Time to Say “See you Later”

My retirement came as a shock to my employer, co-workers, family, and me. I didn’t think I’d ever retire. But I did, at the age of sixty-eight. I’m not ready for leisure and know I would make a lousy golfer. So, I continued writing design blogs. After two years, those stories started drying up. The next thing I knew, I started having a should-I-keep-doing-this conversation. As a design blogger, I avoided writing personal stories about myself. I always thought my job was to tell a design story, not be the story. So, I started thinking more and more about the book I started writing eleven years ago. I ended up putting the manuscript away because writing it caused periods of grief. Whenever I dug up early memories that I buried long ago, all the heavy pain and humiliation came rushing back.

Recently, while in a gift shop, I stumbled upon a captivating make-believe storybook. The beautifully illustrated book is about a child who isn’t sure what to make of a chance encounter and discovers that amazing things can happen when you have courage, take chances, and say yes to new experiences. This book spoke to me.

In this storybook, a child is visited by his first chance, and unsure what to do with it, he lets it go. Later, when a new chance arrives, he reaches for it, but this time, he misses and falls. Embarrassed and afraid, he begins ignoring each new opportunity, even though he still wants to take them. Then, one day, he realizes that he doesn’t need to be brave all the time, just at the right time to discover what amazing things can happen when he takes a chance.

Now that I’m retired, I’ve pondered my life and how I lived it. My life is a story within a story within another story.

This brings me back to the child in the storybook. I decided to dust off my manuscript and unearth the stories somebody must tell. I’ve decided to write a book about me. I don’t have any childhood journals to revisit. Our memories are imperfect. But the chronicles of my life in this book will recount, as truthfully as possible, how I remember things and how they felt. That said, the narrative will tell my experience from the point of view of a scared and traumatized child and how I came out on the other side. It’ll be a story about healing, forgiving, and moving on.

The thing about real people is we all go through embarrassing moments of failures, disappointments, and challenges before we succeed. Those stories are the ones that shape us and make us who we are. I finally put away my fear and embarrassment. I’m now taking the advice of friends and writing a memoir. My story may make a difference to someone.

While thinking of a prologue for my book, an idea was born: an open letter to my younger self. Here it is:

Dear 10-year-old Shelly,

            You’re—we’re—going to write another book, like we did before. Yes, yes, we have a published book. And that’s not the only thing I know about your life that you don’t know yet. A lot of what will happen to you will teach you important lessons. You had to learn the hard way. There are so many things I want to tell you; it’s hard to know where to start. Allow me to begin with a story about when you were small and felt out of place, unwanted, and unloved.

            Being born hearing impaired proves to be a challenge. I know you hate it, feeling embarrassed when you ask someone for the sixth time what they say. And the childhood stares. It is as if the piece you wear behind your ear flashes signals, saying, “Hey, look at me!” I’m not going to sit here and tell you it gets better. Because it doesn’t, you will eventually lose all of your hearing. Being deaf is part of who you are. Lesson number one: Mom and Dad knew nothing of raising a hard-of-hearing, sensitive child with a tender heart. They didn’t understand your needs. God does not make mistakes.

            I’m sorry that you didn’t get the care you needed in our childhood. You should have been loved unconditionally by Mom and Dad. I’m going to be 100% honest with you. I wish I could tell you that life will get easier. Lesson number two: You can do hard things. There will be times in life that are hard. But you are so much stronger than you know. You are resilient and wiser than you give yourself credit. Don’t ever forget this. There will be times when life will be unbearable and unpredictable, and you will question it all. But God has great plans for you. You will do amazing things in this life.

            Your early obsession with reading, writing, and decorating will pay off. You will become an interior designer. My favorite thing about what you do for a living is that, even though you are the designer, the customers are real people. Imagine if I told you that someday you will write blogs about real people’s lives and homes. Your website is listed in “The 50 Best Interior Design Blogs” and ranks number sixteen! Lesson three: Listen to your heart, regardless of your age. Almost everyone will try to talk you out of pursuing your dreams. Listen to the few who encourage you to follow those dreams.

             You will fall in love more than once. I’m not trying to sell you on some fairy tale here. You’re not going to meet a knight in shining armor. But what then? You’ll meet a man when you’re not looking for one. You’re going to make some dumb decisions and make some foolish mistakes. I could point out all the pitfalls, but that wouldn’t do you much. Lesson number four: But again, God has a plan.

            You’re going to experience tragedy that will scorch you to your core. I know you don’t understand life and why this happened to you. Lesson number five: Stay strong and know you will go through one of the most challenging things I have witnessed.

            I know this is a lot to take in, but you deserve to know that you matter, are deeply loved, and will make a difference in the world.

            Love,

            Michele

It is not easy to say goodbye, but I want to commit to finishing my book. I’m finding great peace today, knowing I can thank you, readers, for your years of dedication, readership, and friendship. I’ve had a great and long career. I’ve been blessed to work with wonderful people and meet amazing customers.

So, with a heavy yet humble heart, I thank you and say, “I’ll see you later.”