When I was fifteen, not far from where this photo was taken, a girl named Sarah with a blond bob grabbed my arm, looked me in the eye, and said, “We’re going to be friends.” With that, she foretold the future, though we couldn’t have imagined just how many futures. Dozens of ill-advised crushes, a few shared college dorm rooms, fruit pies eaten on ordinary weeknights and at her wedding in my back yard, late night tragedies, early triumphs, and a thousand side-eyes later, we know each other better than most.
When my phone pinged with a text from her a couple weeks ago, strung with a row of cry-laugh emojis, I knew it was going to be really good, or really bad. She’d sent one of those “time hop” Facebook posts titled “16 Things About Me,” which I had published without a shred of self-consciousness, in the year of our Lord, 2008. An honest-to-goodness treasure trove, thirteen years in the making. Shocking. Illuminating. Spooky. Mortifying. Downright odd.
Reading through my 16 Things, I was struck by the accuracy with which I foretold my future, in ways both life-shaping and frivolous, but fun. Here’s what I mean.
Life-shaping:
2008: “I love chopping vegetables. And fruit. I don’t enjoy cutting up raw meat, but all of the other chopping aspects of food prep are highly relaxing to me.” (#1)
2021:
I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the fact that I get to stand in an industrial kitchen every week and chop vegetables with bright, soulful humans as we work to feed some of the most vulnerable people in our city. It’s no secret to me that this work is a gift, but seeing those seemingly random words typed out in 2008 (the first “thing” about myself I shared) felt like staring at a double rainbow.
Frivolous, but fun:
2008: “My secret dream is to have my house featured in a magazine someday. Shhh! I’m sort of embarassed just typing it… (#13)
2014:
Allow me to summarize. We sold our farmhouse to move to an overlooked neighborhood, on a mission away from “stuff” and toward beating hearts. Not long after we settled in, a full crew set up camp in my city kitchen on one of the coldest, snowiest days in February for a shoot that would publish in May. (I tripped over the crew’s industrial-strength snow boots in search of summery sandals for Ruby.) Silas, having none of it, smiled for exactly one-tenth of a second, which they managed to capture. The final story detailed my “country-style kitchen” complete with a photoshop of our cat, and ended with a source list of where to buy my stuff. Irony on full display, but it sure was fun.
In many ways, I am the same person I was in 2008, down to my aversions to “hair that is not connected to a body. Stray, errant hair,” (#6) and “slow drains and standing water,” (#7) along with my inclination to publicly share such senseless and downright grody (why, Shannan???) minutiae. I still tear out magazine pages and stuff them into old-school binders. (#10) I still love flea markets. (#11) I’m still low-grade terrified of a sewing machine’s bobbin. (#15)
I have also changed.
2008: “I am obsessed with politics. I wonder what I’ll think and talk about after this election is over. Cory knows much more than I do, but is actually less interested. I think he’s more jaded and bored with it. One of my dream jobs is to be a political “talking head” pundit on the new shows. (Fox News, of course!)” (#9)
Reader, I am giggling. There’s nothing like the fresh-faced internet vulnerability of 2008, when I couldn’t even be bothered to construct solid sentences. I couldn’t have imagined a future where Fox News wouldn’t be my secret “dream job,” where just a dozen or so years later, my best friend would cackle over the dissonance.
I’m not here to make a partisan political statement, and because it is 2021, I am obliged to say so. This is the direction of my shifting, but maybe yours is the opposite. If so, I’m thrilled you’re here. (And I seriously want to talk to you for hours and hours.)
This is about all of us who wonder how we’ll make it through, how we’ll unstick ourselves. I suppose I’m baring my 32-year old guts as proof that there is always something new underfoot. Sometimes, that new thing is us.
In Sarah’s words, “Leopards can change their spots! We can evolve!”
We have to find our way back to each other, but we can’t do that standing still. It’s on each of us to stay open and limber, to inch toward togetherness, to not view change as scary or loosey-goosey, but as generous, and fascinating.
Thirteen years ago, though literally no one asked (ha!), I bled some of my quirks and dreams onto the web, open to public scrutiny and vulnerable to the current of time. Dusting off the time capsule, what I find is a bit shocking, and very mundane.
We know the proof of possibility when we see it.
So, we do our best to pay attention, to be gentle with ourselves and curious about each other. We tear what needs to be torn but patch the holes that matter.
The belief that all is not lost hasn’t hit the mainstream, but that’s okay. We are the different ones, the unafraid.
Hope is our testament of courage.
Leopards can change their spots.
This + That
:: Speaking of change and growth, this episode of The Next Right Thing podcast by Emily P. Freeman, titled “For Us, As Our Faith Changes,” was a balm.
:: Last Saturday, after five days of being away from my kitchen, I woke up and threw together this Apple Fritter quick bread. I added more apples than it called for, because when it comes to food, I’m a “more is more” type. Cory declared it the best thing I’ve ever made. (But that might have more to do with the five days I was away from the kitchen.) In any case, it was easy, cozy, and delicious.
I love Erin Moon for many reasons, but the most recent reason is her Fall 2020 Spotify playlist and specifically the introduction to “Old Friends” by Ben Rector. I’m sure I’m legitimately tardy to this game, but it’s such a beautiful song, I almost can’t bear to listen to it.
Finally, here’s a quick list of my recent reads. I won’t pontificate about each of them, but trust that each one is duly saturated with my favorite new highlighters.
:: Abuelita Faith: What Women on the Margins Teach Us about Wisdom, Persistence, and Strength by Kat Armas
:: Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle by Emily Nagoski, Ph.D., and Amelia Nagoski, DMA
:: Shoutin’ in the Fire: An American Epistle by Dante Stewart
(This last one is a freshly released children’s book I’ll be giving to several kids this Christmas. It’s magical!)
:: What Sounds Fun to You? by Annie F. Downs
(As always, book links are affiliate links for Bookshop. This system is a tiny step toward keeping me in books, and I promise to keep sharing them with you, simultaneously chipping away at the Jeff Bezos empire. Is this what Elton meant by “the circle of life?”)
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I cannot stop giggling over your previous television aspirations. But! Here’s the thing- I wish that you could be on that network. So many people I love watch it every day and need to be saturated in thoughtful, nuanced opinions that are more diverse. A sweet relative recently shared that she lays awake at night, fearing for my kids’ generation based on the talking points that she hears espoused daily. My heart went out to her while my own internal frustration was deep.
The monogrammed face shield is even a bit early-millennium-throw-back (a la Martha) but so practical in our current dystopia. Ha. I love being witness to your evolution.