We were beautiful, but we didn’t fully know it or appreciate it back then. We were brilliant but not always sure of what exactly to do with our brilliance. We were lost most of the time, undecided of what to do and unsure of what was to come. Our twenties contained multiple milestones, always followed by what seemed like setbacks. It’s looking back now and realizing how those setbacks were much needed lessons. And realizing how good we had it back then. How pure and simple those friendships were. How those “twenty-something-year-old stresses” were really nothing to stress about. Not knowing how much harder life would get. How resilient you were and how that resilience would be needed for years to come-- after you got that diploma, earned that degree, and ventured out of that small college town. Not knowing what your future held. Not knowing where to go or what to do next. Interviewing for jobs you had no business applying to, with little- to no experience or qualifications. Being offered jobs you weren’t prepared to take. Taking jobs that you weren’t ready for. The world was eager to knock you down every chance it got—making you weep like a baby into your upper twenties. Making you really miss your childhood days. Making you realize how fragile you in fact are and how invincible you are not.

It was that nagging voice in the back of your mind that popped up any time you had a single second to yourself—while driving your car, walking your dog, vacuuming your apartment—it was the voice that begged the questions: Who am I really? Why am I here? What is my purpose? You did your best to tie it all to your profession, in a perfect bow—not knowing that’s only part of the puzzle, but it isn’t all of it.

You blink and your thirty.

Just last week, my sons had one of their friends over for a playdate. I watched from the kitchen sink window as they ran outside to play in our backyard. Within seconds I spotted their friend lowering our ten foot basketball hoop. I stepped outside and asked her what she was doing. Although she is older, taller and very athletic, she was convinced that she wouldn’t be able to shoot on anything higher than seven feet.

“But I’ve never shot on a ten foot hoop before,” she pleaded.

My sons didn’t argue this, as she was our guest, but I did. In this moment I saw my younger self in her: the girl who rejected all sports because I knew I wouldn’t be the best at any of them (and where’s the fun in that?). The girl who didn’t own a Nintendo set so refused to play Super Mario Kart at sleepovers because I didn’t want to lose. The girl who often knew the answer in class but was too nervous to raise her hand, fearing getting it wrong and being embarrassed. I was always the first one to shut myself down, to give up and to tell myself “you can’t”.

I washed the dishes and watched as the kids played a game of knockout—with the hoop set to ten feet. I was proud of my sons for encouraging their friend whenever she missed a shot and for also cheering her on when she made it. Twenty minutes later, they came back inside, drenched in sweat and ready for popsicles. The girl entered with the biggest smile on her face, proudly announcing to me that she won. I told her I wasn’t surprised, that I knew she could do it. She just had to try.

We teach our children early on how to play and get along with others. To share. To include everyone, always. To apologize, even if they didn’t do anything wrong. To accept others apologies, even if they are given begrudgingly. To go with the flow. To be agreeable. To not tattletale. To shake it off. To hug it out. To keep the peace. Here’s the thing—when do we admit to our children that they actually don’t need to be everyone’s friend? At what age do children no longer need to include those whom they don’t wish to be with? When will they figure out that they don’t have to accept insincere apologies from repeat offenders? That some ‘friends’ aren’t really friends at all. That the most important relationship they will ever have in life is actually the one they have with themselves.

When I was a little girl I had big dreams, as most kids do. I wanted to be many things--a teacher, a singer, a dancer—I even think at some point I wanted to travel around the world working for Greenpeace rescuing sea animals. I remember being in the first grade and making a video with my class where each child had to answer the question: what do you want to be when you grow up? Most kids gave the typical answers you’d expect: I want to be a teacher. I want to be a doctor. I want to be a police officer. Then one girl on the video said she wanted to be a horse. Watching the video on the morning announcements later that week you could hear the whole school burst into laughter—Jennifer wants to be a horse. How funny. Doesn’t she know you can’t grow up and become a horse?!