These beautiful girls to my left and my right call me something that very few people do.
They call me Susie.
You see, I haven’t always been a Susan. For the first 18 years of my life until the first day of my freshman year of college, I was a Susie. It was in that first class the professor called roll and asked us to give him the name by which we preferred to be called, so I told him “Susan” because it sounded so grown up and sophisticated and like I could wear a chignon with perfect ease (which I’ve never been able to do because I don’t have the patience to grow my hair out or the gene that allows me to casually twist my hair into a perfect bun that I could spear with a pencil or a nearby chopstick). I thought changing my name would give me a new identity, a new lease on this brand new grown up world I was entering. Besides, I was new in town and no one knew me, so what did it matter?
Somedays it matters.
It matters on the days when life feels like it’s getting complicated and I want to return to the safe and the familiar.
It matters on the days when I feel like no one really “gets” me.
It mattered this week.
To Lynna and Becca, I am still Susie. I’m still freckle-faced and wrinkle free young and without a care in the world. I’m still full of hope for better things to come. The future still open to possibility. In the precious minutes we shared over lunch yesterday, it was home, it was comfort, it was ease. It was freedom to be who I’ve always been.
Ready to tackle the world with that spunky spirit that somehow got beaten around a little.
Because life sometimes is anything but simple, fresh, and uncomplicated.
It refreshed my spirit to be with ones that know my stories, know my childhood friends, love my family, and love me. And I love them right back, because I messed with their pacifiers when they were little, and shared boy-crazy moments with them, and loved their parents almost as though they were my own.
It was home.
I was Susie.
If only for a moment.
Have a nice day,