Dear 18, Love 28 | Published at 38

A letter written to myself at 18 on/around my 28th birthday, discovered mere weeks before my 38th birthday. All still so very relevant. 

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Dear Nat—

Quit thinking you must have short hair because you have a long face. You will not look like a horse with long hair, I promise. Also. Wear shorts. You live in Arizona and it’s hot. You do not have unsightly legs, you’re just being ridiculous and clichéd with your needless body image issues.

So. Now that the trivial matters are out of the way.

Your dad always said he pitied those who never got past talking about the glory days of high school—because life is supposed to get better after high school. And I can promise you that it does. You were in a hurry to get out, and that was the right choice. Ten years after you graduate, you’re in a life more fabulous than you ever fathomed possible or thought you deserved.

Nat. To make a very long story short—you’re a rock star. You always have been, you simply let insecurity and fear own too much of your heart and your interactions with others. Quit that soon, because you’ll lose years of your life driving people away until you figure out how to both treat and communicate with them in the spirit of sensitivity and respect. You’re not a nasty person, but let’s be honest—sometimes you’re not a real joy to be around either. Never substitute being clever for being kind. Keep plugging away at self-improvement, you’ll get there. Once you turn the corner and figure out how to love yourself, the number of incredible people in your life will improve exponentially. With years of practice, you’ll transform yourself into a truly sensitive, thoughtful, loyal friend. This will become one of your defining characteristics and people respect this about you.

You’ll learn resiliency as you encounter professional, social, romantic, and spiritual setbacks. You’ll learn to find the silver lining. Don’t focus so much on what’s wrong all the time; find the right and chase after it. In good news, there isn’t true regret, tragedy, or heartbreak looming on the horizon—just the continual heat felt from being in the refiner’s fire. Nat—it’s nothing you can’t handle, so don’t be so afraid. There’s no need to fear life; embrace it.

You’ll learn to love yourself by being completely alone. And alone doesn’t mean lonely dear girl—there’s a key difference. Alone means far from home, able to navigate life with a competence beyond your years. Instead of constantly checking your phone waiting for it to ring, you’ll gleefully check the increasing balance of your savings account and feel like you’ve really made it in the world. You’ll travel… a lot. Yes, because you want to, but also because you can. You learn to make things happen instead of waiting for them to happen to you.

The only true life regret you have at 28 is that you didn’t figure these things out earlier on. But it’s okay; you’d be a different person today if you’d figured it out sooner. And truth be told, you wouldn’t trade the today version of you for a different one. (You worked hard to smooth out all those rough edges!)

And that’s not just a silver lining, but a platinum one.

Dear Remy | Day Before Returning to Work

Hello sweet girl,

In two short days you’ll be 12 weeks old. It’s hard to fathom you’ve been with us so long Remy Ren! We’ve lived on your schedule for 12 weeks and enjoyed (nearly) every second of it. You’ve been the best baby. 

You don’t cry without reason. You don’t hate the bath. YOU SLEEP. You’ve smiled since three weeks. You’ve allowed us to haul you to Seattle a few times, on an adventurous vacation to Alaska, and to spend some time with Grandpa and Grandma in Utah. Somehow I knew you’d be a low-key baby before you were born and you’ve exceeded all of my expectations. 

Your arrival into the world wasn’t so easy. Where I thought you’d come quickly and painlessly, your entry was anything but. Due to a number of complications including my body rejecting three epidurals (and other pain medications) and a looooooong, slow delivery; things didn’t go according to plan and I didn’t feel prepared for two long days of contractions and a natural birth. Your heartrate suffered at the end (unsurprising as you and I had both been through so much!) and you were vacuumed out; a good thing as you then had trouble breathing on your own. It took a few minutes for the doctor and nurses to get you breathing on your own; there were a few scary minutes but you quickly started to respond. I cried after you were delivered both because you were here, but also because the birthing process was simply over. It was fairly traumatic for us both.

Since the very beginning, you’ve been the prettiest baby. Your features are petite and your wrists and ankles slim. Most shocking to your Dad and me was the very full, very dark head of hair you had and continue to sport. Born at 8 pounds, 8 ounces you still felt so tiny! You were almost 21 inches tall and have been quick to continue growing in height. 

