My four year revisit

Dear eighteen-year-old me,

I wish you knew.

I wish you knew that those fears you have about the future will never go away, but they will matter less.

I wish you knew that your first love was decent, but it won’t be lasting.

I wish you knew of the battles you will endure, and love the scars you will possess.

But wishes are for fairies and genies and princesses in towers. Magic can’t find you a career, or keep your friendships alive. Those books you read about romanticism and fantasylands are not guides for the future. No, you will learn elsewhere.

You will learn to open your closed mind. You will realize the injustices of the world, and face your privilege.

You will realize what relationships are worth saving, and what ones deserve to fade away. You will understand who holds you down and who lifts you up.

You will stop waiting for things to fall into place and start building your own future. Then you will look back and ask why it took so damn long.

I made some dumb mistakes, and through the river of time and space you will have to repeat them. But you also get to live through laughter and surprise and experiences that will never be new to me again.

So I lied. I don’t wish you knew. I don’t wish for anything to change about my past, and some will say I’m naive to still wish for the future.

I’m sure I’ll be hearing from myself about that, soon.

-Em