My friend Katie blogged about this contest "A letter to my younger self," and although the contest has since past I thought it was a really cool idea and have decided I am going to write one. Obviously, being the analytical self that I am, this could take a while... but I'm going to tag a few people to join me in this venture and ask you to write to your younger self then post it!
Carrie, Meggo, Julie/Monte, Dave, Adam/Char, and anyone else who doesn't have a blog or I don't know but wants participate because they, like me, think it's a pretty rad idea...consider yourself tagged!
I'll try and post mine by next week sometime.
A little more explanation for what this post is about... you won't actually submit your letter to your younger self to anyone. Just think of it as a thought provoking and introspective exercise by taking some time to think about your life and what you would tell your younger self (10 years ago) if you could. Here's an example of the letter my friend Katie wrote. Hope she doesn't mind!!
Dear Younger Self,
You won’t have what you thought you'd have by your late-20s. But you’ll be happy. You’ll have a 350-square foot apartment. A MetroCard. A job as an executive assistant surrounded by amazing women. You’ll have great friends, New York, phone calls from mom, Vodka sodas, Lox cream cheese and bagels.
You’ll realize something new about yourself often. You won't seek to constantly reinvent yourself, yet you might not ever really know everything about you because different parts of you will change – sometimes frequently. This should probably bother you, but it won’t.
You’ll wish you were wittier, and you’ll be a sucker for a sense of humor. You won’t fall in love easily, you won’t get attached easily, and you’ll have to be both of those things if you’re going to get jealous easily; you’ll be able to thank a military-brat upbringing for that. You will be nominated for the "Most Friendly" Senior Superlative at your second high school, and you’ll be a nice New Yorker 10 years later. But you’ll have a dark side, and you generally won’t trust those who don't. You’ll like to step back and absorb certain moments so that you can remember the details; you’ll do that most often when your friends are laughing.
You’ll crave cliché “Sex and the City” moments because it’s how you once pictured your life – minus, of course, the Manolo Blahniks, Upper East Side brownstones, and voluminous consumption of Magnolia Bakery cupcakes without gaining a pound. Your narrative thoughts and meaningful conversations won’t be set to background music, but you’ll have the fantasy in syndication and the real thing right outside your window. You won’t worry that your life is becoming a cliché because there'll be a reason that you are not the first to live life the way you’ll choose to live it. And you’ll want to be Melanie Griffith at the end of Working Girl when she calls her best friend and says, "Guess where I am right now."
Good and bad things will happen. So embrace varying levels of disappointment so that you’ll recognize rapturous joy. Floss your teeth regularly. Take chances. Don't settle for what’s easy; seek what’s worth it. Take random walks in this city. Look for sights you can't believe, listen for sounds that tug at your heart strings, savor the feelings that take your breath away. Eat more fruits and vegetables; drink more water. Allow yourself to be swept off your feet regularly. Save money and spend wisely. Live like Anthony Hopkins' in Meet Joe Black so that you can wake up one morning and say, "I don't want anything more."
When you write this letter, you still won’t know who you are exactly, but you’ll realize it and be ok with it. And you’ll see that the only thing that matters for any of us in the end is that we once existed. So laugh more, love more, live more. Because you can.
Your 28-Year Old Self