Weight gain has been a different story. In the hospital you were a great eater and quickly put the weight you’d lost back on. At home was another story. You nursed the right number of times per day for extreme lengths of time (30-40 minutes per side). It wasn’t until a weigh-in at a fortunate doctor’s visit, where I feared you had thrush, that the doctor grew concerned with your weight gain. You’d slipped from the 90^th percentile at birth to the 40^th. We began seeing a lactation consultant and it was discovered you had issue withdrawing milk. My days as an exclusive pumper began. In your first three days of bottle feeding you put as much weight on as you had in your first four weeks of life! Since that time you’ve remained somewhat disinterested in food, but are gradually gaining weight. You’re long and lean.

Through a series of incredibly fortunate events, your Dad was home with us the first ten weeks of your life. The three of us have spent nearly every hour of each day together getting to know each other. We’ve had the best time! Dad has been an incredible helper; he changes the majority of your diapers and does the majority of the feedings. You two have a special bond and I love seeing it develop. 

Tomorrow I return to working full time and you’ll begin spending time at the daycare we’ve chosen. My heart is so divided. I love being with you Remy; it’s surprised me how much patience I have with you and your needs, and how natural being your mother feels. Even when it’s Dad’s turn to do something I can usually be found hovering around you both just watching. I find myself drawn to you in ways I didn’t know to be possible. And yet, there’s a need I have to do more, to use the parts of my brain that are so good at what they do. To go back to my job and provide value and function in a way that is meaningful to me—that fills me up and makes me feel good about myself. 

I don’t know what to expect from my feelings taking you to daycare tomorrow. Last week I had my first cry as I held you in my arms and imagined you being in a strangers’. I know you’ll be in good hands (we wouldn’t ever send you somewhere that wasn’t) but knowing you won’t always be someone’s first priority breaks my heart a little. “It’ll build character,” I tell myself, but still it hurts my heart. If I’m honest with myself I’m also nervous you’ll love someone more than you do me. I couldn’t handle that. 

Remy Ren, Sweetie P, Bitty, Baby Raymi – in the last 12 weeks you have stolen my heart. We spend hours of time together every day and yet I still find myself missing you when you’re napping or in bed for the night. I love singing to you, talking in a ridiculously high voice to you, and serving you. The way you hold my fingers tight and look into my eyes when you’re eating, the way you break into a smile when I get you up from your crib (even as the tears haven’t yet dried on your face), the way you still fall asleep in my arms or on my chest. The smell of your hair, the smoothness of your skin, and the beginning squeeziness of your thighs; I adore it all. 

During each phase of your development I think to myself, “it can’t get better/cuter than this.” I have thoroughly enjoyed being proven wrong time and time again.

Mama loves you sweet girl.

Dear Remy | Mother's Day

My dear, sweet baby girl –

I’m currently timing the very labor contractions that could bring you into the world this Mother’s Day. Technically you’re past due (May 6) but earlier than either your Dad or I expected. The women in my family have a history of hosting babies in favorable environments—you and your cousins feel no huge rush to leave the world and join us!

Your Dad and I are so overjoyed for you to enter the world and change our lives forever. Your conception and pregnancy have gone better than expected or planned—I found out I was pregnant one month after we decided it was time to expand our family and I’ve had the easiest pregnancy in perhaps the history of the world. (Fingers crossed your labor and delivery follow this same pattern—I’ll have to report back later.)

I knew in my heart I was pregnant with you the day before I should have had my period. Your Dad made us wait one day to take a test, but I knew you were there, you’d remain viable, and we could count on your little spirit joining our family. We took the test one hour before your aunts Kendall, Mallory, and I ran in a 200-mile relay race from Mt. Hood to the Oregon coast. How much I had to think about while spending 32-hours in a van away from your Dad and unable to tell my best friend/sisters.

We kept the news to ourselves until we had our first ultrasound at about 8.5 weeks. Dad saw your pixelated beating heart and finally believed you were a real thing! We told Grandpa, Grandma, and Mallory in the next few days and Kendall and Alaina a few days later. Everyone else we waited until 16 weeks; about a month longer than is typical. We loved having a chance to plan and dream in a vacuum; and since I wasn’t having any regular (and awful) first trimester symptoms it was easy to keep the secret.

Dad didn’t pass the Oregon State Bar exam the first time he took it. He was also called as the Ward Mission Leader and I continued to work full time (in fact, I still am! I’ve planned to work clear up until the time you join us). Plenty of things didn’t go perfectly during the time we’ve been waiting for you, but we’ve felt exceptionally blessed in so many ways that has made life manageable. Dad took the Bar again and passed; he was sworn in as an Attorney a few weeks ago, friends and my work have thrown you the sweetest baby showers and now we anxiously await your arrival. (I wish your contractions would either speed up or slow down; this waiting game is excruciating!) 

