A letter to the 25-year-old me…
(Twelve years older, twelve years wiser.)
Hi T,
How’s it going. I know you have it all figured out but I wanted to give you a heads up on a few things…
First off, you know those wrinkles you think you have? And those few gray hairs? Yeah, don’t worry about it. No, seriously. You’re all good. You’ll know when to worry and buy the wrinkle cream ten years from now. Even better, you won’t really care so much about the wrinkles or the cellulite or the grey hairs because you’ll be so stoked on who you are as a person. You’ll wish you would have spent more of your twenties loving yourself and less obsessed with trying to get a flat stomach and frizz free hair. Eat. The. Pizza.
So… that gig at the magazine you didn’t get? Remember how you walked away thinking you weren’t good enough? Well, another editor at that magazine is going to tell you (after they get downsized), that it wasn’t because of your skill, it was because another editor thought you’d be “a distraction in a work place surrounded by men.” Your editor will also tell you that they thought you were the best candidate. It will be the first time you’ll encounter sexism and you’ll be blown away that it actually exists. You’ll also be pretty disappointed that you doubted yourself and your skill when it had nothing to do with you. It will make you angry and the anger will motivate you and you will start to kick ass professionally. You’ll remain friends with your editor, many editors after that, and create a path where there was none.
You’re going to quit drinking at thirty. Shocker. I know. Your skin and your liver will thank you. You’re going to be stoked on the lack of hangovers and get kind of hippie / quasi vegan. Just don’t wear patchouli oil and you should be OK. Ps. Spring for the Coppola Claret while you can.
That guy? Yeah, no. I know, you have “a connection”. But really, he’s lame. Try focusing more on the “Do I like them” than the “Do they like me?” and you’re going to be A-OK. I know, it sucks and he’s really niiiiiiiiiice… usually. But, trust me. Also, don’t be afraid to be alone. Throw yourself into your work and your hobbies and all of your amazing you-ness and you will never feel lonely. When you hit 35, you won’t even be worried that you’re single. While many will be scrambling to hit societal benchmarks, you’ll be happily doing your thing and picky as hell. You’ll also look better than you do now. Trust. Oh — and around 35, you’ll meet “the One”. Go figure.
Please become more disciplined with your songwriting. You were a better pianist at 13 than you are now. Wanting something doesn’t achieve results, doing something does. Also, accept your voice and stop hiding it. You have soul in your voice, it comes from your Brazilian side. Stop trying to sing like a mopey shoegazer, it’s not in your DNA (but listen to all the Ride and Slowdive that you want). At the end of the day, you have a voice like a torch singer. Embrace it.
Be kind to other women and cultivate relationships with them in work and your personal life. Don’t be jealous, there’s no point. I know she’s prettier, thinner, richer, smarter, cooler than you but there’s only one you. Love that person and you won’t need to compare. By the way, there’s plenty of professional and creative opportunities (and men) to go around for everyone. Don’t assume you’re a champion for women just by being in a position of responsibility - actually do the work to help other women. You’ll get what this means later…
That said, look at your part in situations when you get angry with someone else. You’ll inherently do this on a regular basis when you’re older but man, you could have saved yourself a lot of time by doing it earlier. Ps. Cut out the dramatic people as soon as you can, they’re bad juju. Negative people will never take you anywhere that you want to go.
Heads up: you’re going to be pretty pissed off when you have to move in with the parentals for awhile when you’re 29. You’re going to act like you don’t care but, you will. The thing is, dad is going to die of a sudden heart attack nine months later. You’ll realize after he’s gone that God was doing for you what you wouldn’t have done for yourself: give you more time with dad. You’ll be grateful you lived at home. You’ll realize a plan was in place all along and how, if you go with the flow, everything works out.
When mom dies of breast cancer four years later, it will be much easier because you will be in acceptance. You will hold her hand, show up for her, take care of her financially and make sure she feels at ease. You will feel like you know less than you do now. You will know that grace always meets you — in some miraculous way — when you least expect it.
Lastly, when it seems hard — remind yourself that the universe is not ripping you off, you are being taken care of benevolently all the time. Be kind and do good work. Things will be better than OK. Blaze a trail with kindness, consistency and curiosity. Most importantly, don’t wait for anyone to believe in you, believe in yourself and your ideas — now. You are worthy.
