A Letter to My Ten-Year-Old Self

It seems that every letter I read to a person’s former self, it’s usually addressed to their 16 or maybe 18-year-old self. I don’t know about you, but I could have used some tips and advice BEFORE those years. Age ten seems young enough to actually have a shot at getting through my stubborn head.

To My Ten-Year-Old Self,

It’s me. I’m you in 16 years. Yep, JTT is still around. Nope, nobody wants to date him anymore.

In about two years, Mom and Dad are going to get a divorce. It’s going to suck more than anything you’ve ever been through, and luckily, more than anything you will go through for a good decade or more. But through a long series of fortunate events evolving from their divorce, you will eventually meet your future husband. And then you will understand how life works in very odd, very bittersweet ways.

You may be surprised that at 16, Dad does buy you a car. It won’t be the one you want, but you should love it anyway because one day it will represent all your favorite things about being 16. You will go through many, many hours learning how to drive the stick shift. You will want to give up. Don’t. Because when you finally learn, you will gain a tremendous sense of freedom and accomplishment. Plus, don’t tell Dad, but boys love it.

One day at 17, you’ll decide that a diet consisting of apples and raw carrots will be the best way to prepare for Junior Prom. I know you won’t listen if I tell you not to do it, so just try to get through this phase quickly, because it’s f*cking up your metabolism like you wouldn’t believe.

At 18, you’ll get in massive fights with each of your parents. Please, please don’t say the awful things you want to say just to hurt them. You will regret saying those things for years after.

When you’re 20 and you pledge your sorority and you think your “big sis” is just about the coolest person ever, don’t forget about your REAL big sisses back at home; the ones who showed you how tampons worked, introduced you to Paul Simon, and let you hang around their friends so you’d look cool in front of yours. That’s what a big sis really does.

At 22, Matthew will ask you to marry him. Remember it. Savor it. Keep the memory in your pocket for sad days.

When you visit Grandma on your 23rd birthday and tell her you’ll take her to lunch the next day, please, please don’t call and cancel.  Trust me.

Finally, stop worrying so much.  Your life turns out pretty great.

Love,

Future You.