Meeting Ourselves Again
Sometimes we don’t realize how many versions of ourselves still live in certain places, in others’ hearts, and buried deep within our own hearts…until we return to them.
This weekend I returned to Southern California for the celebration of life of a man who played an important role in my childhood.
His name was Dave Johnson.
Dave and his family lived directly across the street from us during some of my most formative years—from about age twelve to twenty-two.
As someone who never knew my own father, he disappeared from our lives when I was about 18 months old, Dave was the closest thing I had to a stable, male role model.
He wasn’t just a neighbor.
He became a mentor and a meaningful male presence in my life.
He was also the man who walked me down the aisle when I got married.
The celebration of life was beautiful. I’m sure Dave could not have felt more honored, loved, and celebrated as he watched this from above.
His children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren shared songs, meaningful stories, and tributes in his honor.
Any human would feel truly blessed to be cherished and deeply loved the way Dave was. He lived a life that was fully lived and transitioned at 90.
I found myself speaking at the service, which was completely unexpected.
As I stood in front of everyone, I reflected on how Dave had made a huge positive impact in my life, as had the whole Johnson family.
I shared that when I was 25 years old and getting married, I chose Dave as the man to walk me down the aisle because when I reflected on what man had been the most important and influential man in my life…without a doubt, the answer was Dave.
More than a mentor, he was someone who quietly showed up and could always be counted on.
But what touched me most didn’t happen during the service.
It happened afterward.
Being Remembered
During the reception that followed and on to the next day at an intimate family gathering I was included in, I spent time with Dave’s wife Cathy and children—Janet, Robbie, and Lisa—the people I grew up with across the street–as well as his older daughter from a previous marriage.
Truthfully, it had been about 30 years since I had spent meaningful time with all of them together.
As we sat around talking, the stories started flowing.
“Do you remember when”…and then a story would be told that caused us to laugh.
There were many stories and memories that were shared during this time.
And what struck me almost immediately was not just how much they remembered.
It was what they remembered about me.
They remembered my theatrics.
My performances.
My dramatic flair.
One story in particular had everyone laughing.
We had taken Dave’s mother’s wheelchair a few blocks down to the shopping center with the big grocery store so I could create a full theatrical production.
I sat in the wheelchair pretending I was unable to walk and bound to the wheelchair.
Then, in the middle of the grocery store, I staged a miraculous healing.
I dramatically rose from the wheelchair and began walking as though I had just experienced a divine miracle with all of them exclaiming that a miracle was happening before their very eyes!
“It’s a miracle! I can walk!!”
Apparently, I committed fully to the role. Completely going all in to receiving my own academy award.
I can honestly say I had forgotten I had done this, but it was really funny and endearing to hear this story was not at all forgotten among this beautiful family.
Truth be told, as I started going back in my memory and hearing more stories, this was only one of many crazy little things I/we did together.
And it was fun and heartwarming to remember her–that version of me– with fondness.
The Girl Who Wanted to Be an Actress
From the time I was five years old, I BELIEVED I was going to be an actress.
Not as a fun little childhood dream.
I truly believed it. And I think everyone that knew me was convinced as well.
Acting wasn’t just something I enjoyed.
It was a huge part of who I was.
I was always performing.
Always acting.
Always imagining.
Always bringing drama, big emotions and performance into everyday life.
And Dave and Cathy were some of the first people who truly supported that dream.
I had been taking drama in high school and loved it, but they were the ones who told me about an audition at a local theater production in our then small town.
They encouraged me to go.
So I auditioned.
And I landed the lead female role.
It was the first real theatrical production I had ever been part of outside of school.
A real stage.
A real audience.
A real production.
And I cringed as I thought back and remembered I also sang because it was a musical (which I probably shouldn’t have)!
And there they all were…cheering me on.
Looking back now, I realize how meaningful that support was.
They saw something in me.
They encouraged something in me.
They helped nurture a part of me that felt deeply alive.
But somewhere along the way, life shifted.
Practicality took over.
Responsibility took over.
Adulthood took over.
And eventually that dream faded into the background.
Meeting Ourselves Again
As we sat together this weekend, sharing stories and catching up, something unexpected happened.
I realized I was being reintroduced to a version of myself I had almost forgotten.
Not completely forgotten.
But buried pretty deep under decades of life.
Marriage.
Motherhood.
Heartbreak.
Divorce.
Single motherhood.
Teaching.
Building businesses.
Responsibility.
Rebuilding.
Reinvention.
Remarrying.
All the roles and identities life has asked me to carry.
And there, sitting with the Johnson family, I met her/me again.
The expressive one.
The playful one.
The theatrical one.
The girl who wasn’t afraid to be seen.
The girl who made people laugh.
The girl who fully embodied who she was without apology.
And something about that felt deeply moving.
Because the truth is, I haven’t thought about that version of myself in forever.
Yet there she was.
Still alive.
Still vivid.
Still remembered.
Not only in my heart.
But in theirs.
And maybe the truth is, that expressive girl never really disappeared. She simply found new stages.
The Versions of Ourselves That Remain
One story touched me deeply.
Robbie shared that in Dave’s final weeks, they had brought up the story of my grocery-store wheelchair performance.
Robbie said Dave smiled, shook his head, and said,
“Oh, that Karen. She was always so theatrical.”
When I heard that, I was deeply touched.
Even after all these years, at 90 years old…
He remembered.
That version of me still lived in his mind and heart.
And maybe that’s what this weekend gave me.
A powerful reminder that we live many versions of ourselves in one lifetime.
Sometimes we don’t realize how many versions of ourselves still live in certain places, in others’ hearts, and buried deep within our own hearts… until we return to them.
I think so much of adulthood becomes about responsibility.
We become practical. Productive. Capable. Dependable.
We learn how to carry.
How to achieve.
How to survive.
And in the process, parts of us can quietly move into the background and eventually just fall away.
Just buried beneath everything life asks of us.
But what I learned this weekend is maybe those parts never really leave.
Maybe they remain quietly alive within us.
Waiting.
Not to be mourned.
But to be remembered.
To be reclaimed.
To be welcomed home.
Coming Home
This weekend reminded me that coming home isn’t always about returning to a physical place.
Sometimes coming home means reconnecting with parts of ourselves we left behind.
The dreamer.
The playful one.
The bold one.
The expressive one.
The version of us that existed before life taught us to become so practical.
So careful.
So responsible.
One thing I am certain about… home is not always a place. Sometimes it lives in the hearts and minds of the people who shared that place and time with us.
Sometimes it becomes something we carry in our hearts forever.
And sometimes, returning to old places and past, special relationships remind us that the people who shaped us never really leave us.
They continue living in the hearts they helped form.
This weekend, I came to honor Dave. But so much more happened.
I realized what an incredible blessing it was to have the Johnsons across the street during those formative years and how much their love, support, and friendship shaped my life.
I also came home to a part of myself this weekend that I didn’t know until now how much I have truly missed her.
And that may have been one of the greatest gifts of all.
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