What Would You Say To Your 18-Year-Old Self

I did something today I’ve never done before: I picked up a hitchhiker.  He was on the highway right outside Elisabeth’s work with a sign that said “Portland”.  Traffic was stuck and I spent a few minutes just watching him. His other sign said “Just Showered” – that one made me giggle.  He was a kid, I guessed him to be 20 or so. I have no idea what inspired me to pick him up, but I did. I pulled over, he came running to the window and I said, I can get you close, within about 40 miles. He smiled, and said “Anything’s better than here, right?” I popped the trunk and he threw his incredibly large but very well and tightly packed backpack in the trunk.

As he jumped in the passenger seat, he said, I’m Jack and stretched out his hand.  He’s 18 and this is his college education.  He graduated from high school, came to Port Angeles for a family reunion with his family. When they flew home to Akron, OH he went into the woods for some solo camping. He made it from there to Seattle and from Seattle to Lakewood.  He doesn’t know what he wants to do, so he’s traveling a bit.  He figured why waste his parents hard earned money on a college education when he doesn’t even know who he is or what he wants. Smart kid – he’s getting an education by seeing the world and meeting people.  After a few minutes of introductions and the basics, there was a moment of silence and then Jack, with sincere desire for an answer, asked:

If you could say one thing to your 18-year-old self, what would it be?
I blurted out, “Don’t get married!” I followed that up with what I really meant: listen to yourself.  Don’t ever ignore that voice in your head, the feeling in your gut, the tightness in your throat.  Trust yourself more than you trust anyone else.

When I got married at 18, I knew it was wrong.  That single decision to ignore the sound of my own voice, the tightening in my throat, the feeling in my gut  shut down the voice in my head for the next 27 years.  My voice was silenced and replaced with the desire to please men and their voices became louder than my own.  The next 27 years were spent riding a roller coaster fueled by the lack of ability to hear myself.  It took almost complete devastation, getting my heart broken in a million pieces, having my reputation tarnished and getting physically assaulted before I was broken open enough to once again hear the sound of my own voice.

The past two years have been spent in a great deal of alone time learning to recognize the sound of my own voice, to ask myself what would make me happy and learning to trust in my ability to make decisions.  Learning to once again trust in my gut and respond to the tightness in my throat.  Learning to recognize what I sound like.

In an effort to correct some bad choices, more wounds have been opened but in the end, it’s worth it.  Doing the right thing rather than the easy thing is not painless, but it is much more rewarding.
Jack is coming to hang out after his time in Portland before he takes the next leg in his journey.  I’m proud of both of us for trying something new. Him sticking his thumb out and me sticking my neck out.  I believe I entertained an Angel today.