My Younger Selves Have Questions
Three generations of Rachel convene over Earl Grey
I’m typically behind on trends, and the “I Met My Younger Self for Coffee” thing is no exception.
You might remember this TikTok video prompt. It went viral a couple of months back, taking its inspiration from a poem by Jennae Cecelia. Those who participated largely used it as a call to practice self-compassion; unsurprising given its similarities to the empty chair therapy exercise. It was warm and fuzzy, a rarity for the internet world.
I bookmarked a few examples and resolved to revisit the idea as a writing prompt. Maybe around my birthday. At the time, it was two months away. But now the date has crept up on me. I’ll be twenty-nine on Sunday. And as a person prone to nostalgia—as well as someone slightly terrified to embark on the last year of her twenties—I’ve been thinking a lot about younger me. Multiple versions of her, actually. Eight year-old Rachel. Eighteen year-old Rachel. How would we interact with each other? What might these past iterations ask me? Was there anything I could offer them, or even something they might inspire in me?
We couldn’t go for coffee. I’ve never drank the stuff. But we could convene for high tea. At The Plaza, perhaps. I have always loved an excuse to dress up.
Child Rachel plays hooky from school. She arrives fifteen minutes early, wearing a dress from the American Girl store (it matches her favorite doll) with a ribbon in her dark blonde hair. Teenager Rachel is right on time, albeit a little disheveled from her subway ride uptown. She’s in a see-through white blouse, plaid American Eagle stretch pantsuit, and vintage loafers she won’t admit hurt her feet. She also wasn’t able to speak up to her last stylist and say not to bleach her wavy locks near white. I am a little late but dressed fabulously: petal pink Sister Jane skirt set, metallic magenta platform sandals, my waves a wild blend of red tendrils and strawberry blonde highlights.
“I like your purse,” Childhood Rachel says, pointing to my bag in the shape of a grumpy turtle, “and your bow clip.” It’s the same shade of pink as her ribbon. Teenage Rachel is a fan of my soft cherry lipstick and sparkly nail polish, quite the contrast from her navy manicure and chapstick. I smile, thank them. We take our seats.
The waiter arrives almost immediately to fill the water glasses. Our tardiness has made him nervous, so I order quickly. An Earl Grey for me, Teenage Rachel will take the herbal infusion, and some cold, cold pink lemonade for my childhood self. He takes notes, raising an eyebrow. He seems skeptical that Child Rachel is under twelve and qualifies for the children’s special—she’s nearly five feet tall and going on a hundred pounds—but Teenage Rachel gives him a glare so deadly he dare not question us. She’s still finding her voice, yet stubborn enough not to put up with people’s bullshit. I’m proud of that. It’s something I need to remember to do myself more often. I’m also thankful Child Rachel is too enthralled by the magical New York location to notice the server’s ignorance.
As we wait for the sandwiches, I answer their burning questions. Child Rachel is curious if we survive middle school (“barely”), how our family is doing (“alright”), and if I’m friends with any of her friends (“unless Facebook counts, not really”). She then points at the piercings in the upper cartilage of my ears. “What about those?” Child Rachel cocks her curly head and blinks. “Did they hurt?”
“They hurt less than middle school. That’s for sure.” I smirk over my tea cup. “I got them during a difficult couple of years.” AKA the pandemic. “A delayed rebellion, I guess.”
Teenage Rachel already knows the answer to everything besides the piercings. Her queries are more complicated. Not just if we are accepted to an MFA program but if it’s a good one. “Columbia and Oxford,” I reply, adoring the way her tired eyes open so large they take up half her face. I tell her that radio work will send her to film festivals in Utah and France, plus the next Presidential Inauguration (I spare her the details of who exactly enters office, not once but twice, in her twenties). She worries she won’t find an apartment in Manhattan and I assure her the perfect place will appear sooner than she may think.
When she brings up work, I mention the literary journal she’ll soon start; then the one we’ll edit at Columbia. “I mean paid work,” Teenage Rachel presses. “Like, we do make money, right?”
I pivot to jobs in publishing. The ones with health insurance, not the weird side gigs that will nearly break her spirit. Her nose wrinkles hearing we’re directing something as dull as a sales department. I try to assure her it’s not so bad; the same way I often remind myself.
She’s trying so hard. I want her to know it’s not for nothing.
“You’re going to meet some great friends, too,” I add as the treat-filled tiered tray arrives. “Not everyone will stay in New York, but they’ll still be there for you. And when you visit them in the cool places, it’ll help you earn Delta Platinum status. Win-win, really.”
We dive into the food and the inquisition redirects toward my love life. Both younger Rachels are interested to know if I have a boyfriend. “I do,” I say, watching smiles unfold on their faces. “It’s not anyone you’ve met. You have lots of frogs to kiss first. Which I know sounds terrible, but trust me, it’ll be worth it.”
“Is he cute?” Child Rachel asks dreamily as Teenage Rachel tentatively says, “Is he nice?” I’m happy to tell them he is both. Dark curls and silly dance moves and circular glasses, combined with the comfort and kindness it took me forever to realize I deserve. I can sense they want details, but I don’t want to spoil their ability to experience the joy of falling in love for themselves. “He’s the kind of guy who will draw you bubble baths on long days and hold you when you have a fever and buy you Rangers tickets for Valentine’s Day,” I say, giving them the slightest taste of what’s to come. “He’ll disappoint you occasionally, too, but not as much as the Rangers. I’m sorry to report they haven’t managed to win another Stanley Cup.”
After finishing off the sandwiches, we move onto the scones. I devour the citrus jam. My counterparts try their best to equally share the strawberry spread. The conversation transitions to the things we all love outside of hockey. Green Day songs, romantic comedies, warm and sunny beach days. Turtles, travel, toasted cheese sandwiches. Books, obviously. So many books.
“What about our book?” Child Rachel asks, chocolate glaze coating her lips. She’s the first to have tried the desserts. “Did we ever finish it? Did it get published?”
Teenage Rachel glances toward the ground. She also wants the answer to that question.
My eyes bounce between them. So many things connect the three of us, but nothing greater than this desire. To put our work out into the world in the way we’ve thought of doing since… well, forever. It feels as essential to who we are as our name and our birth date. I don’t know a version of me that isn’t writing. No wonder they think it amounted to more by my late twenties.
It takes me a minute to admit that I’m still working on making a published book a reality. “But I think I’ve finally found the idea.” Reaching for my teacup, I raise it a little into the air. “Shall we toast to that?”
The Rachels nod, bringing their cups to mine.
“To the idea,” Child Rachel says, using both hands to hold her lemonade glass.
“And to Future Rachel,” Teenage Rachel adds as we touch all three cups together with a clink. “May she invite everyone out again soon to celebrate the deal.”
Rachel’s Weekly Recs:
As I prepare for my tenth flight of 2025, I have extra appreciation for my packing cubes, which make it possible to get so much in a suitcase. I was given a Calpak set last Christmas and they’ve made my chaotic, in transit lifestyle much easier.
I put together an Easter basket for my mom and one of my favorite items I included were these Pride and Prejudice post-it notes from Girl of All Work. Follow them on Instagram to see adorable notepads, washi tape, and other office supplies!
They just renewed Grey’s Anatomy for another season, so it felt like the time to start re-watching from the beginning. Tune in for the original cast working their way through residencies, romance, and the rocky world of early 2000s medicine.