Not to brag, but my family is pretty awesome. My older cousin has a daughter that just turned 16. In her boundless wisdom, she asked a handful of women in the family to write a letter to her daughter outlining things we’d say to our 16-year-old selves. I was honored to be asked to participate. Even though 16 was many, many moons ago for me, I dug deep to see what wisdom, if any, I could impart.

Here’s what I wrote:

If my memory serves correct, around age 16 I was entering 10th grade, headed to a new school. I’d just transferred from my local high school to a performing arts high school. It was an exciting high school that focused on nurturing students in academia and the arts. As soon as I heard about it, I knew I HAD to attend. I lived and breathed music and this school had a celebrated music program. The audition process was nerve-wracking, but to my utter delight, I was accepted. I remember being incredibly intimidated to enter the school as a sophomore when the rest of my class had entered as freshmen. To make matters worse, I learned later that the bonds my new classmates had built were even deeper than I’d originally thought. Most of them had gone to middle- and even elementary school together! It seemed like they were all so familiar with one another and I was the lone outsider.

Number 1.

The first thing I would say to my younger self is: Being an outsider can be a good thing. Throughout my life, I’ve found myself in many situations where I represent the minority. I’m often the only Black person; the only Christian; the only one with locs… I could go on, but here’s my point: Embrace it. The things that are different about you are also the things that make you interesting. Don’t get me wrong, it can be comforting to find people who are like you, but being unique is fun too.

And people are more likely to accept who you are if you are comfortable with yourself.

In Bible class, our teachers were constantly telling us to ‘date to marry’. I don’t think you’ve begun the dating chapter of your life just yet (good for you), but believe me — my Bible class teachers were on to something. At the time, we didn’t understand why they were talking to us about marriage. We were just teenagers for crying out loud! I didn’t do a ton of dating in my youth, but the guys I did entertain happened to be some of the same dudes still lingering around when I was much older. You wanna know who one of those ‘dudes’ was? My husband!

Number 2.

The second thing I would say to my younger self is: Be very careful about who you date. Only date a guy if you think he would make a fantastic husband because that’s exactly who he might become. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but it certainly happened to me. It’s crazy to think about, really. When I was 16, I already knew my husband! In fact, I’d known him for five years!

Do you know who Boyz II Men are? You may be too young to know about them, but they were an insanely popular R&B group back in the day. There were four members: Nathan, Wanya, Shawn, and Michael. As girls sometimes do, a discussion began one day on the attractiveness of the fellas. I was somewhat indifferent about the appearance of half the group, but I had strong, yet opposing views about the other two: Michael was cute; Nathan was ugly. This, I thought was a fact. Nathan was so profoundly unattractive, I actually felt a little sorry for the guy. I figured he must have low self-esteem and be ignored by the girls at his own concerts! You can imagine my surprise when one of my friends excitedly announced (without an ounce of shame) that she thought Nathan was ‘so cute’. I was flabbergasted! Was she confused about which one Nathan was?!

Number 3.

This brings me to the third (and final) thing I would say to my younger self: Beauty is relative. There are no absolutes in this area and that’s a good thing. The perception of beauty of all kinds, be it art, nature, furniture, etc. is as varied as opinions are. And just because a particular opinion is popular, doesn’t mean it’s correct. No one is right or wrong. “Ugly” is a word I am no longer comfortable using, especially to describe a person’s appearance. I think it’s better to open myself up to how delightfully differently we all see the world. And those differences are beautiful.

I wrapped the letter up with a few additional tidbits reserved exclusively for my little cousin, but I’d like to take a moment to salute my older cousin (and women like her) for having the foresight to intentionally feed into the emotional and psychological well-being of her daughter. If you know a young woman who might benefit from these musings, pass it on, will ya?

At 78 years old, my grandmother turned heads like Dorothy Dandridge. She walked six miles a day; every day and ate a healthy, low-fat diet. Her waistline rivaled that of a teenager and the whole world was her catwalk. She didn’t walk — she sashayed. She had the confidence of a United States president and an air of raw, unadulterated swagger. The rest of us (“regulars”, you might call us) assumed she’d live forever. And not merely live… thrive. That’s what this woman did, she thrived. So much so, we had to come up with a name far more fitting than “grandmother”. Something worthy of her palpable vivaciousness. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: G-Mommy!

As a black woman born in the mid-1930s, G-Mommy had been through a lot. She’d suffered through Jim Crow, a civil rights movement, a few failed marriages, and single motherhood yet was somehow able to maintain an intriguing mix of fearlessness and girlishness that captivated all she encountered. She was a bonafide senior citizen who could easily pass for a woman half her age. Most of my college classmates wanted to make sweet, sweet love to her and I was convinced the woman was invincible.

So, you can imagine my surprise to learn that G-Mommy — of all people — had fallen and couldn’t get up; an incident I soberly refer to as The Great Fall of 2014.

I was living in Houston when I heard about her accident; roughly 200 miles south of G-Mommy’s East Texas abode. The entire family was in shock. G-Mommy had somehow fallen into her tub and had been unable to get herself out for the better part of 24 hours. Her older sister, who dutifully phoned her daily, began to worry when G-Mommy didn’t pick up. She dispatched a local friend of the family to rescue her. By that time, G-Mommy had incurred a rather nasty gash during her fall as well as acute renal failure which caused her to be disoriented and weak. She spent the next two weeks in medical care, complete with physical rehabilitation to help her regain motor functionality.

As fate would have it, I’d just quit my job around six months prior, so I was free to be by her side during her recovery while my husband held down the fort at home. I slept in the hospital’s reclining chair most nights and ate a lion’s share of cafeteria food. No one enjoys spending time in a hospital, but we made it work. In between visits from family and friends, me and G-Mommy giggled about fun times we shared in the past and made detailed plans about what we’d do when we finally ‘got out’.

G-Mommy made what appeared to be a full recovery. When she finally made it home, we sat down as a family to discuss the fall and the future. We had to ask the tough questions: Can G-Mommy continue to live alone? Can she still drive? Are her affairs in order? Still sharp and sassy as ever, G-Mommy deemed her fall a fluke. After observing her for a few weeks, the rest of us conceded. She did seem to be back to herself. And with the provision of an emergency medical alert system, we decided G-Mommy was still independent enough to live alone. During that family meeting, G-Mommy’s independence was extended, but the reality was — G-Mommy was only going to get older. Because of that fact, my husband and I decided to move to East Texas to be near her. We began job searches almost immediately.

It took a while, but now we’re settled in East Texas near G-Mommy. I’m sad to report, G-Mommy has suffered a couple more tumbles since the Great Fall of 2014. Thankfully, they didn’t have as traumatic an impact on G-Mommy’s body as the ‘great’ one, praise the Lord, but fall she did. She’s doing just fine now, but recent events have led me to realize the reality of G-Mommy’s mortality; mine too, honestly. People age. That’s a fact. But despite her waning health, G-Mommy has taught me to take care of myself and remain a girl at heart regardless of how old I get. Now, at the age of 82, G-Mommy has finally decided to age… a little, but she still possesses the boundless youthfulness of a young girl. T. Boone Pickens, 90-year-old financier and business mogul recently wrote, “You can be old at 30, or young and 90 — it’s all up to you.”