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11.22.2002 | link |

 

dear future me (in 30 years),

it’s my birthday tomorrow. and, well, i suppose it’s your birthday, too. i hope you have something fun in the works and aren’t feeling as crummy as i do right now—achy and tired and trying to skirt a nasty cold. you’re probably shaking your head right now, thinking i really should take better care of myself. i'm sorry. i still feel immortal sometimes. but you're right. i should.

right now, the idea of the next 30 years seems very, very hazy to me. sure, i still keep one of those “where i want to be in 5 years” lists. but i've stopped writing them down. (bad move?) my lofty list (which i wrote down) from 5 years ago is now obsolete. "life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." right?

i wish i knew what you know.

i suppose i have the advantage. i have the next 30 years (at least) (hopefully) ahead of me—to fill with whatever i choose. i could quit my job. i could change careers. i could move to morocco. (i don't think i would. but i could.)

you’ve already lived through those years, and probably have an opinion or two about what i should do. but if i know you (and i think i do) you’re probably at peace with the choices i make. even though you're a little hard on yourself sometimes. (have you learned how to overcome that yet?)

it’s funny that even at this age, when i think about my life, i tend to look to the past rather than the future. and we both know that you have a tendency to romanticize the past.

whatever the case, what i hope more than anything is that you don’t have any regrets. i hope your thoughts aren't haunted by things you wish you had done when you were younger. but for whatever reason, didn’t.

i could probably help you with that.

and i think i'll work on that this year.

(and look, i've even written it down.)


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thank you. and good night.