Dear … future me.
Without wanting to put the pressure on, I have high hopes for you. I hope you’re ready. I want you (me? us? I’m not good at this bit) to be the best version of you that you can be. No more comparing yourself to anyone else. Your journey to this point hasn’t been straightforward so there’s no point in expecting the rest of your life to be either. Really, future me, you can only compare yourself with past me, and hope that things are better. That you’ve learned enough from your experiences and your many, many mistakes to grow from them.
A few things: I’d like you to have run at least a half marathon, moved into a home of your own, and set up that little skincare business within the next year or so. And I’d really like you to have successfully planted all the damn potatoes on your allotment. This bit really means you, next-weekend-me…
I’m hoping that there’s plenty of travel for you, plenty of adventures to come. The maybe you write that book you’re always dreaming about, even though you’re not sure what it would be. That you find love again. That the French beans are not eaten by slugs every year, and that one day, you win a prize at the allotment show. Big joys, little successes, I wish it all for you.
Future me, really, you’re everything from this moment on. From each breath I take, you become ‘actual’ me, so it’s tricky to work out where I stop and you start. So, perhaps we can consider that. And make the best choices available to us from now, in this actual moment, instead of waiting for some point at which things are ‘settled’ and ‘normal’. This is your normal and there is no, real, settled life. There’s just now. No-one knows what might arrive unexpectedly, so don’t wait for the right moment to create the life you want, future me. Let’s create our own version of an imperfect, messy, but excellent life instead. From the next breath we take.
When I think about how you might live, future me, it gets a bit blurry. You might be doing what I’ve always threatened to do; living in Paris, hanging out in local cafes, drinking coffee and writing bad romance novels. Perhaps you’ve moved into a camper van and are touring the country. Maybe you live by the sea, or on a farm. Maybe you’re still in the three bedroom semi-detached house that I hope you’ll be living in next year; a house alive with the sound of family. Or, maybe there’s a wedding ring on your finger again, and a husband in your life. Maybe, future me, you’re all of those things, at some point. I just don’t know at all… And I’m learning, day by day, not to fret too much about that, but to just make the best choices I can, as they arrive, in the hope that, ultimately, they add up to a life that goes in the direction I want it to. To a future me that is happy, fulfilled, healthy, adventurous and squeezing the most out of every day I have.
I do know this, future me; you’ll be the proud mother of two children, whatever choices they make. That, all being well, you’ll have had the privilege of watching them grow up. Right now, that makes me scared. Scared about what they might face; what the world is going to be like for them. Scared of getting older. Getting old. And yes, I’m really scared of death.
But, I’m not done yet. There’s a lot of you left to look forward to, future me. I honestly think that the best decades of my life are still to come – like I said, I have high expectations – and I’m waiting with open arms for you.
Let’s do this…
PS: I’ve been taking part in April Love over on my Instagram account this weekend.