by Deborah Globus
My marketing coach/web designer/dear friend, Lara, sends out a weekly social media challenge. The one from two weeks ago really got me thinking. She’s on the cusp of a big year and it got her thinking back through the decades.
I’ve got quite a few decades behind me, too. What would me of the past think of me now?
I’ve got quite a few decades behind me, too. What would me of the past think of me now?
Ten years ago is easy – I’ve been building the life I’m living now since before my son was born and he’ll be 13 in a month. Building this life – one of intention and creation – started even before my daughter was born and she’s like a second away from being a senior in High School.
Given that, I always find those questions about if tomorrow were the end of the world, what would you do differently? I always answer “nothing.”
I haven’t spent all this time building a life I love only to change stuff out at the last minute!
20 years ago. Ugh! I was a mess. On the outside things looked good – I graduated college, got married to my soul mate and best friend.
But the depression that dogged me through my teenage years wasn’t getting better. In fact, searching for gainful employment was only making the anxiety worse.
30 years ago. Teenage me. I could write chapters.
But I don’t need to. The seedling of the life I live now was evident even as early as twelve. I was selling Madonna-style bracelets and making a pretty penny.
And then there’s this memory:
I was twelve and my cousin, Ben, and I were hanging out in my grandparent’s garage. We’d sit on the riding mower and drink the five cent, plastic barrel, neon-colored drinks that my grandma would buy by the case.
What he meant was that I was, in his opinion, a late bloomer in the whole dating scene and I was therefore destined for celibacy. (He has no recollection of this, mind you!)
But I think he sensed something that was already there.
I’ve always had this underlying spirituality. I’ve always had what my business buddy calls “groundedness and warmth.” People have always just generally trusted me. (I’m not bragging here, either – half the time I’m surprised and dumbfounded by the ways this manifests itself in my life!)
It all blends itself into what I think my cousin sensed - a sort of sacredness.
And I've followed that through my life.
How would younger me feel about my work as La Padre? I like to think she’d be happy with it, and not at all surprised.
And hopefully the me of a decade from now will appreciate all the work I’m putting into life now, building her a solid foundation upon which to grow.
Given that, I always find those questions about if tomorrow were the end of the world, what would you do differently? I always answer “nothing.”
I haven’t spent all this time building a life I love only to change stuff out at the last minute!
20 years ago. Ugh! I was a mess. On the outside things looked good – I graduated college, got married to my soul mate and best friend.
But the depression that dogged me through my teenage years wasn’t getting better. In fact, searching for gainful employment was only making the anxiety worse.
30 years ago. Teenage me. I could write chapters.
But I don’t need to. The seedling of the life I live now was evident even as early as twelve. I was selling Madonna-style bracelets and making a pretty penny.
And then there’s this memory:
I was twelve and my cousin, Ben, and I were hanging out in my grandparent’s garage. We’d sit on the riding mower and drink the five cent, plastic barrel, neon-colored drinks that my grandma would buy by the case.
What he meant was that I was, in his opinion, a late bloomer in the whole dating scene and I was therefore destined for celibacy. (He has no recollection of this, mind you!)
But I think he sensed something that was already there.
I’ve always had this underlying spirituality. I’ve always had what my business buddy calls “groundedness and warmth.” People have always just generally trusted me. (I’m not bragging here, either – half the time I’m surprised and dumbfounded by the ways this manifests itself in my life!)
It all blends itself into what I think my cousin sensed - a sort of sacredness.
And I've followed that through my life.
How would younger me feel about my work as La Padre? I like to think she’d be happy with it, and not at all surprised.
And hopefully the me of a decade from now will appreciate all the work I’m putting into life now, building her a solid foundation upon which to grow.
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