A Letter to my Younger Self
Earlier this summer, while visiting family in the Midwest, I decided it was time. For the past twenty-three years, my wedding dress has been carefully persevered in a sealed box, neatly stuffed with tissue paper and form-shaping pieces of cardboard. During my family’s years of moving for graduate school, my parents agreed to store “the dress” in their attic. Somewhat on a whim, I decided it was time to open the box and show my dress to my teenage daughter. What ensued was an evening of dress-up. Anna put on my mom’s wedding dress—almost fifty years old—and I put on…