Skip to main content

The Time I Copied Kim Kardashian and Wrote A Letter to Myself

It isn’t too often I take a page from Kim Kardashian (like never), but doggone it, she had a good idea: writing to her future self.


Thanks for the find, VProud!

So, with that in mind, I penned a letter to my ten years from now future self.



Dear Rochelle,

Geez, you’re so much smarter than the 46 year old me. Remember waiting for Divine Retribution or karma or whatever to take hold and intervene on people ten years ago?

You peacefully released the cartoon anvil drop fantasy on folks who were all kinds of wrong. You realized it rains on the just and unjust; and your perceived slights are now mere shadows, if you can remember them at all.

You allow a breathing room for your daughter and you to err and to be human. You abandoned the periodic, unsaid mental freakouts over the unexpected, unplanned, unarranged and imperfect.

You live an honest and authentic life. Your daughter sees what you’ve been driving toward, and I’ve got a feeling she’ll follow, even if she strays from it for a little while.

You haven’t wasted the last nine years burning a hole in the carpet pacing back and forth about a visit from Cousin Cancer and his dad Uncle Grim Reaper.

Instead, you enjoy the air you breathe and are present in this leg of the life journey you and your husband are taking. Keep doing that. Seriously.

But you’re still fighting the mirror. The only thing I can tell you about that is this: the smiley gap that seems to widen a little with each passing year? Can't you see the toothy-spaced grin that mom, Grandma Mary Jane and Aunt Josephine passed down to you through the generations in it?

And now you’re looking at your jowls. Stop it and go get a picture of dad. See? That’s Percy's face right there in those chubby cheeks.

The years will go on -- on paper and on your face. But you must remember, your aging face reflects the people you miss along with their legacy.

Now you’re thinking about your daughter. I am too, so I’ll pat you on the back and give thanks to God for gifting that kid with a soft heart, hard head and sharp discernment.

She’s chasing her dreams and flying from the nest you and your husband made for her. It’s a weird mix of hurt, longing and pride I know, but trust me -- she’s on her way into a new life -- and so are you and your husband.

You’re 56 and he’s 61. Maybe you’re both working, maybe not. His hair has long decided it wasn’t worth the fight to even show up and there isn’t enough contouring base to chisel your jowls into sharp definition. And it’s all okay. Really.


You two are happy, in good health and rediscovering each other and what it means to be ten years older. Together.

It’s all good, Ten Years Older Rochelle.

Now that you've finished reading this, send a thank you to Kim Kardashian. This letter was her idea in the first place.

Sincerely,

46 year-old Rochelle


Comments

  1. It is funny because a few months ago I wrote to 17 year old me and never published it.
    I need to publish my posts when I write them so I don't look like I am copying Kim Kardashian.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
      Yes! Publish that letter...and maybe email Kim Kardashian telling her that YOU had the idea first! ;)

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What 6 Christmas Songs Got Wrong

After Thanksgiving, a birthday party last week, another birthday party this week and Christmas coming up next week, I am officially overwhelmed. It'd take more time than I have to explain what yet needs to be done and if you're like me, you're probably overwhelmed and don't have the time nor inclination to read it all anyway. But even with an overflowing plate, I still love the Christmas season -- from setting up the Christmas tree that we got two weeks ago and decorated only yesterday, to lighting bayberry scented candles, to every Rankin & Bass Christmas Special, and the music. Oh, the music. Songs have a way of putting you in the Christmas spirit, warming your heart and next thing you know, you're hugging a stranger in the elevator. Okay, um...maybe that's just me. But alas, all songs are not created equal; and the following Christmas songs inspire and awaken anything but peace on earth and goodwill to men. 1. Christmas Shoes : This song makes my

Racism & Prejudice: Brothas from a Different Mother

Next week I’m attending  a seminar on defining racism. Should be interesting because: 1) I’ve been living in the skin I’m in for nearly 43 years and I’d like to hear about any advancements on the topic; and 2) back in college, some class I took defined racism as movement, advancement or otherwise being prevented and/or restricted based upon race .  Embedded in the definition was that racism took two parties – someone in power (the racist) and someone whose rights were being violated. So according to that definition, racism is an action , not an attitude . One is a disabling trespass while the other is prejudice . I tend to agree. It’s my belief that Martin Luther King and the thousands of civil rights fighters stood up against racism . They stood up against actions that prevented people from the pursuit of happiness – whether that meant voting, drinking from a common bubbler, or not ending up as Strange Fruit on a Poplar tree when all they wanted to do was get from P

The Moments That Are Given

Mom! It’s graffiti! It’s art... on a shoe ! I have to try it on. Please...can I? It was my 12 year old’s first foray into heels. A big moment in our little lives. Working full-time when she was an infant had stolen other big-little moments from my camera’s eye -- the first time she rolled over, the first time she sat up unassisted...the first firsts. Newly, gladly and willfully unemployed for the first time in 15 years, I took a picture. The picture wasn’t as much of an attempt to catch up on lost firsts, but rather a net to capture a butterfly’s moment of the moment; because if history skips a generation and the math holds out, there are more years behind me than ahead. My mom died at 63. Her mom died at 47. I’m 46. I’ve checked all over my person for a stamped expiration date, from the flabby inside parts of my arms, to the backs of my knees and other parts of my anatomy that shall remain nameless here.  There is no such date. Yet, there is a possibil