We’ve had the best 2.5 years as a couple. Dad and I have traveled, we’ve worked on the house, we’ve cheer-leaded each other through difficult school, work, and family situations. We are legitimately each other’s best friend; there’s very little—in fact nothing—we’d rather do than be together. We waited a long time to find each other and the wait has been more than worthwhile. 

It’s not unusual for either of us to say, “Babe! We’re having a baby!” Many times a day. For many months. “We’re having a baby girl!” It still feels hardly real; even as we’ve had your nursery set up and clothes, gear, and the massive other amount of purchases completed, toured daycares, and tried to decide on a name. 

We know life is going to change, but as yet our brains can’t quite fathom how much. 

Perhaps my biggest worry and unknown in welcoming you into the world is understanding that life will never be at stasis again. Dad and I know what to expect from each other, how to be together, how to communicate, and generally how one day will play out from the next. Once you breathe your first breath, we’ll have another player to add into the equation; and knowing how much you’ll grow, change, and continue to refine yourself (hopefully never stopping!) means the life we know will also continue to grow, change, and evolve. Let’s all plan to take it one day at a time, shall we?

Baby Girl, we can’t wait to meet you. To hold you and to love you. You’re going to have the best Dad. He didn’t have the happiest upbringing and is looking forward to giving you the love he never had. There are so, so many people anxious for your arrival—grandparents, aunts, cousins, and our ward family. 

I hope you’ll be patient with us. We have such little experience being parents; you’ll be our guinea pig until we can add a brother or sister for you. Just remember that we’re doing the best we can; we’re not perfect but we’re counting on all of us loving each other enough to cut the others some slack. We’ll do our best to always make you happy, but our primary job will be to teach you how to be a good person and Child of God. You probably won’t always agree with the decisions we make, and there are times you’ll think us mean, or strict, but we know the potential you have and want you to learn how to live up to it. 

We cannot wait to hold you in our arms and show you all the amazing things life has to offer.

Already I love you so,
Mom

miraculous love advice

Boy oh boy do I have smart readers. Who either told me what I wanted to hear or we're all on the same page when it comes to finding the right one. (Since I know so many amazing women, I'll assume it's the latter.)

The responses were awesome. So awesome in fact, that I wanted to create an image of the words most frequently used. (You should read them all. Again, here's the link. It'll just pop-right up. Do it.)
Well well well, look at that biggest, boldest word there is... TIME. Well guess who's got it?

Also, probably my second favorite word that was mentioned enough times to gain pixel size is the word "become". Because we all (marrieds! singles!) can be doing that, regardless of life stage.

Anything stick out to you? Or follow-up comments anyone wants to share? I feel like being interactive. BECAUSE I'M PUTTING MYSELF OUT THERE YOU KNOW.

sink or swim

Dear Nat,

You're in the eye of the stormy summer that's changing your life. Of the past 40 nights, you've slept 10 of them in your own bed. It will be 10 more sleeps before you're back home.

You're overwhelmed with what's being asked of you both professionally and personally. Not battered nor broken, but endlessly swimming swimming swimming. You're not unhappy, you're just a step behind the deadlines you've set. (Good thing you're a decent project manager who knows how to pad due dates.) This week you present at a conference to a host of very smart strangers for work. You're also catering cupcakes. 72 hours and you'll have sunk or swam. My betting money is on swimming, so relax. (But don't forget to buy enough powdered sugar.) Your 4 days of nonstop meetings in Detroit will seem like a treat once this is done.

Being home will be nice, but make sure you've set aside adequate time for the church calling that's going to consume and ever change your life. Once you get it all sorted out, organized and planned (my, aren't we good at that?), it's going to be 0ne of the defining times of your life. It's been promised to you.

You're behind on blogging. Funny enough, you started this post with the purpose of ignoring all of the above to make a point. So here it is. Two paragraphs later -- you're good at being long-winded.

The pace of your life is rather insane at the moment. Despite, and perhaps a bit in spite of it, you've managed to keep--and even draw--your Tier 1 friends closer to you. The relationships you have with each of your sisters, your parents, your grandparents and your girlfriends made in both Utah and Boston have never been stronger. You've had visitors from and visited these besties of yours in cities across the nation. You are a really, really great friend, and I don't ever want you to forget that. Loyalty is one of your key strengths and it draws people to you. You're not alone, so don't feel it. Hear me?

