Dear Diary

While I was cleaning out my closets last week I came across this stack of diaries...

Back in junior high and high school I was pretty diligent about recording every. single. detail. of my day in these little notepads.  While Ryan was playing basketball on Wednesday night I spent the evening reliving my days as a Riverview Pirate and, honestly, it was a little eye opening.  I tend to remember these years only as fun and carefree, but as I read back through my words I was struck by the number of pages that felt sad, lonely and misunderstood.  I know diaries are a bit like therapists in that we tend to pour out our hearts when times get tough, but I'm pretty sure that re-reading these will help me be a little more understanding next time I get caught in an elevator with some loud, obnoxious girls at the mall, find myself next to an awkward teen couple at the theater or most importantly, when my own boys reach adolescence.

I'm double the age I was when I wrote the majority of these entries, so when I got to the end of my last diary and found I had a few pages left, I decided I would offer up a little "Back to the Future" advice for my 15-year-old self:

Being a teenager is hard...

for everyone.  It doesn't matter if you're pretty, zitty, tall, small, athletic or pathetic at sports.  Anyone that doesn't admit to having really tough days as a teen is either lying - or is Beyonce (but she was home-schooled, so that doesn't count).  Take comfort in knowing that although the issues may vary, all of your peers are dealing with their own.

Do you think Solange voted for Beyonce to get the "best-dressed" award?

There are lots of guys (or girls) in the world...

that don't go to your high school.  3.4 billion to be exact(ish).  So while I know it might feel like your world is falling apart because x asked y to prom instead of u, believe it or not there is a very good chance you will have forgotten entirely about x after your first year month week day of college.  You will come to learn that although some high school sweethearts do live happily ever after, it's the exception, not the rule.  Enjoy flirting and dances and going on dates, but in your case, Prince Charming doesn't show up until after college so don't lose too much sleep about guys just yet.

I think my entire graduating class may have fit under those Pepsi umbrellas in the bottom left corner.

Your Mom loves you... 

even though it might feel like she is nosy and difficult and stricter than all the other moms.  I know you think she is listening in on some of your phone calls (she is) and that you're convinced she doesn't like the older "bad boy" you're crushing on (she doesn't) - but it's all because she loves you and doesn't want to see you get hurt.  At some point during college, when you're 1,300+ miles from home, she'll become your best friend.  Then, one day when you have your own kids you'll finally get a glimpse into what a mother's love really means and you'll start to understand why it's okay that you're the only one that's not allowed to hang out at the Ramada Inn after prom (you're not) and why your curfew is way earlier than everyone else's (just enjoy your sleep while you can).

"Dani, nothing good happens at the Ramada Inn."

You will not remember which games you won and lost...

but you will never forget what it felt like to be a part of team and to push your body to the point of absolute exhaustion.  Put every ounce of energy you have into your game or race, but know that one day soon you'll have a hard time remembering who won the championship, let alone each game.  What you will recall is your Dad showing up early with a giant hug and the game shoes you forgot by the back door - or mouth guard or sports bra or (insert additional forgotten gear here).  Same goes for those early, chilly sunrises you are treated to as you row, half-asleep, up the Detroit River with one of your dearest friends from childhood.  Cherish those practices because you won't remember who crossed the finish line first on race day.

How's that for a shot of Detroit?

When something doesn't feel right, speak up...

again and again and again until someone is able to help you.  In your case, it will be a giant, basketball-sized cyst in your abdomen that won't be diagnosed until the end of your junior year.  You already know something isn't right, because you write about it every ten pages, so don't feel bad speaking up to the doctor, even if she says you look healthy.  Ask if there are other tests they can run and give them a list of all the dates that you have woken up puking your guts out and reeling in pain. Be a drama queen.  You're good at that.
*This doesn't just go for physical ailments either.  If you know someone that is depressed or being bullied or abused, tell someone (and keep telling people you trust until the right person steps in).  

Poloroid proof that the hospital sent a creepy Teletubby to wish me well on my surgery.

You will not...

Whatever happened to YM and those "Say Anything" columns?  

and that is a very good thing.  Because not only are you unfit for the the task of looking as put together as Kate Middleton does every time she leaves her castle, but if you spend all of your free time hanging out at polo matches and balls, you might miss out on the opportunity to scoop up this hunk of burning love who is currently busy wreaking havoc in the red rocks of St. George, Utah:

Sorry Ry, couldn't resist this photo.

Not only will find him to be about a million times hotter than Wills, but he will also become an incredible husband, father and best friend - who happens to have parents that are way cooler than Charles and Priscilla.

Your super secret system worked...
even on you.  When you took your most private thoughts and sealed them up in an envelope and signed your name on the seal you ensured that no one would read your innermost thoughts without you knowing.  I'm pretty sure someone has snooped through your diaries at some point (you have two sisters), but these remain untouched.  And at least for the time being, your secrets are still safe with me.

Maybe I'll be ready for you in another 15 years.