If I could tell my teenage self anything…
it would be to eat everything and anything. Half a pie for breakfast and still a size 2–only at 16.
If I could tell my teenage self anything, I’d let her know that all her friends she’s so crazy about won’t be around after she steps through Baylor’s doors. Friends stay in our lives to teach us lessons or help us grow, and lifelong friends are rare and treasured indeed. But family–family never leaves.
And sometimes, they’re even right. Just never admit that.
If I could tell my teenage self anything, it would be to hang on to those girlfriends. You know the ones I mean. They’re the ones you giggle with and tell anything to, that you share dreams and bad date stories and hopes and tears. The ones that you miss desperately in college when you have no one to see chick flicks or eat ice cream with or call at 3 a.m. The ones that you long for when you’re married in a new city and convinced the neighbors have been eaten by their cat. The ones that would go out and dance with you when everyone else is too old, too distinguished or thinks you’re just insane.
Trust me–it’s harder to make friends when you’re not 16.
If I could tell my teenage self anything, I’d tell her to hold her heart tight. You’ll only fall hard for one boy, and he’ll break your heart and wreck your soul. He’ll make you feel ugly when you’re beautiful, self conscious when you’re confident and dim that inner glow. Your real love will come in two years and be more wonderful than anything you’d ever dreamed or wished for. Boys are merely dance partners at this age–and that’s all you need them for.
If I could tell my teenage self anything, it would be not to worry so much. You spend so much time trying to find a career to support your writing when you should be focusing on your writing. You’ll work for a paper, you’ll write for magazines, you’ll publish books and you’ll keep dreaming. Don’t doubt your talent or doubt your drive–for when your fingers are quiet, it’s like you die inside. You tried to fight it freshman year and you’ll try again–but every time the bug bites again and again. But as soon as you give up, you’ll win.
Trust me. And ignore the bad rhymes.
What would you tell your teenage self?