I’ve been thinking about you lately. The younger version of me. The kid who had absolutely no idea what life was going to throw at him. The one who thought growing up meant eventually figuring everything out. I wish I could sit down with you for a little while. Not to warn you about everything that’s coming, or to tell you how to avoid the mistakes you’re going to make, but just to talk. I think there’s a lot you need to hear, and even more that I wish someone had told you when you were younger.
First, I want you to know that I’m sorry. I know that’s probably a strange thing to hear from your future self, but I mean it. I’m sorry for all the times you’re going to feel like you aren’t enough. I’m sorry for the nights you’re going to spend wondering why people seem to have such an easy time walking away from you. I’m sorry for the friendships that are going to disappear, the relationships that are going to hurt, and the people you’re going to love who won’t always love you the same way. I wish I could protect you from some of that. God, I really do.
You’re going to spend a lot of your life trying to be someone worth choosing. You’re going to think that if you’re just a little kinder, a little funnier, a little more understanding, or a little more willing to give pieces of yourself away, eventually someone will look at you and decide you’re worth staying for. I wish I could tell you that it works that way. I wish I could tell you that being a good person guarantees you’ll be treated like one. Unfortunately, that’s not how life works. Some people are going to take everything you’re willing to give and still leave you wondering what else you could have done.
And here’s the part that hurts to admit. Even now, after all these years, I haven’t completely figured that one out. I still find myself wondering why I wasn’t enough for certain people. I still replay conversations in my head. I still think about things I should have said differently, opportunities I should have taken, and people I wish I could talk to one more time. You’d think getting older would make those feelings disappear, but sometimes it just makes you better at hiding them.
I know you have some pretty big dreams. Some of them are going to change. Others are going to quietly disappear without you even realizing it. One day you’ll look back and remember something you wanted more than anything in the world, and you’ll realize you haven’t thought about it in years. That part of growing up is strange.
Nobody tells you that sometimes you have to grieve the versions of yourself you never got to become.
There are going to be lives you imagined living that simply aren’t going to happen, and you’re going to have to find a way to be okay with that.
But I don’t want you to think everything turns out badly. It doesn’t. There are going to be some wonderful moments, too. You’re going to laugh so hard that your stomach hurts. You’re going to meet people who make ordinary days feel important. You’re going to discover things you love that you don’t even know exist yet. You’re going to find yourself standing in places that the younger you could only dream about. And there will be moments when you look around and realize that, despite everything you’ve been through, life has given you some pretty incredible experiences. I wish I could tell you to appreciate those moments a little more, because you’re going to spend so much time worrying about what you don’t have that you’ll sometimes forget to appreciate what you do.
I think you’d be proud of that part of our life.
There are some things I wish you wouldn’t worry about so much. You’re going to spend years comparing yourself to other people. You’ll wonder why they seem to be getting everything right while you’re still trying to figure out what you’re supposed to be doing. You’ll see people getting married, buying houses, building careers, and accomplishing things you thought you’d have done by now. And sometimes you’re going to feel like you’re falling behind. I need you to understand that there isn’t some invisible schedule you’re supposed to be following. Life isn’t a race, even though I know you’re going to spend far too much time treating it like one.
I wish I could tell you to take more pictures. Not necessarily of the big moments, but the ordinary ones. The people sitting around the table. The places you used to spend your afternoons. The rooms you grew up in. The people you assumed would always be there. Because one day those ordinary moments are going to become memories, and you’re going to find yourself wishing you had something more than your imagination to bring them back.
And please, spend more time with the people you love. Ask them questions. Listen to their stories, even the ones you’ve already heard a hundred times. You’re going to lose people, and I need you to know that losing someone isn’t always as simple as saying goodbye. Sometimes it’s a phone call you never expected. Sometimes it’s a friendship that slowly fades. Sometimes it’s someone who is still alive but no longer part of your life. And sometimes it’s the terrible realization that the last conversation you had with someone was the last conversation you’ll ever have.
You’re going to carry guilt about some of those losses. You’ll wonder whether you could have done more. Whether you should have called, visited, listened, or recognized something you didn’t understand at the time. I wish I could reach across the years and take that weight off your shoulders. You’re going to blame yourself for things that were never entirely within your control. And I know how difficult it is going to be for you to accept that loving someone doesn’t always mean you can save them.
I also want to tell you something about being strong. I know you think strength means keeping everything together. Being the person who handles things. The one who doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for help, and doesn’t let anyone see how much something hurts. You’re going to get pretty good at pretending you’re okay. Too good, actually. But there will be nights when you’re alone with your thoughts, and everything you’ve been carrying finally catches up with you. I wish you’d learn sooner that admitting something hurts doesn’t make you weak. Crying doesn’t make you less of a man. And needing someone doesn’t mean you’ve failed at being independent.
