My 60-Year-Old Self

If I could have dinner with one person, I would have it with my 60-year-old self.

We would sit in a cafe on my birthday. I wouldn’t ask her how many kids I have, how my husband is doing, where I live, or how much money I make. I would ask her for tailored, hand-picked advice. I would ask her if I was doing life well and how much I should trust myself. I would ask how much pain is ahead – if things really do get better. I would ask her if I was able to slow down enough to enjoy my life.

She would smile, her long hair sitting so comfortably on her shoulders. She would take my hand and give it a squeeze.

My 60-year-old self would say that I should trust myself completely and love myself even more. She would say that I am doing my best and that would be enough. She would say that things get infinitely better, and your life would only reflect the kindness you give, but only if you slow down. She would say to let go of grudges. To relax, and not plan so much. To stay close to God.

I would probably cry. She would give me a hug and say that she was with me all along. We would drink herbal tea, eat an almond croissant, and laugh until dusk. She would pay the bill, give me one last squeeze, and be on her way. The smell of her perfume would stay with me.