Dear Teen Me from Author Laurel Snyder (PENNY DREADFUL, BIGGER THAN A BREADBOX)
Dear Teen Me,
Teen Laurel!
I’ve tried to write this letter 3 times now, and I’ve failed miserably. Not because I don’t know what to say to you. But because I’m afraid you’ll laugh. You do that a lot, you know, laugh at people. Or you peek out, from under those long bangs, and sneer.
But you know what? Even though I’m scared of your sneer, I’m plugging ahead this morning. I will get this letter done and send it to you. Because I have a deadline. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the last 20 years, it’s that you have to do the damn work.
You haven’t figured that out yet, Teen Me. Your nose doesn’t know the grindstone. And I could lecture you about that, but I’m not going to. Because I have something much more important to say.
Which is simply this: I miss you, Teen Me.
Teen Laurel rocking red lipstick.
I do! I think about you all the time, fondly. Daily. I read your old journals and letters, listen to Bob Dylan or The Cure or Yaz and sigh. Because although I’ve learned tons of stuff since I was you, I’ve forgotten something too. Something big, that I wish you could re-teach me.
It isn’t that I want your youth, per se—the fact that you’re barefoot and pretty, in your wrap-around skirts and your fishnets. I can live without those. I can live with getting older—walking slowly in my practical shoes and my mom-jeans.
No, it’s that you are unafraid, that you know everything. You’re sure of yourself, and you don’t give a shit what anyone says. Confidence like that is hard to come by, Teen Me. I miss mine. I wonder where it went…
Maybe it was the ex-boyfriend who refused to tell me he loved me for nine months. Who made me feel like I needed to be careful with my heart, guarded. Who told me he wouldn’t kiss me when I was wearing a bandana, because I looked ugly like that.
Maybe it was the poets who knew so much more than I did, and made me feel dumb, so that I began to fake it, pretend to appreciate things I’d never heard of, instead of asking honest questions so that I might learn.
Teen Laurel, in a fabulous chair.
Maybe it was the other-mothers, with their expensive strollers and their bottles of Purell, who never made mistakes and always dressed their kids in socks that matched. Who taught me to google my fears.
Or maybe it was the friend I hurt, who could not forgive me, no matter what I said. Who made me understand that sometimes an apology cannot mend a mistake, no matter how many times you repeat it.
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. And I can’t undo the damage. I’m different now. I live with fear, regret, doubt. But I can warn you, Teen Me. I can tell you this now, and maybe it will help.
You will choose bad paths, make mistakes, and then recognize them. Of course you will. All the time. That’s how you’ll grow, gain wisdom, become a better person.
But when you venture into those pitfalls, you need to own them right away. You need to face them down, immediately. So that you don’t drag your feet afterwards, worrying that you might fall into another such pitfall. Because the worst thing in the world is to make decisions based on all the mistakes you might make.
Adult Laurel with her kids.
It is much easier to make mistakes than to fear them. So when you sense fear lurking in your path, you just need to run into it, headlong, shouting, “Fuck you, fear.”
I know you have it in you. Have faith. Be quick. And when you screw up, just apologize, forgive, and move on. Move forward. Always forward.
Honestly, if I had it to do over again, I’d do almost everything the same. My life has been interesting, intense, worth it. I’ve become a better person, I think. A kinder person. A good friend. A mom. I’ve learned patience.
But in all your disorder and wildness and stumbling-forward and profanity, and anger and joy, you are fearless—and that’s something I’ve lost. Something I long for.
So maybe, if you get this letter, and you aren’t too busy doing something stupid or brave. When you’re finished flirting with the boys at the 7-11, or walking in the rain, or writing another bad poem about sadness and some birds… you’ll take a minute to write me back? Maybe you could even make me a mixtape?
Nothing big. Just a little gift for me to find tomorrow in an old box in the basement, a remnant from you. Something to help me recall…
Me.
Love,
You
Oh, and PS! when you leave your Nikon in the hotel safe in Cairo, PLEASE ask for a receipt. And take the six months worth of film OUT of the camera bag first. You’ll thank yourself (which is to say, me)
Adult Laurel signing books!
Laurel Snyder is the author of many books for kids, including Bigger than a Bread Box and Baxter, the Pig Who Wanted to Be Kosher. A graduate of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, she also writes poems for grownups (some of them about her Teen Me). ( Laurel was born in Baltimore, but she now lives happily in Atlanta, and online at http://laurelsnyder and http://citywelove She tweets too much: @laurelsnyder
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AHHHH! I love this letter so much. Fuck you, fear! I’m keeping that paragraph on a post-it. x
Love this letter from Laurel to her teen-self. Made me weepy.
I really love this.
I’ve not read Laurel yet, but this would make me need to. And I already needed to.
This made me ache with longing, and nod with understanding. No matter how much we write these teen-me letters, our teen selves still won’t listen (nor, likely, other teens), but, oh, how our adult selves do.
Gae
Yes! Giving fear the finger. Love it!
Oh, I love Teen Laurel! And Mom-Jeans Laurel, too. I would love to hear that mixtape.
Wonderful letter Laurel!
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Laurel – Having watched you grow from that teen to the wonderful woman/mom/superhero that you are now, I must say how happy I am to have been allowed a glimpse into that world. As for your letter: you nailed it, hon! XOXOXO
Fabulous! Your inner teen kicks-butt.
Laurel’s letter struck such a chord with me. I suppose most of us grow into our wariness in the same way, but it’s also true that I was once fearless. Thanks for reminding me!
Somehow I don’t think Teen Laurel would have laughed at this one. I loved this letter.
I wish I’d had her fearlessness when I was a teen. I’m busy cultivating it now. With encouragement from lines like “It’s better to make mistakes than to fear them,” it’s a whole lot easier. Thanks for this.
P.S. I like the Laurel-Snyder-as-Robert-Smith look very much.
I knew Teen Laurel (at least briefly), and she was awesome, and we all wanted to be her, or at the very least be her friend; but I am getting to know Mom Laurel, and I think she’s pretty awesome as well.
Love you, L!