
I have a printed book for every year since 2008 containing my blog posts. Recently, I pulled out the earliest ones for a wander through those days.
In September 2008, I wrote about stumbling upon a book one weekend when I was away from home, staying up all night to read it and afterward setting an intention to focus on my writing. “Resurrecting dreams that have lay dormant for far too long,” I said. Four years later, I published my first book, Two Hearts: An Adoptee’s Journey Through Grief to Gratitude (followed by The Presence of Absence and Living Liminal.)
I was struck by the extreme amount of (mostly) work stress I carried back then, how it spilled over into my personal life, and the various strategies I employed to deal with it. Pre-menopause was raging, and there’s a lot about sleepless nights, hot flashes, and general anxiety. Paradoxically, I often wrote about being present in my life outside of the office; the pages were filled with little moments that would have passed by unnoticed. Blogging helped me look for simple delights in ordinary days. It might have saved me!
“Hurry, hurry, hurry, but I can’t tell you why I rush through every task,” I said in 2009 when busyness and stress were catching up to me. A week after writing this, I ended up in the hospital with chest pain. When I was released, I set intentions to slow down, keeping them with mixed results throughout the next few years leading up to our retiring and returning to Canada in 2014.
In some ways, I barely recognize 49-year-old Linda. Those busy, oh-so-stressful years are a blur. Work was all-consuming; I ran an in-person writing group, volunteered for Story Circle Network in various capacities, took classes, plugged away at writing Two Hearts, and lived my life. I found balance in learning to grow vegetables, can and preserve food, taking up photography as a hobby in the spare time I carved out.
When I finished reading 2008 and part of the 2009 book, I set them aside and thought about what I might want to tell my 2008-2009 self. Hang in there. Continue to focus on your endgame, but don’t stop paying attention to what’s in front of you. Some of those dreams you’re nursing will come true in spades. Others won’t. It’s okay.
It’s funny, but I’d have more words of wisdom for 29-year-old Linda, and dang sure for my 19-year-old self. Maybe we learn to trust our choices more as we get older, realizing that if they’re made thoughtfully rather than by default, they will lead us in the direction we set our course for. Corrections will be required. Reevaluation of priorities, too. But, as the saying goes, you can’t steer a ship that’s standing still.
Was the pressure I felt in those crazy-busy years worth it? If I had known then what I know now, would I choose a different path? Well, sure, there are some situations where I’d make a different choice but overall, yes, I’d do it all again. I’m the kind of person who will eat the thing I like least on my plate first, leaving the best for last. Short term pain, long term gain.
One of the gifts of growing older is the opportunity to look back and evaluate choices you’ve made. (We finally have time to do that!) I’d love to be able to go wa-a-y back and correct course but, even in that, all those experiences came together to give me the life I’m grateful to enjoy now and make me the woman I am. No regrets.
How about you? When you look back at years gone by what do you see? Any words of wisdom for younger you? Or present day you?

Here’s a couple of recent posts you may have missed.


I’m right with you, Linda! But the woman I am today cannot tell my younger self anything. My younger self, however, can speak volumes.
This is an interesting question to ponder, Carole. What would my younger self say to me now? Hmmm. Going to chew on that a bit.
Congratulations on your WordPress gallery.
I don’t print blog posts but I do download files of all my content, just as I did today. However, I do write daily in my gratitude book. Written in longhand, these books are multiplying on my shelf–bunches of them! I believe it would be time well spent reading the earliest on forward.
I imagine rereading your handwritten gratitude journals would, indeed, be time well spent, Marian. Such treasures.