Messy Hair, Cozy Beanies, and a Steady Thread
Seeing yourself side by side with your younger self is surreal—especially when the years in between have included a lot of life. On the left: me at 20—shaggy-haired, beanie-wearing, grinning with the kind of wide-eyed joy that only comes from being very, very young. On the right: me at 39, still shaggy-haired, still in a beanie, still smiling—but now with a joy that’s quieter and steadier.
At 20, I held a thread of possibility that stretched far ahead of me. I couldn’t yet see how it would weave through my life, but that’s what made it incredible. My younger self was braver than she realized, harsh in ways I’ve softened, and tender in ways I’ve learned to protect. That thread carried me, growing stronger and never breaking.
The slightly unkempt hair felt deliberate then, and the beanie was a quirky accessory for midnight snacks and sprawling conversations about life. Now, at 39, the thread hasn’t frayed, but it’s changed. It’s less about chasing every possibility and more about weaving something steady and lasting. The chaotic hair? I’ve stopped pretending it’s a choice. The beanie? It’s more for keeping warm while swigging a can of Diet Pepsi than quirky style.
The bittersweet part of aging is seeing what’s been gained alongside what’s been lost. There’s an ache in looking at the 20-year-old me and realizing how unformed she was—how much she didn’t know about what was coming. But there’s also pride. She carried me here, and I can see how much of her joy remains, even if it looks different now.
So much of me is still the same. In current me, the beanie is different, the hair is grayer, and the smile carries a gravitas young me couldn’t have understood. But the thread? That’s the constant. At 20, it pulled me through late-night debates about books I hadn’t read yet and all-consuming relationships I thought would last forever. At 39, it wraps around what I care for most—building a home, caring for my community. What once felt like a single strand—thin but unbreakable—has become a tapestry, woven with losses and joys and everything in between.
These photos feel like a mirror of continuity—a reminder that everything changes. I see the 20-year-old me and want to tell her she doesn’t have to prove so much, that it’s okay to not know yet. In response, I think she’d look at both of us together and smile—shaggy hair, beanie, and all.
And the thread? It’s still taut with possibility.
Update About My Posting Schedule
Starting this week, I’ll be posting here on Substack three times a week: Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Why the change? I want to make sure every piece feels intentional, impactful, and worth your time.
This Saturday, I’ll be sharing one of my most personal reflections yet—on grief, connection, and how we process lingering emotions in the wake of loss. I hope you’ll join me for it.
Thank you for being here and engaging with my work—it means the world to me. As always, feel free to share your thoughts or let me know what resonates. See you again this Saturday!