Saying "hey" to my former selves

At LinkedIn, we shut down the week of July 4. I used that week (and the week after) to do a little time traveling. I didn’t have a TARDIS or a DeLorean; I made do with several planes, a train, and a rented Nissan Maxima.

I started in New York City. As I walked through Central Park, I remembered my first visit in 1993, walking that same path and desperately wanting to live in that city. I’d planned on being a writer for Sassy magazine (RIP) and had sent them a letter asking how I’d go about being an intern (an editor wrote back saying they weren’t accepting internships, but my message had been the best request letter she’d received). I never moved to New York City.

Next on my agenda was spending time in Connecticut with two of my oldest friends. When you’ve been friends for a long time, you simultaneously see them as they are and as they were. All of the mannerisms stay the same; hair flips and slow chuckles are as you left them. But the values and priorities have shifted, and your conversations inevitably turn to what might have been, unplanned directions your lives had taken, and things left undone.

And then it was on to Los Angeles, where I’d spent my 20s hanging around groups of eclectic, creative, ambitious misfits who made L.A. more interesting. I’d wanted to live in Los Angeles. I planned to work for the Walt Disney Company as… something. In marketing, maybe? A writer of some sort? As you might have guessed, I never moved to Los Angeles. 

Finally, I pointed that rented sedan toward my hometown, San Bernardino. Along with visiting family, I had a task to do—clean out a storage unit I’d been financing for 10+ years. As I sweated in triple-degree temperatures sorting through hemorrhaging cardboard boxes, I found physical evidence of all the people I’d ever wanted to be: Keri as an artist. Keri as a Disneyland cast member. Keri as an actress, a designer, a comedy writer. There was the portfolio from my burgeoning web design career. The letters of encouragement I'd received from friends and teachers. The articles and cards and OH MY GOODNESS every Sassy magazine I’d ever bought. 

And with each discovery, I was a pendulum swinging between pride and regret. If I’d had a mirror, I could have watched as an item made my face brighten then collapse almost simultaneously. It was all laid out in front of me—the successes I hadn’t followed up on; the attempts that hadn’t panned out; the promising beginnings that weren’t to be. 

And yet, all of those Keris are still around. All of those Keris have organized themselves, pyramid-style, to support me, root for me, and impart their quirks and ambition and wisdom. The actress Keri makes her appearance in talks. The artist/designer Keri makes holiday cards (and the image for this article). The comedy writer Keri… well, she’s still not very funny, but she tries. And today, I have an amazing career in an industry I couldn’t have even imagined as a child. And all of the Keris worked hard to make that happen—even if they didn't know they were doing it.  

I’m sure in a few years I’ll look back and realize today’s Keri has joined her place on the pyramid. I’m making a mental note now to push my palms into the soles of her Doc Martens so she can rise just a little higher.