There are going to be times when you feel incredibly alone. Even when you’re surrounded by people. Especially then, sometimes. You’ll wonder whether anyone really understands you, or whether people only know the version of you that you’ve learned to show them. I wish I could promise that feeling goes away completely. I can’t. But I hope you never let it convince you that you don’t matter.
Here’s something else you need to hear. You’re going to make mistakes. Some of them will be small, and some will keep you awake years later. You’re going to hurt people without meaning to. You’re going to say things you regret. You’re going to make decisions based on what you know at the time, only to realize later that you were wrong. I hope you learn to forgive yourself for that. Not excuse yourself, but forgive yourself. There’s a difference.
You can take responsibility for who you’ve been without spending the rest of your life punishing yourself for it.
And for the love of God, stop worrying so much about what everyone thinks of you. I know that’s easier said than done, especially coming from someone who still struggles with it. But you’re going to waste so much time trying to be understood by people who have already decided who you are. Not everyone is going to like you. Not everyone is going to see your intentions. Some people are going to misunderstand you no matter how carefully you explain yourself. Let them. You have a life to live, and it’s too short to spend all of it defending your existence.
I wonder what you’d think if you could see me now. I wonder whether you’d be impressed or disappointed. I wonder whether you’d recognize me at all. I have a feeling you’d have a thousand questions, and I’m not sure I’d have very many satisfying answers. We haven’t become some wildly successful or extraordinary person. We haven’t changed the world. We haven’t figured out the secret to happiness. Some days, we’re still just trying to get through the day without feeling like we’re doing everything wrong.
And that bothers me sometimes. Because I know how much you wanted to matter. I know you wanted to grow up and do something important. You wanted to be remembered. You wanted your life to mean something beyond simply being here for a little while and then disappearing. I still want that, by the way. I haven’t given up on it. But I’m starting to realize that maybe a meaningful life doesn’t have to be some grand achievement. Maybe it’s enough to make someone laugh when they’re having a terrible day. Maybe it’s enough to be the person someone can count on when everything else seems to be falling apart. Maybe it’s enough to leave a few people better than you found them.
I wish I could hug you. I really do. Not because I think you need to be rescued, but because I know there are going to be moments when you desperately need someone to tell you everything is going to be okay. And I wish I could be that person for you. I wish I could sit beside you during those nights when you feel like the entire world has moved on without you. I wouldn’t even need to say anything. I’d just want you to know you weren’t sitting there alone.
But I suppose there’s something unfair about this entire conversation. I know everything that’s going to happen to you, while you don’t know any of it yet. I know the names of people who are going to break your heart. I know which goodbyes are going to hurt the most. I know the moments you’re going to wish you could relive, and the ones you’re going to spend years trying to forget. And as much as I want to change some of those things, I can’t help wondering whether doing so would change the parts of us that I’m actually proud of.
Because despite everything, you do turn out to be a decent person. Not a perfect one. Not even close. But someone who cares. Someone who still gets upset when the world is cruel. Someone who believes people deserve to be treated with dignity, even when it’s inconvenient. Someone who still wants to learn, grow, and understand things. Someone who has been hurt and, somehow, still hasn’t completely given up on the idea that people can be good.
I’m proud of you for that. I don’t think I’ve ever said that to myself before, and writing it feels a little strange. But I’m proud of the person you keep trying to become, even when nobody is watching. Even when you don’t get credit for it. Even when it would be easier to stop caring.
I think the hardest part about talking to you would be saying goodbye. Because eventually I’d have to leave you there, knowing everything that’s waiting for you. And you’d probably ask me one final question. The one I think we’ve both been asking for most of our lives.
“Are we happy?”
I wish I could give you a simple answer.
There are days when we are. There are days when life feels wonderful, and everything seems to make sense for a little while. There are other days when the sadness feels heavier than it should, when the loneliness is difficult to explain, and when we wonder whether we’re becoming the person we were supposed to be.
But we’re still here. We’re still trying. We’re still finding things worth caring about. We’re still making plans for a future we can’t see. And despite all the things that have happened, there’s still a part of us that believes something good might be waiting around the corner.
So maybe that’s what I’d tell you instead.
I can’t promise you an easy life. I can’t promise everyone you love will stay, or that every dream you have will come true. I can’t promise you’ll never feel lost, unwanted, or afraid. And I certainly can’t promise that growing up will give you all the answers you’re looking for.
But I can promise you that there will be moments worth staying for. There will be people worth meeting, places worth seeing, and memories worth making. There will be mornings when the world feels a little less heavy than it did the night before.
And I want you to experience every single one of them.
So go be a kid. Make mistakes. Ask questions. Tell people you love them. Take the pictures. Laugh at stupid things. Don’t spend so much time wishing you were older, because one day you’re going to be sitting where I am now, wishing you could have just one more afternoon being you.
And when things get hard, when you feel like you’re falling behind, or when you start wondering whether you’re worth loving, I hope somehow you can hear me.
You were always enough.
I’m sorry it took me so many years to figure out how to tell you that.
And I’m even sorrier that I’m still learning how to believe it myself.