Internal Confrontation
I’d like to take a past self to coffee. Talk some sense into her.
The streamlined maturity would face down the imp, all baubles and lipstick and funky pants.
Would I recognize myself in her face? Would she feel betrayed, find me stuffy and stuck-up? Or would she be relieved and excited?
I’d rebuke her for her silliness, tell her not to worry about the wrong things. I’d say some things straighten themselves out, while others require more work. I’d tell her not to compare herself to others. Privately, I would admire her abandon.
I’d lecture and praise and hover and soliloquize. Perhaps I’d bore her to tears.
Then I’d realize one important thing. I owe that past self a very great debt: my present existence.
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Photo by Deborah Stokol. Coffee and croissants in San Sebastian, Spain. 2007