Jury of My Past Selves
On personal evolution, harsh self-judgment, and making my younger selves proud.
I wanna live for many years
Make a promise to the plenty
Show up for the versions of myself that I have yet to meet
Like how are you, it’s me1
When I look in the mirror, I occasionally stop to think about how little my appearance has changed over the last decade or so, even though so much else has.
Most days, I chalk it up to the fact that I’m still sporting my signature box braids. If you look closely enough, you’ll notice that they’re thinner and shorter than the ones that I wore when I was younger. In daily life, people don’t look that closely at me, (or anybody) though.
After a customary cursory glance, people often tell me how young I look, how great my skin is, that they love my hair, and/or that they can really see one or both of my parents in me.
I look more like my mom when my hair is blown out. My skin tone more closely resembles my father’s. And my skin is pretty great. And I’m still quite young.
But I’m not 16, or 18, or 22, or even 26 anymore. I’m certainly not 13 (even though I could probably still play a preteen in a musical.) I am not any of these past selves, though they all brew within me.
I sometimes picture all of my past selves standing in a line, judging me. People always reference how proud your past selves would be if they could see you now, and see how far you've come.
But a lot of the time, I really don’t feel like I deserve their pride, awe, or amazement. I haven’t gone as far as they thought we would. I’ve gone in all sorts of zig zag directions collecting accomplishments and accolades that aren’t enough for them. They only care about what I lack.