To my younger self,
How old are you when you’re reading this? 8? 15?
You should know you’re a dreamer. You should know that you love to write.
Sometimes the stars in your eyes make you anxious for the future if there’s ever any doubt or thought that creeps in that maybe, just maybe your dreams are too big. See, a lot of people settle. A lot of people have dreams that aren’t big enough. That don’t terrify the fuck out of them. Not to worry, you are and never will be one of those people.
You always knew that you’d get somewhere with something, but figuring it out also induced a mild anxiety and panic. See a theme here? You’re an overthinker. You worry too much. You can feel that you’re standing on the precipice of something big and great, but the final piece of the puzzle hasn’t quite been found yet and so you’re trying to force it to fit. Don’t. Just don’t. I’m sure you’re laughing right now at this because you don’t quite understand what I’m talking about, but you will. Give it a few years.
I want to let you know that your older self takes risks. She is bossy – no – assertive. You will be happy to know that throughout your life, you have never lost the sparkle in your eyes or given up the chase of a big dream. You have about 10 big dreams at the time of writing this, and each of them must work out because there’s no back up plan. Combined together, they are the fabric of the parachute that hopefully activates when you made the jump. I wouldn’t know enough to tell you at the moment, because I’m currently still in free fall. The lack of control feels good.
To my older self,
How old are you when you’re reading this? 35? 45?
I’m kind of jealous because you already know how this is all going to work out. I always wonder about you, more than I do about the younger self. It’s a habit I need to stop. I know you’re better than okay. I like to think you’re everywhere I want you to be and doing all the things I’m planning for you as I type this.
Most of all, I hope you’re happy. I hope you don’t think about me at all except to smile at these moments. Please don’t try and communicate with me to tell me how to do something different/better or stop me from doing something you think I’ll regret. I can’t hear you. And I prefer it that way. You see, the more I wish for this for you, the more I realise I’m being hypocritical because I can’t seem to let you go. Maybe this is what I needed to do so.
I want to let you in on a little secret before I cut all ties with you and never think about you again. I don’t care what you have to think or say. I’m going to work damn hard every day of my life – however not in a work sense. In a happiness sense. Luckily for you, I’ve realised already that your genetic predisposition for anxiety & depression doesn’t mean shit. I’m not going to let it mean shit anymore. Too many years of our 20’s have already been spent in that barren, dark wasteland and I’m going to leave it now for good. It’s not going to be easy, but you probably, of course, already know. Because you’ve already done it. I hope you gave it hell.
Lastly, as cliché as this is, I hope you’re sitting on an ice-white beach in the Bahamas surrounded by everything you’ve ever wanted with the biggest smile on your face that you can produce. I hope you have wrinkles that are a result of smiling so hard. I hope you’re brightening up the lives of everybody around you. I hope you have as much rest as you need and the luxury of time and freedom to explore your terrain.
Goodbye for now but not forever, dreamer; until we meet again. I’ll see you there.