You Weren’t Dumb; You Were 14

Sometimes, I reread something I wrote a year ago and think it is the worst thing anybody has ever put to paper. Sometimes it takes less time than that. I remember working on a long piece of writing about The Smile Project Road Trip, editing and re-editing over and over. Then, excitedly, I showed it to my road trip co-pilot, who also happens to be my best friend and go-to editor on writing of all kinds. Immediately, we pegged a sentence so truly terrible that we quote it to each other still to this day. That only took about a month.

Years ago, I was working with someone about a decade younger than me and with someone else about three decades older than me. The younger person had made a mistake. The older person was convinced it was malicious or intentionally misleading. My take was that they weren’t evil, they were just young and had never done it before.

Every day I am grateful that social media—while it existed—was not the same all-encompassing thing now that it was when I was in high school. The simple fact that I didn’t get a smartphone until I was almost out of college is testament to this. When I think back to who I was at 17, I often cringe. And yet, when I think back to who I was at 27, I do the same. Which has lead me to a core belief that is meant to honor and recognize progress and stop fear of looking silly from running my life:

You weren’t dumb, you were just 14. 

You weren’t stupid, you just didn’t have access to all the information. 

You weren’t annoying, you had just never been at this crossroads before. You hadn’t yet had to make this decision.

Oh let’s not get ahead of ourselves. None of this is to excuse bad behavior. And also none of this is to shame the goofy, funny, maybe-embarrassing things I’ve done in the name of growing up or falling in love or trying and failing. This also isn’t to sound like the older generation talking down to the younger one. I have so much love and respect for all the young people I’ve had the opportunity to work with.

This is to give ourselves grace. This is to give ourselves permission. This is to forgive ourselves.

I’m sure if I scroll far enough back, I’ll find blogs that are so horribly written I want to pull my teeth out. And on that logic, I imagine some day, I’ll look back and roll my eyes at this. But I’m giving myself permission to write it anyway. To write it knowing that someday I might not like the style or the syntax. 

Beyond writing, I don’t have to look far back in my personal decision making to find some real questionable calls. Again, this isn’t about dodging accountability. But maybe there is space for forgiveness as well. For acceptance. For knowing that you did the best you could with what you had in the moment. For knowing that sure, you might do it a little differently now, but hey you were a kid. But hey you were younger. But hey you know better now. 

I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while—unsure how to thread the needle between acknowledging my own growth without looking like I’m hating on the next generation. Please know the latter is not my intention. Rather what I am trying to convey is I’m sure 40-year-old me will think this 31-year-old version is getting all kinds of things wrong. 

And maybe that’s the thing about growing up. I like my life. I like the way I spend my time and the people that surround me. I generally feel really good. And at the same time, I know that most all writing (and maybe then, all living) can be improved. And that five months or five years from now, I might have some harsh critiques on the way things were. 

All this is to say, I hope, for my fellow Millennial readers, you can forgive yourself, love yourself, and be unafraid to keep trying. And for the amazingly inspirational generation coming up behind us, I hope one day you too can look back and smile at the many lives you’ve lived and the ones you’ve left behind.