandinavian-rooted fella.
During recent chapters (of my invisible manifesto), I’ve embodied the self of a former PR girl turned nostalgic, overanalyzing mom of three—who feels a particular kinship with those who’ll slip off their shoes despite a few holes in their mismatched socks.
Except for hosting her big family Thanksgiving and a slight obsession with dimmer switches, this current self has little patience for most things domestic. Case in point, last week she secured a year’s worth of her daughter’s Girlscout badges on with a stapler. She also realizes she’s talking about herself in third person again. Time to refocus.
Peeking out from behind a curtain
But, truth be told, I’m more comfortable peeking out at the crowd from behind a curtain. And while I’m there, it’s the beauty of the soft-spoken story, often dimmed in the shadows of those in the spotlight, that leaves a lasting imprint on my soul.
Stories smudged with L’Oreal lipstick
I think more and more these days about what sort of mark I’m leaving. Especially upon the still sparkly desktops of those three ragamuffins ( “Teen,” “Tween” and “Pretween”) for which I’m most responsible.
♦Which of their childhood moments will leave a lasting imprint?
♦Which of their mother’s selves will they feel most connected to or resemble? They can take their pick, but I pray they’ll find one to lean on when needed, despite all my foibles and flaws.
My moments and marks are no more spectacular than the next person’s, but together, they form a narrative to which my children and their future selves will forever belong. And I’m doing my darndest to preserve the stories and smudge ’em up with love, laughs, and my favorite L’Oreal Colour Riche Lipstick (which usually ends up on my teeth at some point in the day).
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