Fearless

My favorite year in high school was my junior year.

1986

I consider this girl the most authentic version of me.

No fear.

At 16 I drove a little red Toyota truck, windows rolled down and tuned to Z-93. The wind in my hair on a hot summer night singing along with some of the greatest music ever written.

Lord, I loved me some Madonna, REM, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Jon Bon Jovi. I knew every word to every song on Casey Kasem’s Top 40 that year.

Still do.

I had three groups of friends.

School friends, church friends, and neighborhood friends.

And I had best friends.

I was in the greatest shape of my life. I played basketball, soccer, and ran cross-country.

I was a member of multiple school clubs. Even presided over a few.

I went to church and participated in my youth group.

Camps, lock-ins, retreats, spaghetti suppers, and Sunday night festivities.

I even had a boyfriend. Or two.

I had great hair.

And the fashion of the time, all that day glo, and miniskirts, shoulder pads, and acid washed jeans, were designed to fit my frame and my personality.

It was an unfettered time of exploring all my options.

And I did.

Something changed though. I grew up and realized I had to adult. I had responsibilities to other people than myself. And somehow those responsibilities slowly chiseled away at the 16-year-old version of me.

Marriage, a career, children, a home, bills.

Life.

A life I am proud of, one I would re-do again and again if it meant being the person I am today.

But somewhere, buried beneath all that responsibility, the 1986 version of me still lingered. She was there, buried under the constraints and obligations of adulthood.

Every once and a while she would peek her head out, just to let me know she was still present.

Like when I left to walk El Camino in Northern Spain with two girlfriends.

Or that time I ran head long off a cliff into the waters below on our family vacation in Jamaica.

Or when I wrote my first book.

Or when I joined eHarmony and ended up finding my Boaz.

No fear.

I think that is what the current version of me is all about.

Finding my teenage self.

Remembering her.

Embracing her.

Loving her.

Nurturing her.

Releasing her.

I can’t wait to meet her again. To show her all I have learned. And to tell her she can be proud of this wiser version of herself.

It may have taken a while to get here.

But we made it.

Me, Fearless, circa 1986