Day 976 1985

1985 style at its best—and a twenty-year-old me. How on earth can this photo be forty years old? If the twenty-year-old me could meet the sixty-year-old me, she'd be amazed we're still standing, happy we’re still putting our best fashion foot forward, and still toasting to happiness and good cheer.

I’m not sure why we all loved the big bows in our hair in the '80s, but we did. Big hair, big bows—'80s fashion was bold, bright, and unapologetic. Be careful before you giggle at past fashion; it always comes back around. Although, by the time it returns, it might be a good idea to leave it alone the second time!

Aging is a funny thing. Our minds don’t seem to age a bit—only our bodies do, and they remind us often. The twenty-year-old me was fearless, fashionable, adventurous, and always up for a party… some things never change.

Although much of that remained dormant while I raised my kids—allowing my domestic side to take over, caring for my children, cooking meals, managing the household, and tackling endless childrearing duties—now that they’re all grown and out of the house, the twenty-year-old me seems to have come out of hibernation.

While raising my kids, I would never have spent money on clothes for myself—not with three growing children constantly needing new sizes. I didn’t get my first pedicure until I was well into my forties. No manicures, no massages, no lunches out, no frivolities. All my focus and money went to my kids—their needs always came first, as they should have. 

Now, the sixty-year-old me can finally indulge in self-care: pedicures, fine dining, and fun, frivolous fashion finds. But I wouldn’t change a thing. I’ve loved each stage of life to the fullest.

This weekend, I’ll be sure to raise a glass to the twenty-year-old Rachel—thanking her for all she did to get me here today… still intact, still shining, and still dancing through life in style.