Advice to my twenty-year-old self

You can't go back and make a new start, but you can start right now and make a brand new ending.

James Sherman, Rejection

I can’t say I wasn’t warned. I mean, my dad did say to me, ‘Christina, one day you’re 35; you blink, and then there you are, flashing your senior’s pass, seeing films at half price.’ I always thought my father was kidding, as he did about most things in his life, but nope, as I discovered, he was as serious as a case of shingles.

It’s an interesting platform, your fifties, from which to reflect on life. There is an abundance of things to look forward to, plenty of runway left, and a ton of life experience to act as guidance. Many of us have children who are young adults and have launched or are well on their way. There are likely some regrets, but hopefully they’re few, and perhaps some could even be reframed as life lessons. And likely, like me, there’s been at least once instance of heartbreak, when it’s been impossible to consider if the tiny fragments would ever find their way back together again.

The weird thing is that emotionally, I still feel like I’m in my twenties … until I hang out with twenty-years-olds. Then it’s like, Nope, I’m most definitely not twenty. I get slapped with that reality every time I hang out with my daughters and their friends, or when I take one step inside Soho House. Their language is different, how they communicate is different, and don’t get me going on their abundance of energy. As I stretch, yawn, ask for the bill and say, ‘Wow, is it that time already?’ they’re just getting started. They use terms I don’t understand, like ‘hunty’, ‘turnt’, ‘OG’, bae’, ‘ratchet’, ‘bougie’ and ‘Netflix and chill’, which, by the way, has nothing to do with hanging out and binge-watching The Crown. I guess every generation has its own thing, like secret passwords granting you access into a private club. Although the moment I try and throw out a word or two – you know, to show I’m still cool – there’s an immediate cringe-worthy look, accompanied by: a ‘Mom, don’t ever use the word “baller” again.’

So nope, I’m no longer twenty, and I’m not going to lie, not all of it is great, this getting older thing. I honestly fear that every time I eat popcorn, I might crack a tooth on an un-popped kernel, or I sometimes wake up with an unexplained injury just from sleeping weird. And if I had known that the last time I got ID-ed would be the last time ever, I would’ve brought along a news crew and documented it. Seriously! I’m a television producer, I can make that s*** happen.

But as I sit here writing this, grateful that wrinkles don’t hurt (physically), I’ll be honest with you, it’s not all bad. I’m no longer as vain or concerned about my looks as I was back then. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t completely given up. It’s not like my iPhone’s face recognition, in confusion, doesn’t unlock my phone anymore, but I don’t worry about my appearance in the same way as I used to. And here’s a newsflash for you, it’s not because I’m skinnier or hotter in my fifties than I was in my forties or thirties – my neck alone would tell you that. Rather, I am nicer and more accepting and forgiving of who I am and who I am definitely not. I still love squeezing into my sexy Hervé Léger dress and getting a big’n’bouncy blow-out, but it will never be like it once was, and you know what, I’m good with that. My sense of self comes from the inside these days, more than from a sensational pair of Jimmy Choos that I remove the moment I’m in the Uber. Nope, I’m not even waiting until I get home anymore. My eyesight might not be 20/20, but I can see things with a clearer perspective and through a kinder and gentler lens.

It’s been said that life’s tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late. So, as I reflect on my many rotations around the sun, I ask myself, If I could go back in time, what advice would I give to my twenty-year-old self? You know, beyond warning her that it’ll take a whole week to recover from a hangover, and that hair will grow where it shouldn’t.

Here’s what I’d say:

• Stop worrying. Ninety-nine per cent of the things you’ve worried about have never happened.
• Use sunscreen (and look younger than your friends). I know my twenty-year-old self would find it most useful knowing that Hawaiian Tropic coconut tanning oil (SPF 0) and a face reflector board are not her friends.
• Relationships will not make you happy unless you are first happy with yourself. So choose to be happy. You have lots to be happy about but are just too young to realize it yet.
• It’s OK to un-choose your choices.
• Not all friendships are meant to last a lifetime, or even past high school.
• You will have your heart shattered into a million pieces, and you will not only survive, but you will thrive.
• Trust your gut feelings. They are your guardian angels.
• Never pluck your eyebrows.
• Meditation works. Oh, wait, sorry, I meant medication.
• Take yourself on, not others. You’ve got this.
• Find gratitude for what you have. Be aware, humble and grateful. You’re so fortunate.
• Tell your parents you love them … often. Take them for dinner, say ‘thank you’. They’ll never get tired of hearing ‘I love you’, and one day you would give anything to tell them one more time.
• Don’t dread getting older. It is a privilege denied to many.

Here’s another thing I would drum into that much younger me. As you go through this road trip we call life, choose your soundtrack wisely. The music surrounding you has frickin’ magical powers.

Take home your own copy of In Search of Mr. Darcy: https://www.insearchofmrdarcy.com/