It’s Sunday. I am loafing on the couch, but sort of antsy. In the postsecret forums, there is a thread of people writing letters to their younger selves. It’s a fun exercise. Here we go.
Dear 8 year old me,
You can’t move back. Have as much fun as you possibly can in your new life with your new friends. Don’t worry about your ankles hurting; you really will grow out of it.
Love, You
Dear 10 year old me,
Don’t lean forward when your school picture is taken, and start keeping a maxi-pad in your backpack at all times. Also, if you want to play with the dog for a long time, break three or four biscuits into little pieces. Giving him the entire box of biscuits will prove to be no fun for anyone, including the dog, after a couple of hours.
Love, You
Dear 13 year old me,
You’re right, all that business about your bat mitzvah having greater meaning to you when you’re older really is a bunch of bs. Your parents know this, too. But if they let you off the hook, they’ll never hear the end of it from their parents, so go through the motions, and enjoy the presents. But hang onto those savings bonds. (And you might want to hang onto the dress and shoes you wear to the Friday night service. They’ll be back in style before you know it.)
Love, You
P.S. Please, please resist the urge to lip sync at your cousin’s bat mitzvah.
Dear 14 year old me,
Pay attention in math class. You will need this for at least the next six years.
Love, You
Dear 15 year old me,
You may be a free spirit, but you do not have the figure to go braless. In six months, you’ll find the stretch marks, and then it will be too late.
Love, You
Dear 16 year old me,
Don’t laugh when he tries to kiss you.
Love, You
p.s. Go to Baltimore to see your grandfather in late May, even if your parents say it’s ok to stay home.
Dear 18 year old me,
A cobb salad has meat in it.
Love, You
Dear 20 year old me,
You’re not in love with him, you’re just bored. Lay off the french fries, and resist the urge to have anyone other than Dee cut your hair.
Love, You
Dear 22 year old me,
Don’t worry about the money. Another year of college is totally worth it. Now, hear me out, this is really important:
1. After you get the tattoo, you’re going to be on a major adrenaline high for the rest of the day. Do not assume you’ve fully understood the care instructions. Read that piece of paper over and over again, until you can recite it.
2. Pass on the accordion until you can afford lessons.
3. You’re still not as thin as you were two years ago. Nix the miniskirts.
Love, You
Dear 23 year old me,
Your depth perception is significantly reduced at night. Keep this in mind when making left turns.
Love, You
Dear 25 year old me,
1. Get a second opinion.
2. In a few years, you’re not going to remember why it was that you were avoiding checking your email for over a week. You’re only going to remember getting the message that John died after it was too late to attend his memorial service.
Love, You
Dear 26 year old me,
Have you really thought this through? Let me quote us, just a couple of years ago, “One day I may see him on TV and I just hope to god I’m not married.” Sure, we were drunk, but in vino veritas, nomseh?
Love, You
Dear 27 year old me,
I guess not. And look at where you are. Sucks, doesn’t it? I know you’re writing letters to me now, trying to figure out what kind of letter I would write to us then, and maybe it’s helping, maybe not. I know it seems unlikely, but what you choose sets in motion some pretty awesome stuff. Shitty stuff, too, but you know that’s going to happen no matter what. So, all I can say is put the money you were going to use for a second dog toward fixing your tooth, keep using birth control, and go back to weight watchers sooner rather than later. Oh yeah, and you still have the savings bonds from our bat mitzvah if you need them.
Love, You
Dear 30 year old me,
You’re right. It’s not the best idea. But don’t sweat it – the move will be paid off by the end of the summer.
Love, You
Dear 31 year old me,
Going a little shorter is a great idea, but don’t try to recreate your old haircut. You’ll spend two years growing it out, and you’ll be mad.
Love, you
Dear 33 year old me,
Enjoy your lounge day, but maybe get out for a little walk later!
Love, you
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