A letter from my past self arrived
Photos by Author
As part of a wellness seminar at work, I wrote a letter to my future self* last year, but then I promptly forgot about it—it was that kind of year—so my letter surprised me right before Christmas. It was so weirdly right on the money, I’m sharing for whatever it tells you about me:
Dear Future Me,
Merry Christmas! You turned 55 this year, which you would have thought ancient even 20 years ago, but which now seems young enough to have a lot of living to do yet, especially compared to your aging relatives and friends (it’s also old enough to make you eligible for some less expensive condos and such in vacation type places you like to visit, so maybe take advantage of that!).
Hopefully, you have maintained your health. You have worked so hard on losing weight and getting more active again in the last 15 months, and you’ve done well. If you’ve fallen off the wagon, well, it happens. Try not to kick yourself. Remember how good you felt after getting healthy, especially in comparison to how bad you were feeling before, and try to re-commit.
Remember how your back hurt when you walked even 10 minutes? How much more would you have been able to see of Arizona and Utah if you didn’t have to limit your walking? How much more fun would the hike to Machu Picchu have been if you could have kept up with the kids (mental note: you might still owe Hubert a house)? Remember how anxious you were to travel on a plane—would the seatbelt even fit? You know you remember. If you did maintain your health, CONGRATULATIONS!! It isn’t easy, and you should be proud. Keep it up!
Your last few years have been difficult personally, trying to make sure Mom and Dan are taken care of without losing your sanity or too much of your own money. If they are still with you and you’re still feeling resentful, give yourself a break and try not to feel guilty. You’re only human, and they are not easy. So also don’t feel bad about doing things for yourself.
If one or both are gone now (even odds at least one is no longer with you), chances are that you aren’t sad and don’t miss them, so again, give yourself a break for that. After all, no one in the family misses them at all now, and they’re still here. It’s a sad situation, but it’s also not your fault. And it’s the big reason you try to be kind to others and live your life differently.
Speaking of that, are you still being a hermit like Dan used to be? People love you, and you love them, so try to get out more. You know you always enjoy time spent with family and friends even when your first impulse is to turn down invitations and stay home. Reach out to them. Everyone knows you are busy and burdened; they don’t judge you and are just glad to see you whenever they can.
Are you dating? HAHAHAHA! I know, right? It’s what everyone always asks when they see you again. If you actually are, make sure he’s worthy. Respect any red flags. And don’t go trying to find flags that truly aren’t there—that’s your baggage. If you are not with anyone, you’re probably perfectly happy anyway, and that’s just fine.
I hope the world opened back up and you were able to take some more fun trips this past year. And I hope you didn’t lose anyone to COVID, which is starting to rage again just when we all felt safe, or to anything else.
Keep taking good care of yourself. If you’ve learned anything as you’ve matured, it’s that life is precious and short. See your beloved friends and family (don’t see the ones that suck the life out of you if you don’t want to, and don’t feel bad about it). Take the trip. Eat the doughnut (just not a half dozen every day!). Be present for it all.
Optimistically,
Your 54-year-old self, December 2021
***
My notes on the contents:
I lost 80 pounds two years ago, and I keep re-gaining and re-losing 20 to 30. But I’ve kept 50 off consistently and still feel pretty good, so I’m proud of that.
Hubert was our guide in Peru, who wouldn’t let me give up even after the twentieth time I told the kids to leave me on the mountain and save themselves and say nice things at my funeral. The photos above are from that hike in 2018.
Indeed, my mother passed away—the day before my birthday. Many people said to me what I said to myself: it was her last birthday gift to me. If you think that sounds awful, well, it does, but as I share my stories, maybe you’ll understand. I took care of her for the last three years of her life, so I’m not an ogre. But she was a narcissist, and the years she didn’t talk to me (because I set a boundary she couldn’t bulldoze) were the most peaceful of my life. And as I’d suspected, I do not miss her, and I’m more sad about that than about her death, so I’m glad I thought to remind myself not to feel guilty. I had grieved her and our relationship a long time ago.**
Dan is my younger brother, who is in a nursing home with alcoholic memory loss, and he is still with us. He’s the father of my adopted dog, Buddy, whom I tried really hard to re-home when Dan was hospitalized and then homeless, but he was apparently meant to be mine. There’s a message in there, I’m sure.
I am not dating. And everyone still asks. Like Buddy, he’ll have to fall in my lap and be pretty damn near perfect and willing to sleep in separate bedrooms and maybe separate houses and maybe go away for a few weeks at a time, and then maybe (MAYBE) I’ll think about it.
I am still more of a hermit than I should be, but I’m trying.
Trip-wise, I was in my hometown a lot this year because I was taking care of Mom and then her estate. I spent a couple months in Florida; several friends, extended family members, and my other brother live there. I’m on my way back tomorrow! Some things are brewing, so we’ll see what 2023 brings.
*If this idea interests you, check out Future Me.
**On this topic of difficult mother-daughter relationships, Jennette McCurdy’s memoir, I’m Glad My Mom Died, is in my TBR pile. A memoir that really spoke to me this year was The Burning Light of Two Stars, by Laura Davis, who also cared for her mother at the end of her life after a long estrangement. I highly recommend this powerful and healing memoir.
V Lynn Connelly 