It’s hard for me to imagine Racine without imagining my younger self, and I think that’s true for a lot of people who call Racine home.

Part of the draw of the place is what the place holds: our own memories, family legacies, former relationships, the shops and restaurants that we once visited. It’s a collective history, and Racine’s is rich.

I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for the younger version of myself who also made Racine home. It wouldn’t feel like home if I didn’t have the memories of my younger self navigating the blocks and buildings around town.

It’s noteworthy, in my opinion, the role the past plays in our daily lives. There’s an impact, an undercurrent, to how we operate in our world due to where and how we’ve spent our days. The past plays out in the present, in how we make decisions, view others, consider ourselves.

Memory can serve as both an anchor and a propeller. In Racine, there is a history that both roots me here and compels me to imagine a future here.

This week, I am prompting you to consider your past self in relation to Racine.

What’s your earliest memory of being in Racine?
Is there somewhere in town where it’s nearly impossible to not picture a younger version of yourself existing in the same place?
What do you remember about that version of yourself, and how did the places you existed in feel?
Is there an impact that memory has on your current life?
Are there pieces from your past continuing to show up in your days?

Consider these questions, explore your memories and the way they continue to live on in your present life, and write about it.

Here’s where this prompt took me over the past week:

Notes to a younger self

In the backyard, there was a wild bush of raspberries,
our earliest memory together.

Climbing the tree and catching toads,
the tiny kitchen and purple room.

We journeyed through days as if they were endless:
all green grass and sandpit and cement porch.

It felt brave to ride my bike around the block;
it felt true to call you a friend.

I carry within me the sound of Lake Michigan,
my body knows how long to the top of Lockwood Hill.

This morning, there were robins in the yard,
the same ones from my childhood, I’m sure.

As always, thanks for reading and writing along.

Best,
L.A. Sklba