This is my response.

My 15-year-old self mailed a letter to my 21-year-old self on the occasion of my 21st birthday. I opened the letter one week and one day early. You would do it too. How often does 15-year-old Laura send letters to the future-- NOT VERY OFTEN. So, don't judge me for opening it early.

This is my response.

Dear Laura,

You think it's some great feat that I made it to my 21st birthday. You think I'm a superhuman for making it. Breaking news: it wasn't some great feat. And actually, it would've taken some great event for me NOT make it. I would've had to stop eating. Or stop sleeping. Or jump off cliffs with rocks at the bottom. Or walk into the center of an intersection when the light is green. And like you, I'm happy. Very happy. So, I didn't do any of those things.I'm happy because you're happy. Your fault; you started it.

I think about you a lot. You think about me a lot too. I think you have high hopes for me. I feel the pressure to fill your expectations. You feel pressure too. You feel the pressure to become me. Don't. Avoid feeling pressure of any sort. Don't create artificial stresses for yourself. I am who I am. You are who you are. And get this-- we're more the same than you ever dreamed possible. You think I'm an improved version of yourself. I'm not. You're disappointed, I know, but it's a good thing that I am a little bit of who you are, that I haven't changed much in the last five years. You are something awesome, especially for your age. You're more on-the-ball than you know, you're more intelligent than you think, you're more mature than I am, you're more self-aware than any 15-year-old. You're a lot of who I want to be and yet, sometimes I'm afraid I'm degenerating from where you are. I like you. Let's be friends. You make me want to be better.

That being said, I do need to tell you to take a deep breathe. Just stop and live. No rush. No pressure. No stress. Enjoy. Do something stupid-- I can say that because I know you won't. And for goodness sakes, just enjoy those roses that he sent to you. Don't worry, you won't ever see him again. So feel free to enjoy the flowers-- no guilt. You're in high school for goodness sakes. The world does NOT rest on your shoulders. You don't need to be perfect. Relax the whole perfectionist kick. You have a good few years ahead of you. A couple of words from someone who has been there:

When you're cooking for the judge, pick up the chef knife instead of the serrated knife. It will be the difference between silver and gold.

Hold his hand. It's not a bad thing to do.

Don't make hard-fast plans. You'll be disappointed. Go with the flow and things will turn out better than you could have planned.

Don't cry when you fail that math test. Laugh. It's a better reaction to almost all things in life.

Mostly though, just do what you're doing. You're living right and loving life.

Oh yes, and always drive plenty far behind the car in front of you on the freeway. Do not sing at the top of your lungs while you're cruising, especially when you're going to the airport in August of 2007. Pay attention while you drive that day.

Thanks for your letter. You know, it really made my day, my week, my month.You'll have hard days, but I wouldn't take those from you. Give mom a hug for me. Give her one every day.

I love you.

Love,
Laura

Eat Cookies and Sleep Well

Thursdays call for some sort of celebration. Obviously. Uh, welcome to my blog. A blog that I may or may not write on regularly. I like to keep you (and me) on edge. Will I or will I not write today? It’s a mystery. Let’s dissolve the mystery today, for Thursday’s sake. I’m writing today. No mystery this morning. You may or may not appreciate this method of celebration.

I have a theory. You always need to have something to celebrate. You always need to be doing something to celebrate. My sister says that that is how she falls asleep. She thinks about the next day and what she’s looking forward to—what she’s looking forward to celebrating. And she sleeps in peace.

Celebrating is natural. Do it.

Last week was a hard week, for a whole lot of unexplainable reasons that seem silly now. Isn’t that how it always is? It was a hard week until I remembered my theory. I remembered that celebration is necessary. So I decided this week to celebrate. All the time.

I’m celebrating the completion of a long day with 30 pages in a book club novel. I’m celebrating three hours of studying for a test with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. I’m going to the museum of art during my break between classes to celebrate the end of class. I’m cooking and reading and writing and doing art—all in celebration. It breaks up the routine, the monotony, the stress, the frustration. Can I tell you how much better this week has been? Please? I want to tell you because it’s been that much better.

Come to my house today and I’ll make you cookies with the leftover dough. And we’ll listen to good music while sitting on my counter. It’ll be our Thursday celebration because I’m aware that we need more than one more blog post in the universe of blog posts to sufficiently celebrate today. Blog posts don’t cut it. Cookies do.

And with that, we’ll sleep in peace, which actually has its drawbacks. Peaceful sleeping equals easy snoozing and no watermelons or chocolate. Needless to say, but I’m still going to say it, in all my celebrating I find myself still snoozing.

But don't you worry, when I stop snoozing, I'll celebrate that too.


Note: I appreciate all those who emailed and commented with advice on my snoozing problem. Wow. We need to start a snoozer’s anonymous group. I will join. And then, all of you who have gotten through the snooze problem can sit and share your success stories while we sit in a circle holding hands. It’ll help me, I know it. In fact, symbolically holding hands with all you snoozers out there has already helped.

Change

The decision to change. For some, it’s a moment in time, an epiphany of sorts. For others, it’s a process. In my case, it was a moment, a sudden realization. It was the moment he, shocked and bewildered, said, “You press snooze for an hour?! Every morning?!” That was the moment when I knew something had to change. Until he said that, I didn’t know that it was a serious problem, so I hadn’t seriously considered changing.

