Brunch with Becks is an ongoing weekend series where I wax poetic on tales from my life starting with the 9 Truths. Yes, I too can’t comprehend that all these odd occurrences have happened to me.
I promise I'll get back to the 9 Truths soon. I wrote this post back in May on my iPhone.
I have a little girl watching over me.
She is me. I am her.
She makes me stronger. She screams, "don't tell me what I can't do!" She wonders what happened to my childlike wonder. She asks me about my dreams and can't comprehend my difficulties.
She is me. I am her.
For many years I kept a picture of her close by. She sat on my bedside table, watching me as I slept. She was the first thing I saw in the morning. That little girl is porcelain perfect.
She is me.
My three-year-old self was amazing. She could do anything. For a while she wanted to be an Olympic swimmer. Then she had thoughts of being a psychiatrist just like the fictional Marlena Evans.
Her family told her to write.
Dreams.
That little girl in the plaid dress—holding a lamb—with a locket around her neck—made me stronger. She reminded me not to settle but to dream. To know anything was possible.
She was my reminder to be who I needed to be—who I wanted to be. Every morning I would look at that little girl and knew I had to do more. Be better. That little girl wanted the world, how could I deny her?
So, every day I try and live up to her dreams.
What can I tell you about her?
She was devoted to her parents—they are still her heroes—and her family. True friendship means the world to her but her heart has been blackened by betrayal. Now it takes longer to really know her. She longed to find true love. She found it!
But she's still trying to find out why she's here.
She loves Detroit.
I've kept her in the frame for all these years because she is pretty and polished and cute. All the things that I'm not anymore.
With age, come wrinkles and moles and brown spots. Spots of disappointment and heartache. Bad decisions and good decisions.
But when you're 3 or 4? It's sun-kissed skin, yellow polka dot bikinis, a hand to hold and a puppy to love. And even the biggest dreams seem possible.
I am her. She is me.
After two years of her not being on my bedside table, I need to find her again. She can do anything. She is amazing.
She is me. But am I still her?