Today I had the sudden urge to retrieve some boxes stored at my father's place. I was looking for my old yearbooks mostly, but I forgot that in the same box was an armful of Mead Five Star spiral bound notebooks, in a rainbow of colors, in which - over time - I'd poured out my heart and soul. In December of 1989, the 15 year old Heather decided to write in a journal every single day for a year. And so it went. Every day, usually 2 whole pages long -- and I didn't have that curly bubbly girly hand writing that many of my friends did. Small text, print, in pencil. So after my stroll through yearbooks from 6th grade through graduating UGA - I picked up a notebook and began to read.
Oh teenaged angst! Boy was I full of it. I want to get to know myself again, from that youngster's perspective, and perhaps reassure myself all over again that life is full of ups and downs but that I'll survive. She did. I do. I will. I used to smile when I heard the words "inner child." I imagined a cute little pixie girl riding a bicycle all up and down my rib cage, resting on my stomach, before diving down to pedal through my intestines. Inner child? What the hell is that?
Well, here she is. Even though I thought I was grown at 15, I was still very much a child. Let's see if I can remember what the world looked like through her eyes. Let's see what I've learned in the last 21 years. I wish I could hop on a time machine and give that girl a hug because she needed it. If I could, I'd try to grab her young body - thin thighs and smaller butt. But I'd totally forget the zits.