Smicklefritz

The name Smicklefritz came from an arrogant pilot from whom, apparently, I needed to learn a lesson. I secretly hate the name, but I’ve made something more of it than the wounded fragment of time from which it originally came.

The name has carried on through time like a faithful companion—or a stubborn mule.

It has taken on many different identities now, and I have the opportunity to witness all of them at once, whenever I’d like.

The name reminds me that you can never truly be defined. Every new element introduced into your life influences that dictionary entry you’ve been working so hard to write. You are exactly who you are because of everything that exists outside your soul (processor).

Time. Genetics. Atmosphere. Environment. Social influences.

Do I cringe often when looking back? Yes.

I find myself thinking about how long it took me to reach certain points in my life, and how much farther along I thought I should have been. That usually sends me down a self-indulgent rabbit hole of past wrongdoings, followed by the inevitable question of how necessary I believed those choices were at the time.

I want to justify them by saying I didn’t know any better, but some things carry too much weight to be dismissed as ignorance. I’m sure I’ve influenced many people in many different ways.

Then, a swift kick back to reality reminds me that you will play many roles in many people’s lives—and they will do the same in yours. We will continue to bonk into one another at random moments and at different stages of our lives, all of us trying to adapt to whatever new change has just been thrown into the mix.

Smicklefritz is and will always be behind me, playfully mocking my most significant moments.

Bless her stupid, carefree heart.