Future Reminiscing: A Way of Life

Thanks for everything you've done for me, Lisa Frank.

As a kid, I had the cutest sticker collection. Sheets of Lisa Frank rainbow animals kicked it off and quickly it expanded into more sheets with prints that glowed in the dark, smelled when scratched and sniffed, or glittered with or without the help of the sun… though I even had some that changed color in the sun, too. I even indulged in the expensive 3D ones at a certain point. I may have had an entire playable game of Monopoly–each piece an individual mini sticker. For a while, they loosely shuffled around each time I opened the bottom drawer of my nightstand before I finally upgraded to a binder, organizing them by style, season, or theme. The home my precious rainbow leopards deserved.

I never actually intended to have a sticker collection, though. I bought them with the full intention to do something with them. I thought I’d add them to birthday cards for friends and family, decorate my notebooks for school, or stick them somewhere they could be shared. And yet, I didn’t use the stickers. They just sat there: unused and unseen. I don’t even have any idea what became of that binder. 

On the night before my 29th birthday, some 17 years after my last sighting of the sticker binder, I wrote myself a letter of intent for the next year–the next decade–to come. The intention in the letter was to write more for myself, since I had somehow fallen out of it. I spent six academic years writing my way through two language degrees, and have reached a point in which my freelance career is built on creative copy. And yet, for too much of my 20s my writing became completely devoted to someone else’s voice. Yes, yes, ghostwriting or copywriting for someone else pays the bills, but I missed writing without the confines of someone else’s brand or topic, and just doing it for fun. I mean… I wouldn’t have pivoted my career to words had I not first fallen in love with them for pure fun. 

In my letter to myself before turning 30, I promised I’d start sharing my writing. I’ve spent 30 years collecting memories–stories–for future reminiscing. Doing, trying, meeting, feeling, failing, crying, laughing… because why not? And with my intentions for 30, I’m going to do something with them that I didn’t do with my stickers: share.

So here I am, sharing the stories that I’m used to telling over dinner and coffee, with the internet.

With the people I’ve had an entire relationship with in the cheese section at Trader Joe’s one Sunday (how was that gouda?).

With the close friends I see every week who haven’t yet learned about my 11 lives before this one (are we still on for brunch this Friday?).

With family who I see more often on Instagram than in reality these days (please pet your dogs for me). 

With the people from any of those past lives, who can’t help but click out of curiosity, whether or not they’re really interested (I’d love to hear from you regardless).

With the people I don’t know, who may reach out to tell me they relate (aw, yay, let’s be virtual friends!), or that this is stupid and boring and I should stop (ha no but thanks for engaging). 

With the people who I may never know, who might not even know how they ended up here (happy to have you even if for the moment).

Thank you for making it this far.

Tune in for semi-regular newsletters to live vicariously through the tales from my life and experiences, from international travel escapades to the ways I find stories in the mundanity of daily life. If you see yourself in them, please stop by and say hi. 👋🏽

I’m excited to see what happens. ✨