Hey there, future me.
I’m writing this on a Tuesday afternoon. I’m sitting at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee that’s gone cold. There’s sunlight coming through the window, and I can hear my neighbor’s dog barking at something that probably isn’t there.
I don’t know when you’ll read this. Maybe next year. Maybe in ten years. Maybe when you’re old and your hands shake a little when you hold paper.
But I hope you remember this moment. This exact, ordinary Tuesday.
The Things I Want You to Remember
Remember that you used to worry about everything.
Right now, I’m scared about money. I’m scared about my job. I’m scared that I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not doing enough with my life.
I wonder if you’re still scared about things. Different things, probably. But I hope you learned that most of the stuff I’m worried about right now never happened. Or if it did happen, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
Remember that you used to think 30 was old.
I’m 28 now, and 30 feels huge and scary. Like I should have everything figured out by then. Like I should know who I am and what I want and how to do my taxes without crying.
If you’re reading this and you’re 40 or 50 or 80, I bet you’re laughing at me right now. I bet 30 feels young to you. I bet you learned that nobody really has it all figured out, even when they look like they do.
Remember that you used to be afraid of being alone.
I’m single right now. Some of my friends are getting married and buying houses and having babies, and sometimes I feel left behind. Like I’m failing at being a grown-up.
But sometimes, when I’m alone in my apartment on Sunday mornings, making pancakes just for me and reading a book in my pajamas, I feel perfect. I hope you remember that feeling. I hope you learned that being alone and being lonely are different things.
Remember that you used to think happiness was a place you arrived at.
I keep thinking, “I’ll be happy when I get that promotion,” or “I’ll be happy when I lose ten pounds,” or “I’ll be happy when I meet the right person.”
But last week, I was happy because I found a really good pen. And yesterday, I was happy because my friend sent me a funny text. And this morning, I was happy because my coffee tasted exactly right.
I hope you learned that happiness isn’t a destination. It’s just Tuesday afternoons and good pens and coffee that tastes right.
The Things I Hope You Learned
I hope you learned to be brave.
Not the kind of brave where you jump out of airplanes or fight dragons. The small kind of brave. The kind where you say what you really think. The kind where you try new things even when you might fail. The kind where you’re kind to people even when they’re not kind back.
I hope you learned to be gentle with yourself.
Right now, I’m really mean to myself. When I make mistakes, I call myself stupid. When I don’t look perfect, I call myself ugly. When I don’t know something, I call myself dumb.
I hope you learned to talk to yourself like you’d talk to your best friend. I hope you learned that being perfect is boring anyway.
I hope you learned to notice beautiful things.
Sometimes I get so busy worrying about tomorrow that I forget to see today. I walk past flowers without seeing them. I eat food without tasting it. I talk to people without really listening.
I hope you learned to pay attention. I hope you still notice sunlight through windows and dogs barking at nothing and the way coffee smells in the morning.
I hope you learned to say no to things that don’t matter.
I say yes to everything right now because I’m scared people won’t like me if I don’t. I go to parties I don’t want to go to. I do favors for people who wouldn’t do them for me. I buy things I don’t need because someone told me I should want them.
I hope you learned that your time is yours. I hope you learned that people who really care about you want you to be happy, not helpful.
The Questions I Have for You
Do you still like the same music? Do you still cry at movies about dogs? Do you still eat cereal for dinner sometimes?
Did you ever learn to parallel park? Did you ever go to Japan like you always said you would? Did you ever write that book you keep thinking about?
Are you proud of the choices you made? Are you proud of the person you became?
Did you keep the people who mattered? Did you let go of the people who didn’t?
Are you still curious about things? Do you still ask questions? Do you still wonder why the sky is blue and what dogs dream about?
The Things I Want to Tell You
You don’t have to be perfect. I know I keep trying to be, but it’s exhausting. And boring. The people I love most are the ones who are a little messy, a little weird, a little broken. Be one of those people.
You don’t have to have all the answers. Nobody does. The people who pretend they do are lying. It’s okay to say “I don’t know” and “I’m figuring it out” and “I changed my mind.”
You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not to your parents, not to your friends, not to strangers on the internet, not to people you went to high school with. You just have to be you. The real you, not the you that you think people want to see.
It’s okay to be sad sometimes. It’s okay to be angry sometimes. It’s okay to be confused and scared and lonely and lost. Those feelings don’t mean you’re broken. They mean you’re alive.
Small things matter. The way you treat the person who makes your coffee. The way you pet dogs you meet on the street. The way you say thank you and please and I’m sorry. These things matter more than the big things most of the time.
What I Hope Your Life Looks Like
I hope you have people who make you laugh until your stomach hurts. I hope you have work that feels like play sometimes. I hope you have a place that feels like home, even if it’s not perfect.
I hope you’re not famous, because fame looks lonely. But I hope you’re known. I hope there are people who light up when they see you coming.
I hope you have enough money to buy good coffee and books and plane tickets to see people you love. You don’t need to be rich. Just enough.
I hope you have a garden, even if it’s just one plant on a windowsill. I hope you know how to make at least three things that taste good. I hope you have a favorite sweater that’s soft and warm.
I hope you still read books. I hope you still look at stars. I hope you still think babies and puppies are cute.
I hope you remember to dance sometimes, even when there’s no music. Especially when there’s no music.
The Promise I’m Making to You
I promise to try to be brave, even when I’m scared.
I promise to try to be kind, even when people are mean.
I promise to pay attention to beautiful things, even when life gets busy.
I promise to take care of this body and this mind that will become yours.
I promise to make mistakes and learn from them instead of hiding from them.
I promise to love people well, even when it’s hard.
I promise to be curious about the world and grateful for what I have.
I promise to become someone you can be proud of.
So that’s it, future me. That’s what I want you to know.
I hope you’re reading this and smiling. I hope you remember being me, sitting here with cold coffee and sunshine and hope.
I hope your life turned out beautiful, not perfect, but beautiful.
I hope you’re happy.
Love,
Past You
P.S. – I hope you finally learned to fold fitted sheets properly. If not, don’t worry about it. Some things will always be mysteries.
Write your own letter to your future self. What would you want them to know? What would you want them to remember? What questions would you ask them? You might be surprised by what you discover about who you are right now.
