A conversation with my 18 year old self.
On revisiting my "I met my younger self for coffee" piece.
Like many, I hopped on the “I met my younger self for coffee” trend back when it was trending a few months ago. I enjoyed seeing my timeline flooded with folks posting their take on the trend across different mediums. The exercise was so emotional and cathartic and it left me wanting to expound on my original piece. Enjoy.
I met my 18-year-old self for coffee today.
We both arrive before the set time: she is twenty minutes early, and I am about ten. Something we have in common is our disdain for lateness. I make a mental note to let her know she can ease up a bit and maybe cut down her show-up times.
I notice a solemn look on her face as she takes me in. I knew my appearance would be jarring to her: the size of my body, the multiple piercings in my nose, and the absence of a purity ring. I was prepared for so many questions because I knew she wouldn’t be thrilled with what she would see or who I’d become.
She looks uncomfortable in her skin, and is probably uncomfortable around me. She stands and walks with her head facing the ground, something she’d done since childhood, not yet feeling comfortable or confident enough to look up and out into the world as she walked in it. I want to hug her, but I know she’ll object. So I hold out my hand instead. She shakes it, her grip weak and unsure, and quickly pulls it away.
We head to the counter where she orders a chai tea latte, and I an iced coffee. She looked my way with a confused look on her face. “Wait, YOU drink coffee?” I notice the intentional separation. “WE drink coffee now. And we love it. We even own a Keurig.” We stand silently, fidgeting with our fingers and toes while waiting for our orders. “How was your commute?” I ask to make the moment less awkward. “It was fine,” she answers quickly and precisely—no explanation, or further information.
Once our name is called and we have our drinks, we head to a booth in the back, away from the crowd. Instinctively, we headed for the same one. A perfectly placed seating arrangement where nobody’s back has to be to the door. Some things never change. Once seated, she gets a glimpse of my lock screen. “Who’s that?” she asked inquisitively.
“Ava,” I say, locking eyes with her. I know no explanation is needed. Though we swore we were never having kids, we’ve had the name “Ava” picked out for quite some time… you know… just in case. Worry immediately spreads across her face as she looks down at my ringless left hand. I can tell she was wondering what to say, how to react, what questions to ask, and which to ask first. I sit silently, looking into her eyes with a slight smile, hoping to comfort her as she takes in the shocking news.
“YOU HAVE A KID?!” she finally belts, tears forming in her eyes.
“WE have a kid,” I correct, “and she is the most beautiful, intelligent, and active toddler. Motherhood isn’t easy, but her existence saved our life when our will to live was at its lowest.”
“And her dad?” she quizzed.
“It didn’t work out. We dated for a few years, lived together, and got pregnant, but never married. And no, he wasn’t our first.” I answer honestly.
Her eyes widen with concern, “What do you mean he’s not your first?”
“Our…,” I correct her again, “he’s one of many hes, shes, and theys that we’ll share intimacy in that way with. And we get to enjoy it. Like, A LOT of it. Unwed.” Her look of concern turns into a look of disgust, and I know I must rip the band-aid all the way off.
“And that’s not all,” I continue, “I might as well lay it all out. We’re 33 and we’re broke right now. Like REALLY broke. And our credit is shot. We quit one job and were fired from another, and that led to two long bouts of unemployment. We’ve moved back home to Cleveland because of it, while Ava stays in Maryland with her dad. But we’re not down and out because our system of support kept us afloat. We’re single, never been married, mentally ill, and are no longer a believer.”
Her eyes widen again, and this time she doesn’t try to hide the tears that fall. “I’ve done… am doing… everything right! How could you throw it all away and end up here? What did you do to my life?”
“I lived it,” I say, not looking away. “And because of that, we’re genuinely happy. Really and truly. Loneliness is no longer our home. Depression feels foreign. And we’ve known the kind of love we’ve only secretly dreamed about. We’ve found ourself. Our voice. Our people. We are never without an abundance of love, care, and support. And we are the most authentic we’ve ever been. Baby Girl, we’re living and want to be alive.”
A subtle look of disbelief and awe took over her face as I quietly sipped my coffee to let her take it all in. “Okay, I’m listening,” she says with a hint of a smile on her face, “tell me more about… us.”
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Currently.
Feeling — Happy and sore. Happy because life is finally calming down for me, leaving me room to put effort into doing the things that will improve my life even more. Sore because I started personal training this week, a perk offered through my job, and I’ve never had such a gentle ass whooping.
Reading — Still getting through “Love, Rita,” a memoir. It’s taking me forever to finish, but I’ll chalk that up to the brain power now being used at work. I’ll get through it eventually because I’m sure the library will eventually want their book back.
Listening — I’ve been letting me “Liked” songs on Spotify be the soundtrack to my short work commute these days.
Anticipating — Seeing my Sweets this weekend, and my first full paycheck after four and a half months of unemployment.
Contemplating — What direction I want to go in with the essay I’m currently working on for my book.
Affirming — Shit always works out for me in the end.
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Such a thoughtful read. Will there be a Part 2? I’m really curious about where that deeper convo is headed!
This is so well written & compelling, thank you for posting this