Today my outfit looks a lot like something I would have worn in first grade.
Back then, my favorite color was purple, my favorite food was Cosmic Brownies and my favorite activity was monopolizing the swings during recess while singing songs from Aladdin.
Is it weird to worry that your 6-year-old self wouldn’t like your current self? Because I do.
Sure, first grade Lisa didn’t like to brush her teeth and refused to learn how to read, but she also unselfconsciously embraced what she liked. She sang really loud and tried to set pr’s with her skip-it and traversed the neighborhood on a pogo stick. She thought everything Lisa Frank was made especially for her.
She rode her bike like this:
I think she was more brave than I am.
I bet she would like the skirt I’m wearing today and my balcony garden. She’d find my pantry boring, but my nail polish collection, amazing. So that’s a start.
Being an adult is awesome (when it doesn’t suck). But childhood had a whole lot more wonder and exploration and risk and unbridled amusement.
I probably don’t have enough of those things.
I worry a lot about what other people think. And most of the time, that gets me no where but confused and anxious.
I think I’m going to lean into my worry about 6-year-old Lisa’s estimation of me. Her opinion – if nothing else – will leave me in a more colorful and happy place.