Inspired by Dodie Clark’s recent video ‘Dear 25 year old me‘, I thought it’d be a fun idea to do the same sort of thing and write myself an open letter. I haven’t scripted this, so I really hope my rambling is endearing.
So. To the me of the future, November 2019…
Hi! You’re 25. I’m 25. It’s still really weird to me, that I am someday – someday soon, in the grand scheme of things – going to be someone in their mid-twenties. In my head I’m still nineteen, still a teenager but not quite fitting that mould anymore. I thought I’d start this by reminding you of who you were at the age of 21 (and a half) in November 2015.
You have your hair natural brown, and it’s mid-to-long in length but you’ve been pondering a haircut over the past few days. You’re internally debating whether or not to have a fringe cut in, but you know really that a fringe is far too much upkeep so you’ll probably just get a trim. You have your blue-rimmed glasses, a trademark of your ‘look’, and your current style can only be described as ‘having recently discovered Topshop’s Joni jeans and whatever big hoodie or chairty shop jumper is closest.’ Your left ear is a bit bunged up, but that’s a genetic thing and I hope in 2019 it’s not something that bothers you anymore, although I doubt it.
You’re a barista. You’re still a trainee, making coffee and washing up for hours on end per week. You were employee of the month for all the stores in your area in October, on only your second month of
working for the company, which is cool.
In all honesty, you’re not in too good of a place. You think you’ve got depression because you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be excited for anything. When you went to New York, you had an absolutely amazing time and made so many good, fond memories, but you didn’t feel the child-like excitement and elation you were expecting to feel in the days leading up to catching the flight. Things just pass you by in a blur, and every day – no matter what you’re doing on that day – is just another day. You’re consumed with thoughts of your dad’s cancer and other troubles at home, and because not a lot of your friends are around at home (and the difficulty you find in opening up to anyone, it seems) you’re actually quite lonely.
Things could be better.
I’m hoping that, in 2019, you’ve got things straightened out a bit. You have plans to move to Manchester with some friends. Did you pull it off? Are you still there now? Did you meet the person of your dreams and are settled with kids and cats? I know 25 is only three-and-a-half years away, but a lot can happen in three-and-a-half years. God, how weird is that! I might be a slave to commitment. I hate commitment. Imagine that.
What sort of career path have you taken? It’s always been publishing up until now in 2015, but maybe you had a change of heart. I wonder if you’ve stuck to that promise you made to yourself to immerse yourself more in the publishing world and through that actually make some contacts and go places. That’d be nice. Alternatively, if you’ve found something you like more, then I hope you’re happy. Who knows, you might have even looked into becoming a counsellor, because that’s something you’ve always been thinking about a bit.
Either way, I hope you’re doing what you want to be doing. Speaking now at 21, where practically nothing I’m doing is what I want to be doing, you need to do you and I hope you’ve found that.
What does your hair look like now? Has it recently been spontaneously chopped? Probably. I wonder how much you weigh and whether you’ve joined a gym or become someone who drinks green tea for fun. I wonder if your style has matured. I wonder if you’re someone who turns heads in the street.
(I mean, it’s a bit of a reach, but a lot can happen in three-in-a-half years, right?)
How’s Jack doing? And Mum? I assume Dad is no longer with us, so I hope things are okay there. I hope you’ve all learned to heal. Corky will be 13, nearly 14, which is old for a cat. Has she softened in old age? I really hope she’s still kicking around, although I don’t doubt she will be here for another 10 years at least, old and bitter, knowing her.
Okay, I’ve asked a lot of questions. You get the gist – I hope you’re happy, I hope things are working out for you because they bloody deserve to. You’ve got enough on your shoulders in 2015, in what has been the best and worst year of your life. Things can only get better, right? I’ve got to go and make tea now – we’re having chicken in white wine sauce with rice. I’m cooking because Mum’s asleep and I’ve just discovered that, at the age of nearly 23, Jack doesn’t know how to cook rice if it doesn’t come in a microwave packet. Madness.
(edit: we had fajitas instead. Far less hassle.)
Until next time,