ZOO-WEE MAMA: DIARY OF A WIMPY KID AND OVERATTACHMENT TO A FUTURE NEVER ACHIEVED

When I was a kid, I loved, loved, loved the Scholastic book fair. It was a place gleaming with the magic of choices. So long as I had the cash I could pick out anything I wanted without my mom, or anyone else’s help or say so.

One year, my sister and I set out early, speed-walking to the library before school so we could be the first in line to get our hands on a book we knew would be selling fast: a special type of novel written by the genius Jeff Kinney himself, and – get this – yours truly “The Wimpy Kid Do-It-Yourself Book.” A monumental work of literature, renowned by children far and wide after we all found out about it the week before when we got our Scholastic catalogs.

My sister and I were lucky to grab a copy for us to share. This hardcover beauty was a book you were allowed to write in, with pages and pages filled with nothing but blank lines, half-completed comic strips, and infinite possibility.

To be frank, it was a little intimidating. All those blank spaces, and once you write in one – POOF! It’s filled. You can’t write in it again. The back cover says you should hang on to the book for years to come as a record of your childhood, and that “when you’re rich and famous, this thing is going to be worth a fortune.”

No pressure! How would I know if I was writing the best thing? What if I wanted to write more in it later on, and was going to wish I left more room? The hard truth I would have to confront

was that the more I wrote in that book, the less Do-It-Yourself-ness would be left. Eventually it would just be a bound paper stack of words and pictures, no more blank spaces, no more infinite possibilities, just a normal book.

My sister had come to a similar conclusion. Needless to say, although there’s a few words on what we would each bring to a deserted island or what our powers would be if we were superheroes, out of 244 pages, at least 220 of them look about the same as they did sitting on the shelf at the book fair. There’s no way we could have filled up all 244, even if we did write on them every time the thought crossed our minds.

Why was I so scared of using the book? I’ve realized recently that it’s a habit I practice a lot. I can’t have my cake and eat it too, so I keep the cake in the fridge until it goes bad. I put so much energy into preserving what could be that I stop allowing myself to have fun in the present. It’s not the best method, and lately, I’ve been trying to change my routine.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying we should all stop saving for retirement and use the money tonight on a yacht party instead – but there’s an extreme the other way too, that’s more hidden: an overly conservative one.

My takeaway: Take care of future you, but if you’re able, also take time to treat yourself now, even if it’s with little things. Life is short, and you never know what could happen. Pretty soon you’ll be rich and famous, and you’ll want a book from your past that’s worth a fortune. Or at least a fortune’s worth of nice memories.