The Mischief and the Message: A Love Letter to My Younger Self

I drove by a construction site the other day and saw an older gentleman watching a digger excavate the foundation for a new apartment building. He stood with what appeared to be rapt fascination. And in my mind’s eye, I could see a much younger version of him — his childhood self — watching with the same awe.

And that got me thinking.

We each carry within us a version of our childhood self. Often deeply buried. Time separates us from who we once were. The people and institutions in our lives can help (or harm), but they do shape us. That village molds us into the adults we eventually become.

the author as a child

Perhaps our inner child harbours old hurts or lingering fears. But perhaps (hopefully) there are joyful memories, too. Moments like the one I witnessed on that sunny Monday morning.

My childhood self was precocious. Full of beans, according to my grandmother. I hugged everyone — including my grandfather — a man most found intimidating.

I came across this photo when I emptied my parents’ house. I don’t know how old I am, but something in my expression stopped me in my tracks. It sparked a visceral reminder of joy … and a strong suspicion that I was trying very hard not to do something that would get me into trouble.

You know those moments — when you see a child about to cause mischief — or remember being that child yourself? In this photo, I sense that I was trying not to burst out laughing. (Or maybe stick my tongue out at Rick, or heaven help me, at the photographer.) I’m certain I’d been told to be on my best behaviour. But the temptation? It’s right there! Alive and well and itching to break free.

I love that version of me.

And if I could go back and speak to her, I’d tell her a few things.

I’d tell her that not everyone will understand her, and that’s okay. That someone making fun of her doesn’t make their words true. That kindness is always the better choice, even when it feels like meanness gets the last word. That being smart doesn’t mean being perfect. That feeling too much is a strength, not a flaw. And that the hard moments don’t define her, but they will shape her in ways that make her strong, and wise, and beautifully human. I’d tell her to hold tight to who she is. To laugh loudly. To keep hugging people. To trust that she is enough.

And I know she’s still with me. Calmer now. More mature (most of the time) ... because every once in a while, she re-emerges. And that joy — that untamed spark — is right there with her. With me.

It’s the final day of June. I’m still celebrating my birthday. For the second year in a row, I had the occupants of a crowded bar sing Happy Birthday to me. Last year, it was Dublin, Ireland (thank you Dan Elliot!) Last night, it was Port Stanley, Ontario (thank you Nadia and Patricia!) I went from mortified to giddy in the blink of an eye. Both times.

Life is all about the moments. Not taking a single one for granted. It’s also about embracing that inner child. Nurturing them. Letting them remind you of who you were. Who you are. Who you can be again.

Find them! Be that precocious, curious, fearless, joyful child again.