Lessons From a Ghost: How Our Past Becomes Our Future
I was Tracy Picotte once.
Before I got married twenty years ago, and before I legally changed my name from Tracy to Theresa (which is a story for another day), I was a Midwestern girl named Tracy Picotte.
The ghost of Tracy Picotte visited me during my cleaning frenzy this evening. In an attempt to restore greater balance and normalcy in my life, it was necessary to invest a Friday night to clean up the mountains of clutter that had accumulated over the last year. I have several high-value writing projects I am working on, and, I don’t know about you, but my physical space needs to be clean, pretty and organized in order for me to optimally engage in the creative process.
I was putting away a sweet Mother’s Day card I had received from my daughter into my treasure chest when I happened upon this typewritten recommendation letter dated October 2, 1984 from my 4th- 8th grade gifted program teacher, Mrs. Raivio.
Her kind, insightful, dead-on assessment of the sassy, spirited girl that once was Tracy Picotte was like looking into the mirror of the past. It shook me in the best possible way to think that