Chin up Nat Pat. You're on the cusp of really great things. Sink or swim.

XOXO,
Me

welcome back?

I'd like to say that I have day after day of silent entry in a journal not recorded here.

I don't.

The silver lining is that the silence written in the last month of non-blogging will long serve as ample reminder to the events occurring in my offline life. You wouldn't believe the sum of the parts. When the best of the worst is literally getting a needle-full of steroids shot into the face nine times I'm best to leave it alone. Sad (and somewhat lame) to say, but ignoring my blog was one of the only things I could control.

(sad trombone, right?)

Where my life as an individual has spun out in the last 5 weeks, I've been surrounded by a support system that's kept me afloat. It's true that blood is thicker than water, but there is no blood in this East Coast water. It's been heartening to watch the people I share space with help me rally--providing kind words, check-ins or emails of encouragement. I've grown closer to my roommate, to my home teachers, to those I serve on committee with. I've been privy to a sense of community with the LDS members in Boston as I've helped clean both the Temple and our Stake Center and committed myself to more frequently attending and serving in the Temple. I was able to attend the sealing of a dear friend and enjoy reuniting with so many good friends. The culture of my office is shifting to one I genuinely look forward to entering each day even with major changes afoot. Weekends have been spent with friends at Martha's Vineyard, at the beach, attending concerts, going dancing, and playing games. To put it mildly, I've been busy.

You may not know this, but I spend a lot of time alone. I don't mind it one bit--in fact I probably enjoy it too much. That's the truth and I've copped to always being honest. It's not that I'm out to prove my independence, I just don't mind being by myself. As cliched as it sounds, I've learned so very much about myself this last month. It hasn't been easy or kind but who doesn't have patches of black ice surprise them every now and then? However, looking at my interactions with the people around me this month, I find them extraordinary. Individually, I would have failed. Collectively, I'm more than treading water--I'm making my way upstream again.

There are innumerable lessons to draw from the experience I'm dancing around writing about--both good and bad--but I still feel 100 percent confident in my decision to stay in Boston. I have no where else to go nor do I want to go any where else.

And that's a good life indeed.

When life isn't rah! rah! rah!

I've felt somewhat adrift in the last year. A line item list could be provided as to the who, whats, and whys but that's a downer post and man, if you want that, believe me--you're bored already.

So life hasn't been nonstop rah! rah! rahs! the last year; but I also haven't been on the brink of epic meltdown either. Having flirted with periods of both, I'll staunchly endorse a plateau of steady, even days than the spikes of living in the extremes.

To lay it all out there in the name of honesty and transparency, I've been living selfishly. True, I wasn't actively making everything about me--but with so much time, talent, and resources--isn't doing nothing a passive form of selfishness? The parable in the Bible (someone want to help me out with a reference?) where three servants are given money and asked to use it, I've always wondered why the servant who held his money was punished. I'm learning.

I've been privy to some pretty incredible personal revelation in the last few weeks. Some of it I'll begin to share in the next little bit as the details are sorted out. For now, know that if you're wanting to make a change in your life--or realize you have rough corners that need sanding--I promise, promise, promise God will change your life and provide the sandpaper if you're willing to actually do the work.

Day 12

The world would have you think that a single woman hates attending weddings. Perpetuated by clichéd shots of sad, lonely girls sitting at big, elegantly dressed, empty reception tables watching a dance floor full of couples, there’s a certain stigma associated with being a one at a plus-one event.

Whatever tickles your fancy

I’ve been fairly involved in five major weddings in the last year. Three of my best ladies, one sister, one sister-cousin. (This number would be six had my sister Alaina not eloped.) My experience with the hoopla surrounding the grand event—the dress hunting, the cupcake decorating, the table ornamentation—prior to the last 12 months was limited. Now? I could probably quit my day job and plan epic receptions on pennies to the dollar because I’m good at it, but that’s not my favorite part of the wedding.

Without question, or even pause to think much about it, my favorite part of each wedding I’ve been to is hearing the groom speak about my his lady that he adores. Be it in a dress rehearsal dinner, a family meet-and-greet toast, a formal sit down, or a welcome to the big reception event, I love the candid and honest words these kind men speak from the heart. Rarely are the sentiments rehearsed or rote--instead heightened emotion and the gravity of the situation strips filter and inhibition. There are tears, smiles and laughs. From the groom. From the bride. From the audience. It doesn’t matter what’s said, because in each of the weddings I’ve had privilege to attend, not one person has doubted the validity and honesty of the groom’s words. The look in his eye and the smile on his face give him away.

