Dear Future Me, Here’s a Few Things…

I was once embroiled in my own thoughts. (What does this word even mean? Yikes! Embroiled…) Yes, embroiled. I was stuck in my head with absolutely nothing to do but think. Watch as my mind wandered, sometimes giving it direction. Yes, this is my definition of thinking.

Here’s the thing, I recently had minor surgery and now I am convalescing. (My little brother wants to know how I even came about knowing such words exist. I should make him start reading more.) I spend most of my days sleeping. Occasionally waking up to eat, take meds, poop, drink water, shower(if I have the energy) then sleep some more. Day and night, this is what my body can do. I am almost completely unable to do anything else, besides feel a throbbing pain at the site of the wounds. (I am much better now. This was the day after surgery.)

Two nights ago my eyes opened at 2am. After sleeping for nearly 18 hours, at 2am I found myself wide awake and in so much pain, I could barely move.

I couldn’t read, I didn’t have the energy to leave my bed, I was most comfortable just…staying…still. Blinking. That’s it. Blinking, often forgetting whether my eyes were open or closed because it all looked the same. My sleep reserves completely exhausted. Suddenly my body was ON.

Chronicles of a convalescent I tell you…

Anyway, I started thinking about the woman I would like to be. 20, 30 years from now.

Do you ever think of the person you want to be? I often do. Most times on an artificial level. I wanna have great skin. As taut, supple and soft as Beyonce’s, at age 50. That black don’t crack thing. Yup! So what do I do now to build this future? I oil the crease prone area underneath my eyes…because that’s the first place wrinkles appear. *rolls eyes* Beauty hacks are just something else!

I’d like to have a long, thick, luscious, kinky, coily, did I say thick already?, mane on my head. MANE!!! Picture that lion. The fierce one. You get the picture, right? A glorious head of hair.

I think of the flat stomach I want to perpetually have, so once or twice a month I will get to doing 50 cruchies and resolve to make it an everyday habit…like I said, these resolutions, twice a month activity.

Point is, I have a vision. I attempt to work towards that vision.

As my mind wandered that night/early morning, I got to thinking about the less superficial aspect of this person I would like to be.

What kind of woman do I want to be. What will be the substance of my being?

I would like to be a reader.

I’d like to be a 50 year old devourer of books, because it’s my favourite dish.

My mind feeding on words! The best kind of nourishment! I’d like to be a fun and youthful reader. To occasionally pick up a Harry Potter and re-enter that world of magic! That magical place that kindled the first flames of my love for books. (You may or may not know from my not so subtle occasional hints in person and on social media…I AM READING HP AGAIN! YAYYYYY!)

I’d also like to just as adeptly pick up the autobiography of Desmond Tutu, or Angela Merkel, or Adele.

Maybe every other day find myself entirely immersed in an 8 page centre spread feature on the gigantic turtles of the South American Galapagos Islands in the National Geographic magazine.

Or a sports feature in the ESPN magazine about Tiger Woods, how he made golf great and made major strides for black golfers by being greater than the greatest EVER but that in turn led to his downfall and ultimate destruction because it turns out deep down he was in turmoil and wanted to be anyone but himself.

Also maybe some Shakespeare, Theology, Philosophy, History.

An intensely versatile reader! That’s the kind of reader I would like to be.

And a writer. I’d like to write books of course. Books that will entrance and transport people to an alternate universe! Books that will make people fall in love with characters that are a figment of my imagination. Books that will leave people feeling like they have traveled to and explored places that I have described! Books that will give people the courage to change their lives, because if one of my characters can find the strength to do it, to overcome their challenges and situation, then there is hope for them too. Books that will change the world. One story at a time. One individual at a time.

I’d also like to write down my thoughts and have my thoughts be revered. Respected. Now this is somewhat self-centred. I know. I know. But I’d like to be someone who in some little way is respected and revered by my community due to my expertise in a certain field. I’d like to be a thought leader, a thought provoker, an industry yard-stick. A boss lady. Someone whose very well thought out and articulated opinion matters.

I’d like to be a mother hen with a brood of chiclets. (Not a word, but it could be. Not the candy either.) I’m 100% certain that they will mostly be nothing like me and nothing like I’d like them or would wish them to be, but that’s the beauty of being a mother hen. Your brood may be like mismatched socks, or a jigsaw puzzle with absolutely no pieces that come together, but they are your brood. Your chiclets. And you are their mother hen. And you’ll love them with every ounce of your being. Even when they’re a handful and cause you numerous sleepless nights and tears and fights and good stuff too…cause they’re your chiclets! And what they represent is magical! A love that has been tried and tested and found to be true. Flawed, with its failings but always emerging true. Sigh. Hopeless romantic here.

I’d like my chiclets to look up to me and be proud. To love to read because they have witnessed first hand what a love for books can do in someone’s life.

To maybe write, but even if writing is not their cup of tea, to fearlessly and tirelessly pursue their passions even if the world tries to tell them it is wisest to do otherwise.

To endevour to be people of substance, of generosity, of love.

To accept no less than a love that they deserve. To be patient and know that they are worthy of that love. And to be open to the fact that it may not come in the most traditional of ways.

I’d like to end this powerfully. I really would. But now my mind has wandered to thinking how dreadfully uncomfortable it is to have difficulty passing gas because…pain.

Let me tell you, God has the most hilarious sense of humour!

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    Quite a piece Kathleen! This is really nice …I’m curious, on a scale of 1-10 how painful was it to pass gas? or did you laugh while at it …

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