In case you missed it last week, here’s the photo collage I posted on my Instagram feed for #transformationtuesday:
Or maybe, not that crazy. Other than straighter teeth, a longer face, and better hair, the older Me isn’t too different from the younger Me:
- My hair still insists on getting in my face as much as possible.
- I still love color coordination. (Then: Shirt to socks/scrunchie. Now: Clothes/shoes to nail polish/lipstick.)
- I still have the nose of a bloodhound. (When I was little, I could smell cooked rice from the backyard. Today, I can distinguish the aroma of chicken from that of pork.)
- I still eat as much as a person twice my size.
- When I was a kid, I wanted to be some kind of scientist (archeologist/paleontologist/marine biologist). At the age of 23, I became one (chemist).
- I still am chatty and easily excitable.
It’s amusing, the things below the surface that have endured through 20 years of challenges and change. Perhaps, as suggested by novels and tumblr motivational quotes, there is a person that I am “supposed” to be. If not, then at least some characteristics of my childhood have been worth hanging on to:
- I’m stubborn as an ass. Once I set my mind on a task or an idea, changing it is difficult. (But old age has, of course, made me open to compromise.)
(Most of the time.)
- I dream big.
- I am competitive and a perfectionist.
- I don’t believe anyone who tells me I cannot do something.
My roommate asked me the other night if I would like to relive a younger age. To be honest, absolutely not, but I like to believe that Young Me would think Now Me is a pretty cool person.
*I am totally kidding.