Hi Self, Welcome Back

“If I were a little different
Things might be a little different
But then I wouldn’t be myself
And this might not seem as real”
--Lex Land

When I was younger, I used to write about things that made me smile. Happy things. Funny things. Silly things. Maybe it lacked substance, but I would never apologize for that – humor contains its own set of lessons. I wrote because it made me happy and people read what I wrote, I think, because it made them happy too.

It was as close to me – the ME me – as you could get. Quirky. Fun. Maybe a little crazy. I never thought about making people laugh – I only thought about making myself smile. But sometimes, what I did for myself shone through and connected with other people as well. People liked laughing at me, with me, because of me. I liked it, too.

I’ve always thought of that time as my Age of Innocence. I’m one of those people who, once I started encountering authentic difficulties and struggles in my life, stopped being funny and stopped seeing funny. Funny was too hard for me when I was sorting through so much.

So, I tapped into something else. My thoughts and writing became darker, you could say. Deeper, maybe. More serious, definitely.

And that became my go-to style, which I kept up and returned to every time life pushed me down. I recorded the world’s faults and mishaps with a skeptical, harsh eye.

And the hits just kept coming. The thing about life is that it is not easy, nor is it predictable. It is a constantly shifting, ever-challenging beast. With each new birthday, I feel slightly more learned in the ways of the world, but also incredibly overwhelmed by how much there is still to know.

Recently, I took a time-out. I gathered myself, my things, my thoughts, and I went away for a few days. The dailies of life were feeling like burdens I had to endure and I wanted to remember when it didn’t feel like that. I took my sad self, my dark thoughts and my hardened mind and heart and I put myself to task: Write it out, Kristen. Since you’re feeling so damn sorry for yourself, write it out and make something of it.

I pictured the darkness that would ensue. The bounty of emotions, the tears, the heartache – all coming together on the page, creating a dramatic tale of woe that would inevitably change the world with its jaded perceptiveness. If I could just get all the hurt out on the page, if I could just purge myself of my sorrow – I knew I was going to write something great.

And then, I started writing. And a funny thing happened. And when I say funny, I mean funny.

The first sentence of my dark tale of woe made me laugh out loud. Keep going, I said to myself. It will come together soon…

The first paragraph of my dark tale of woe made me laugh out loud. Huh, interesting, I thought. I didn’t really see that coming. Well, just keep going. See what comes out…

The first page of my dark tale of woe made me laugh out loud. Who is this person, coming up with this ridiculousness? Who’s coming up with these flawed and quirky characters and placing them in these absurd scenarios? Who is this person?

And that’s when I recognized her. And that’s when I remembered her. It was me, the person I used to be, the person who doesn’t take life so damn seriously and who distracts herself mid-conversation with her own off-the-wall thoughts.

Obviously, my first reaction: Where the f*&$ have you been? Do you know how much you could have helped me back there? You could have been pointing out the funny stuff all along, the stuff I refused to look at when I was too wrapped up in my own stupid mind! Where were you?

And I think her answer went a little something like this: I’ve been right here, Dummy. But you kept covering me up with all that other stuff, all that unnecessary drama and tragedy. So you couldn’t even see me anymore, I was so hidden by everything that you put on top of me. But I’ve been right here. And besides, she added (she’s so clever): Aren’t I helping you now?

So no, I didn’t write something great during my time away. I didn’t write something that will change the world with its jaded perceptiveness. I didn’t write something that carries a lot of substance.

What I did write is something that made me smile, and laugh, and feel good about the world and its offerings. What I did write is something that made me excited to wake up in the morning and try it all again.

If this were a MasterCard commercial, we could skip right to it and call it out for what it really is: Priceless.