“How do you meet people here?” the baby-faced cashier asked, deftly punching keys on her register.
After spending a Kohl’s gift card on much-needed, post-quarantine clothes, the cashier and I had struck up a conversation about moving to Bend, Oregon – a common topic in a town full of transplants.
“I got really lucky,” I explained. “I had a few friends here who introduced me to a bunch of people as soon as I got here.”
“Wow, that is lucky,” she replied wistfully.
“But there are a bunch of great groups you can join!” I offered, rattling off some examples of how I’d met other people. “There are some really nice running groups here, even if you’re not a runner. Everyone hangs out afterwards for beer.”
“I guess I’ll have to wait a year then,” she laughed.
Realizing that she wasn’t yet legal drinking age, my heart melted. She could have been me at 20. Pale, tall, overweight, hopelessly sweet. I bet someone once told her she was “made for retail,” too.
“It was so nice meeting you,” I smiled as I gathered my bag and headed into the high desert heat.
I thought about that cashier all night long. Her kindness and sincerity, loneliness, and what I imagined to be sky-high dreams. How she let me do most of the talking and showed genuine interest in and compassion for a complete stranger. When I was just a little younger than her, also working in retail, an older coworker -and soon to be best friend- took me under her wing and showed me the world’s wonders. A late bloomer, I was in my late teens and early 20s before I really started living.
Now, at 39, I so badly wanted to tell that sweet young woman at Kohl’s about the untold adventures she would surely have. The heartbreaks and “sex, drugs and rock and roll” and monotony and horrible jobs and great jobs and moves and upsizing and downsizing and new friends and lost friends and weight loss and weight gain and lessons learned and mistakes made and death and birth and epiphanies and ice cream pints and crying yourself to sleep.
I would tell her it gets better.
Even when it doesn’t.
I would tell her suddenly you’ll be almost 40 and still wonder (and care) if people like you and if your dream of your soulmate just came from a Disney movie and if this is -dear god- as good as your ass is ever gonna look and if that freckle got bigger overnight and is actually deadly skin cancer and if you go broke how bad would it really be to live in your parents’ basement and speaking of what on earth are you going to do when your parents are gone and at least you have your dog but oh f*ck he’s 11 and you’ve gotta come up with a plan and you’ve checked all the boxes and gotten all the credentials and kissed all the right butts only to find out.
There is no plan.
And yet.
I would tell her, “20 years ago, I doubted my sexiness, humor, intellect, and power even more than I do today. You’ll come to cling to the version of yourself who realizes that anyone worth knowing and anything worth doing embraces all of you – even the older, slightly saggier you.”
Nope. I wouldn’t go back to 20. …Would you?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Go Jules Go 
If I could go back knowing what I know now? Absolutely. I’d kill for those undimpled thighs. But to be that clueless, insecure girl again? No, can’t say that I would.
Every time I think I’m still cripplingly insecure, I just have to think of my 18 (ish) year old self… we’ve come a long way, baby!
Only if I could still have you.
I’m pretty sure if we were in high school at the same time, our paths would not have crossed, Miss Popular Barbie 😉
Hells to the no would I go back! Turning 50 was one of the best days of my life. We’ll talk about that some day. 😉💕
I can’t wait to drink more Bend beer and talk about our maturing fabulousness 😉
Me too sister!!! I can pontificate with the best of them 🤪
If I went back to being 20, could I take this 55yr old wisdom & confidence with me? I’d certainly have sex with waaaay more people of all genders, & take more recreational drugs haha!
Ahh great comment! It’s so interesting what we relax about as we get older, when the common notion seems to be that we get more worried and anxious as we age. I’m definitely living a far more adventurous life in my late 30s than I ever did in my 20s!
Nope. No way no how. 50s is my best decade yet. I don’t give a crap what anyone thinks anymore. I’m who I am, love it or leave it. Wish I could take that attitude and send it to the 20 year old me.
I’m so glad we can grow old together, li’l sis. lol
I wouldn’t go back to 20. Not for all the money in the world. I was about to write that I’d take my 20 year old body, but with all the healing, the unwiring and DNA changing I’ve been doing for the past few years, even though I’m quite heavy right now, I’ll keep my body too. Great piece!
That is so wonderful to hear (and I love reading the details on your blog). I’ve had a lot of refreshing moments lately where I’ve thought, “Nah. I’ll keep this body thanks very much. It’s taken me on some pretty spectacular rides (or rather, hikes)!”
Loved this story, Jules and will check out your business venture! When did you take the plunge? Awesome stuff, will come back and check it out (after my dog and I have our evening ice cream, that is!) You go, girl!
Thank you so much!! Robin and I officially launched Plant-Based Point in December, and hit the ground running with the cookbook production, which launched on Memorial Day weekend!! We’re so excited about everything in the works!
I love this. I can relate to that store clerk when I was age 20, too. And some days now. But you just keep pushing. And hoping fo rub elbows with kind people – like you.
Stacy, thank you so much! I agree it’s those like-minded, kind-hearted people who offer a smile or sweet comment (ahem, LOL) who make “looking ahead” a lot easier!
If I could go back I’d give her some current wisdom and tell her to frigin enjoy life: take your glasses off, celebrate your body, take more chances, discover more of who you are, speak your mind!!! 😊❤️
If you don’t stitch this on a pillow ASAP, I’ll be very disappointed 😉
Hahaha lol I just reread what I wrote! *pat on back* if you don’t mind LOL