Little 15

If you could go back and give your 15 year old self one piece of advice, what would it be?

I came across this journaling prompt today while cruising the ‘net looking for something that sparked my interest, though I had seen something similar when I was on a shadow work kick.

My previous answer? I would give her a hug. Then I would tell her all about the daughter she would one day have; how even if it was incredibly difficult at times, even if she made mistakes, her child would be so kind and compassionate and generous. Talented, with creativity all her own, and a wit that brought genuine joy to everyone around her.

Today, however, even as accurate as all that might be, I’m also thinking maybe I need to de-center motherhood from the equation, if I can. What can I tell 15-year-old me that’s just for me?

If she hadn’t already found it, maybe even if she had, I would read her my favorite translation of Arthur Rimbaud’s “Ordinary Nocturne” and stress that one breath does, indeed, dispel the limits of the hearth.

I’d reveal that one day she’d earn money for groceries with a rather lurid essay on gay vampires that she boldly submitted to a writing contest in college. Then, I’d cheer on every bit of her creativity and tell her not to give it up for anything.

Continuing the theme of the poem, I’d divulge that she would live on to love with such an adventurous spirit, Rimbaud, himself, would have been proud (and maybe a little bit envious). There would be many muses over the span of her life, even only up to her mid-forties.

I might caution that there were hard times coming, that I couldn’t honestly promise that “everything gets better” after the trauma of coming out to very strict, very old-fashioned Catholic parents, decades before they would change their minds about the LGBTQIA community.

I would promise, however, that I would be there with her, that even when it felt like she had no one, she had me. Ever and always.

And then I would add that in time, she’d make a very close friend who literally saw her through hell and never once wavered, who’s still there with sh!tposts and memes and badassery to this day.

She might still find herself searching for a bigger tribe to call her own as an adult, but that’s more than okay. It’s a worthy endeavor.

Lastly, I would look her in the eye and tell her no matter what I would always, ALWAYS be proud of her.

Here, I visualize one last tearful hug. Then, I would gradually dissolve into a mass of glittering ether, rising on updrafts to touch the moon, before spiraling back down to my own time and place.