As someone who so fiercely loves the ladies the groom-of-the-moment is marrying, I can’t help but be moved. And feel relief that she’s found someone who wants so desperately to spend time (to infiiiiinity and beyond!) with her. Who isn’t playing the power game of “who likes who less.” Who isn’t afraid to commit and hitch his wagon to hers. I feel she’s in safe hands.

And you know what? Time and time and time and time and time again, I leave the wedding feeling hopeful. Not lonely and deppressy and when-is-it-my-turn? whiney. On the contrary, I feel a marked sense of peace and elevation. My heart is full of love for a new family beginning, and I’m inspired to hold out for a man who’ll speak the same way at a reception full of people (half no doubt strangers) about and to me. The dating world is a rickety ship and I don’t write much about my voyages of romance but I will say, I’m learning---these weddings are teaching me--what lasting relationships of substance and value are. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.

And if you knew me at all, and my merry band of also single girlfriends (diminishing though we may be), you’d also know that we never, ever ever ever, sit still when people are dancing.

A reward a long time coming

I had a breakthrough tonight. An honest to goodness pivotal point on which I think I'll be able to mentally reference in future periods of time. The moment came on the treadmill around mile 3; one water bottle down and three miles left to run. My pace was steady and I had this heady surge of ability. I've written (too many times to keep referencing) how I don't consider myself a "runner" and don't enjoy doing it.

Tonight, however, I felt strong. I'm in my second week of training for this year's Half marathon; and though I didn't start pounding out miles until last week, I've had consistent cardio exercise at least twice a week since the first of the year. The payoff has been faster mile averages (>1:00!) and the ability to push myself farther than my mental self believes I should be able to go. For the first time in a long time (if ever), my physical self is stronger than my mental self.

In fact, I'm loving the minutes of mental rest. To take it all in and quit worrying things out in my mind. I feel better prepared to face the individual challenges of life when I walk out of that gym.

Now before you write this off as one of those annoying "runner's blogs" (because I totally would; I hate these kinds of posts), please know that I still loathe running. I'd rather stay home with my feet up eating junky food by the fistful. The lesson I'm taking from these four paragraphs and the 68 minutes I spent profusely sweating this evening is that we can train ourselves to do things we hate. As humans, we're able to make peace with the challenges or situations we find ourselves in--and we might still hate every second of every step--but the mental clarity that comes when we apply ourselves to conquering fear or circumstance is a gift that comes no other way.

Perseverance. Otherwise known as "runner's high."

A Birthday Letter

Happy Birthday self, you’re another year older.

Twenty-seven.

You’re a year older, but are you wiser too? Did you make the most of 26? Are you a better person coming out on the other side?

It’s okay to admit that 26 was a bit of a rocky year; no beach is composed completely of sand. There were times of intense heartbreak and crippling letdown, but you lived to tell about it, didn’t you? And not only is your heart still beating, but it’s stronger and more aware.

This was the year the training wheels came off and no one was holding on to the back of your seat to keep it upright. Alone and far from home, this was the year you fully created a new home. More people moved out of your life than in, but what of it? You’ve managed to irrevocably knot your heart strings to those who’ve earned a place there. They’re better people for it. You’re better for it.

All those things you love about yourself? People love those about you too. And the rough spots? Well, people may see those too, but you’re your own harshest critic Nat. You know that, now remember it in year twenty-seven.

Surely there are moments in the last year you wish you could take back, but because you can’t go back and change it, there’s no use feeling regret or disappointment. Move on and use historical data to project future outcomes. A year just past. Don’t let it be in vain.

Riding on your own has also allowed you to experience breathtaking views. Moments so grand your breath was taken completely away and in its place settled a general feeling of rightness. Not only celestial experiences surrounded by loved ones, but also irreplaceable moments steeped in the silence of independence. This is the year you learned to fully love and appreciate you. That gift is impossible to purchase or give, but is earned through struggle and perseverance. If the rocky roads were payments credited toward this ultimate treasure, they’re roads worth taking again, aren’t they?

This is the lesson you should remember from year twenty-six.

On the last night of your twenty-sixth year, you open a card from your grandparents. “We applaud your success and think you are brave,” it says. Your heart warms not only because you feel the collective support of those who’ve had a hand in forming the mold, but also because for the first time ever, you believe it too.

And that’s something you feel good about. A worthwhile year. May this next year be as good as the last.

Love,
Natalie