I’m a journal-er.  Yes, I’m a writer, so it would make sense that I journal.  But I really journal.  Lots.  And most of that never sees the light of day.  It’s the writing I know I’m not gonna share with anyone else, and therefore, I can be free to write anything.  Anything.  (Sidenote:  When I die, please burn all of my journals.  Thanks.)  Sometimes, I look back at my journals.  This can be either embarrassing, boring, engaging, or confusing.  Sometimes, it’s like reading a letter from my past to my present.  Sometimes, I wish I could write back.

Fourteen years ago this month, I wrote this:

I feel like I have so many ideas—so much energy—so many feelings—so much creativity—so many neat experiences—but am not yet wise or mature enough or ready to be able to truly express all of this.   Or is it that I’m not comfortable with it?  Is that it?  Or is it that I can express them but don’t know what to do with them after that (in a way I could support myself)?

Dear Past Self,

Please know that you will find ways to express all of those feelings and experiences (and more) over the coming years.  You will even be able to satisfy your severest critic–yourself.  And while we’re on the subject, be kinder to yourself.  You’re doing a good job;  you’ll have a good future.


Your Future Self