To the girl we saw at CookOut last night:

I’m sorry.

I wish I had asked for a moment of your time, a chance to sit down with you for a minute and talk. But I was intimidated.

Not by your nose ring and tat.  (The tat was pretty awesome, actually.)  And not because you looked like you could kick my ass in a bar fight.  It’s just that you’re so young.

It’s weird to be on this side of it – to remember my time in your skin like it was yesterday, but to know that to you I’m just some middle-aged lady who walked in with her husband and kids.  Someone who probably drives a minivan and volunteers for the PTA.  Someone old.

So we ordered and I sat down with the kids while BrightSide waited near you for our food.

But if I had it to do over again, I’d say the hell with it and sit next to you.  I’d shove aside my own insecurities and tell you it gets better.

It gets better than better.  It gets good.

I’m hoping the fact that you’re wearing cut-offs that don’t hide your scars means you’ve worked your way to a better place.  But if you’re not – if the world still feels so overwhelming that sometimes you reach for a razor – I’d tell you to hang on and wait for the good.  Because we’ve all walked through the fire and, God willing, come out the other side.

And it’s a place worth working toward.