The latest possible time that I can climb out of bed and still arrive punctually to class is permanently embedded within me. This “latest possible time” doesn't allow for eating, showering, or packing a lunch; it only allows for flying out of bed, dressing, picking up my backpack, finding my keys, and arriving in time for the quiz. I cannot will myself to get up earlier than that embedded time. Every night I optimistically set my alarm clock for an earlier time because I honestly believe that the next morning will be the morning that I eat a solid breakfast, take a relaxing shower, and maybe even put on deodorant. But it never happens. I snooze, for an hour, every morning. I throw away the shower, the breakfast, and yes, sometimes even the deodorant for an extra six minutes times ten snoozes of sleep.

It’s a problem. I know that now. I aim to make change. In order to successfully change, I'm going to have to convince my morning-self that more awake time is more valuable than more sleep time, especially since the extra sleep time is broken sleep—interrupted by a blaring alarm every six minutes. I must make the breakfast, shower, and deodorant more rewarding than the last hour of semi-sleep. To make it more rewarding (since apparently a full stomach and a clean body are not rewarding enough), I will establish a material reward for myself. Seven days of earlier wake-ups will earn me a bag of sour watermelons and a 70% cocoa chocolate bar. Earlier in this case will be defined as at least two fewer snoozes than the regular ten. After seven days of earlier wake-ups, I will increase the goal to earlier wake-ups for two straight weeks, then three straight weeks, and ultimately a lifetime of decreased snoozing. In order to succeed, I will need to garner the support of close friends and family for accountability.

They say envisioning the ideal future helps one make change. I can envision it. I can imagine days of peaceful wake-ups, void of snoozing. The phone will ding-a-ling and I’ll sit up, gracefully slide out of bed, nonchalantly pull out my day’s clothes, jump joyfully into the shower, come out to a full breakfast and a prepared sack lunch, before skipping slowly from my house to my classroom— because you know, there will be plenty of time to get to class without a car.

This is my proposal for change. I can do it and I will do it. I will begin tomorrow. I will envision my snooze-free life, sour watermelons, and 70 % cocoa and I will climb out of bed two snoozes early. I can change. I will change.

09.09.09

I think nine is a better number than eight. Wouldn't you say?

Happy day. I hope your day is as lucky as it seems like it should be.

*Photo from nyc-daily-photo.com

Road Trip(s)

Last night we drove through the middle of Utah. A full moon-- a harvest moon-- made the sky bright. We drove fast on the highway and the black mountain silhouettes blurred past reminding me of sound waves that my physical science professor drew on the chalkboard.

My feet were on the dashboard. My leg bones would have crunched if the airbag blew out. I tapped my chipped red toes in time with a little Mozart. He, the driver not Mozart, whistled the melody with the flutes. I love it when he whistles.

I learned to whistle once this summer. At the beginning of a different road trip, I announced that we were not allowed to come home until I could whistle. He drove while I blew a lot of noiseless air from puckered lips until finally, I produced a clear note. I did it again and again and again. Then, we pulled into my driveway and came home. I was so proud of myself. Little did I know that it was the first and the last time that I would successfully whistle.

Allan Jackson says I've gone country. He might be right. I've become a southbound I-15 regular-- all the while listening to a bit of country twang. (The only exception may be last night's bit of Mozart.) I suggest listening to country music on road trips, especially if you're driving through desert and red rock cowboy land. It's just one of those things-- like eating watermelon on the Fourth of July or wearing new clothes to the first day of school.

Six. Six road trips in five months. That's what I was thinking when my toes were tapping on the dashboard and I saw the green exit sign for Provo, Utah. I put chapstick on my air conditioner dried lips for the 30th time in four hours (divide by two for accuracy) and said, "We're almost home."

That was the most depressing thing I said all day.

It was the first day of school.

I wore black corduroy overalls. Only one of my two overall straps was buckled. Do you remember when that was cool? Maybe it was never cool; I wasn't ever that cool. I feel okay about that now. I didn't then. I wanted to be cool because it was the first day of school. I'm a rhymer. My dad took my first-day-of-school-in-new-spiffy-clothes picture in front of the saguaro cactus of my Arizona house. I don't remember that my bangs were curled perfectly and I don't remember squinting to look at the sun, but I've seen the picture.

On the first day of school we traditionally ate alphabet cereal for breakfast. One year, after it'd been a couple years since we'd had alphabet cereal on the first day of school, I realized that it wasn't actually a tradition. I think we ate alphabet cereal on the first day of school once and after that year I wished so hard that it was a tradition that eventually my head believed it. Traditionally, we ate alphabet cereal before going to our first day of school.

First-day-of-school eve was better than Christmas Eve. I never slept the night before school. I repeat, I never slept. Not a wink. [Beware of the exaggeration in that statement. Sometimes I exaggerate to make a story better. Divide what I say by two if you'd like a more accurate version.] I was too occupied with the outfit lying on my floor like paper-doll clothes ready to be put on in the morning, not to mention thinking about my new teacher and where I would be assigned to sit. I didn't sleep at all.

Too much excitement. Too nervous. Too magical.

I didn't wear new school clothes yesterday and no one took my picture, even though someone offered. I did not eat alphabet cereal and I slept in complete comatose before getting off to my 8 o'clock class.It was the first day of school.

Where'd the magic go?