Last year, I wrote a letter to my past self, the one who needed guidance in a world she wasn’t sure she would make it in. This year, I want to write to the me right now, the one in practically the same place.
This is my wish for you.
I won’t pretend you’ve been okay for a while now. It’s so easy for me to give hopes for a happier life with this positivity that I can afford for anybody by myself. They say there’s such thing as toxic positivity. I don’t want to strangle myself with these expectations and comparisons of well-being that I might not be able to achieve right away.
So. These are my three hopes for you in this next year.
A voice. I’m sorry that you’ve learned there’s safety in silence. Even though you know it’s important to speak up, you’re still navigating the complexities of communication in this age. I hope you can learn to speak your truth with honesty and compassion and without the sacrifice of health and wellness.
Curiosity. That voice that nudges you to go off on the path not marked on your map, the way you’re most comfortable in unknown cities alone to explore untethered, the pull towards learning more that leaves you with 30 tabs open for half the night. You can’t learn anything new if you don’t ask. You can’t experience anything remarkable if you remain on the path. I think we’re due for another solo trip. Take a deep breath of the air we’re not acquainted with yet.
Life. This one I thought of as we blew out the candles today, my one clinging, desperate wish: I want not just to live, but to want to. You don’t have to get through each day with a list of accomplishments. You just have to get through them. Everything else will follow. Find your light and hold it close to you.
I won’t say you have all of these superhuman qualities or lovely personality traits, because I know that in the deepest depths of your darkness, you’d never believe me. But what’s undeniable is this: you are capable. You have made it through 100% of your worst days. You will continue to.
The me of now, the me of one minute from now, the me in my last moments, we will pull through. Together.