This is me at about age 6.
Probably not unlike most of you, I was living the summer dream. Just waiting for that moment when the bees would vacate the swings so I could get back to business again.
If you follow me on Instagram you might have already seen this picture, but I just couldn't not talk about it.
My older sister Sarah (you'll get to know her a bit more through the letter above) texted me a copy of this letter out of the blue last week as she was unpacking from a move. I have to say it caught me totally by surprise and it almost made me cry (and laugh at the same time).
I discovered that reading something you wrote so long ago gives you almost this out of body experience. Like I know I wrote that letter, in fact I remember her being away at camp (not Kap as previously stated) that summer and that I missed her terribly. Even the friends I mentioned visiting are are easily recalled in my memory.
But at the same time, I have no memory of the letter. I don't remember the "PENs" holder (a present from my mother... get your mind out of the gutter people!) and I have no real memory of what that summer was like for me as a kid, and yet, they're they are; my words written down in chubby hand-writing, so long ago, staring me in the face through a picture on an iPHONE.
It makes me wonder, what will reading this blog be like one day?
Will I be like... wow.. your priorities in your 20's were weird. 40 year old Emily judges you for being worried about so many existential things and indulging in many different areas of life.
Or will I feel like I felt reading this letter, happy to have a glimpse into a moment of the past? Into this time in my life that's so unique because it's pre-children, pre-marriage, pre-HUGE responsibility. I'd like to think the latter. There's a time in life for most things... and pink panther clearly fit into that time of long summer holidays that stretched on and on...
I think that little version of me, the one with a penchant for long-form writing, has made me feel validated. For continuing to write into this hole - this vast void that is the internet. It's made me realize that you don't have to be writing the complex stuff, the flashy stuff. There doesn't have to be any real "goal" or purpose. And by that token I think the six-year-old version would like to remind me that if it's the moments and the memories and snippets of time I'm trying to preserve, simple is better.
And of course always, always, tell your sister (s)
"Wish you were here."
Because, well, that's a priority that just doesn't change.