Teenage Regression

Drive all night, listen to Weezer, buy a charm necklace.

I’ve been balancing a lot of Very Adult Decisions™ this year. A phrase I keep coming back to, through sobbing to my husband or any unsuspecting stranger who has asked “how I’ve been lately,” is that I feel like my childhood is over. At 34 years old, maybe my childhood is over.

Loss does that to you. It makes you feel like the part of you that is young and carefree has disappeared and may never be found again.

I joked with a friend yesterday that I fully planned on regressing towards my teen girl self sometime soon as if I haven’t been doing that every day since the clock struck twenty.

When I feel lost, I return to the teenage version of me. What did she like? What did she do for fun? What did she imagine success as? What was important to her?

I told the friend that during my regression I might irresponsibly put a large purchase on a credit card, dye my hair pink, or drive all night to see the sunrise somewhere. In reality, I just shopped online for a charm necklace.

I know my life would positively blow my teen self’s mind. I think she would be so proud of me. Last weekend, I floated in a pool in the panhandle of Florida for five hours, reading a book and pausing only to reapply sunscreen or talk to a sunbathing friend. I only got out of the pool to get ready for a music festival my friends were playing.

Yesterday, after chasing down an ice cream truck, I joyfully put my foot through the wall of a friend’s coffee shop while my husband held my mango con crema popsicle. The wall is being demoed, and so I, along with some dear friends, got to kick holes into it through fits of giggles and drywall dust.

I’ll spend today editing photos from the couch and writing this newsletter. I am my own boss and my job is so weird that it would really tickle teen me. I realize I’ve never needed her validation more, and she’s still right here alongside me.

Last night I scoured the internet for a charm necklace, something she wanted desperately, and something I’ve been looking for throughout the past few months. I found a website and mocked up a necklace. I added a big wobbly pearl to it, a gold horseshoe that says “good luck,” and a vintage charm with an E on it for my grandmother. After selecting the charms and the chain, I hesitated to press purchase but decided to do it because I felt it might connect me to these versions of myself.

Maybe I haven’t lost my childhood. Maybe in the tense moments of helping make medical decisions for a loved one, burying your grandmother, searching for new homeowners insurance, or trying to decide whether to file an extension on your taxes, you’ve never needed those versions of yourself more. Maybe your childhood is still there, waiting for you to chase down an ice cream truck.

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