Monday meditation
What your nine-year-old self would say...
Today is Day 11 of my writing challenge to myself: twenty to thirty minutes first thing in the morning, about whatever my imagination lands on. This exercise gives me my own place to stand. I’m sharing my results here.
Today’s writing time went in a different direction than usual. I found myself thinking about my nine-year-old self, her writing ambitions, and how she would feel about where I am now. It turned into a bit of a reflection about midlife, looking backward and forward along the path.
You’re forty-six. Some days, that feels young. Some days, the landmark “fifty” feels a little too close for comfort. (In your head, you’re maybe thirty-two, and suspect you might stay that way.)
These days, you notice more silver hair. At first, those couple of strands you found were remarkable oddities. Now, you notice a new strand or two most days. You notice new lines and wrinkles. When you look at photos of yourself from seven or eight years ago, you see how that “you” looks distinctly younger. Her hair seems perceptibly redder…although comparing a June 2018 photo against a January 2026 one might not be quite fair. But you never thought about those changes before.
“Fifty” is a landmark, for sure. Forty didn’t bother you much; you were dealing with some big challenges back then, and the transition out of the thirties didn’t feel all that important. Forty-five hit a little deeper. Fifty, coming up around the next big curve in the road, feels like a point where you need to look closely at what you’ve done so far and would still like to do. Time isn’t infinite. It never was, of course, but ten or twenty years ago, that was easy to forget.
You’re inclined to unflattering self-evaluation: or call it shame. Have I done enough? How do I measure up? When you get caught up in value systems that focus on “career ladders” and balance sheets that measure worth (or lack thereof), you’re scared that you’ve never done very much at all.
Here is where your nine-year-old self comes in.
She always wanted to be a writer. In fact, it was the first thing she ever wanted to be. Books were her escape and haven; writers were her heroes. She fantasized about writing books someday. (She actually did write a couple of what she called books. Granted, they were maybe a dozen pages each, handwritten on legal pads, but it was definitely a start.) Once, in fourth grade, a teacher mentioned “publication,” and nine-year-old you went straight up into the clouds. To have something published! Imagine that!
What would she, that nine-year-old, say now?
Suppose she went into your office and saw the cardboard box full of your books, ready to be packed for events or shipped to new readers. You sometimes find yourself thinking, more than you’d like, about sales numbers, and you know you’re inclined to draw false equivalencies between popularity and quality. Your nine-year-old self hasn’t learned to think that way. For her, the books themselves would be the start and finish, the only things that count.
Suppose she could pick up copies of your books, run her hand over the covers, turn the pages and look at all those words. Your words.
What would she feel? That thoughtful, shy child who often liked books better than people – they were surely safer – and had dreams that nobody, back then, much understood?
She might have trouble believing her eyes. Look at this! Real books, with real covers. She might ask you, We really did this? You could tell her, Yes. We did.
She would be so proud. If you sit with that knowledge, you can feel her excitement and joy in your own body, sparkling along your veins.
You, who stand here thirty-seven years later, so often doubting and questioning yourself: you still have plenty of things you want to do. That’s a good thing. Especially if you can put aside those imaginary balance sheets and ladders, and choose your next steps because they matter to you. It’s good to have dreams and goals.
It’s important, though, not to lose sight of how far you’ve come. As you stand here now, you can know you did right by your nine-year-old self. You stood by her dreams and never forgot them. They always mattered.
She would be proud of you. That matters too.
I found this really helpful to write. If it feels like a good exercise, I invite you to take a few minutes and reflect on what your younger self, at nine or any age, might think/feel about where you are now in your life. If you’d like to share any of those reflections in the comments, I’d love to read them.
About A Place to Stand:
I started this column in hopes of creating a bit of space and sharing light in challenging times. Drawing on my own experience as a trauma survivor, I offer meditative exercises using creative writing and music, my two professional/artistic pursuits. I also share some of my own writing and thoughts on the creative process. You can find out more about me and my work at my website.
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