Dear Future Self,
Hello! This is your past self-speaking. Currently, I am a recently graduated high school senior. I’m supposed to use this letter to ask you a bunch of questions about our future, like what you like, who your friends are, what your career goals are and where you’re living. Don’t get me wrong, I am interested in all of those answers but I think there is another question that might yield a much more important answer.
I came across this question when, toward the end of our high school years, you and I went on a cruise with our family. You might remember that, on the last night of the trip, we sat alone on the empty front edge of the ship, looking out at the expanse of sea and stars. It was hard to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began. The blackness enveloped us, looking almost like a ceiling, so close you could reach up and feel it above you. At first, it reminded us of a piece of dark fabric, seeming to limit us, or close us in.
Looking down, we could see the water and its dangerous wake crashing against the bottom edge of the ship. Upon further observation (our eyes trailing to search out the horizon, unable to find it), we could see just how infinite the expanse of black really was. Suddenly, we were terrified, because the whole scene reminded us of our impending future.
At first glance, the immediate future can seem so limited, almost suffocatingly so, because comfort in the place we’re in can prevent us from finding a greater life. Comfort is proven to limit, keeping us away from risk-taking, which leads to a lack of opportunity and personal growth. Comfort can keep you stuck, running in place, running in never-ending circles. Comfort means always searching out the horizon, only to be perpetually met with the same scenery, never finding what you’re truly looking for. Ultimately, comfort means that your future has only the potential to hold repeats of your past.
However, at a second and deeper glance, the future can be full of infinite opportunity, which is terrifying for a completely different reason. If you allow it, the future is able to hold so many possibilities. When you are presented with endless possibilities, too many possibilities to count, a lot of hard decisions lie on the road ahead. Hard decisions mean either missing out on whatever you do not choose, or again being stuck in place, for the fear of a wrong decision. All in all, the future can be pretty intimidating.
What I’m ultimately trying to say is, when you’re looking up at a clear night sky in the middle of the ocean, a lot of things start coming into perspective. A million stars are visible, each one representing a different path, paired with different goals. Each one taking hard work, dedication and time to reach. In conclusion, what I hope for us at the end of our college years, is not that we have a boyfriend, or straight A’s, or a job that we can brag about. Instead, I hope that we’ve reached a few stars by then and that, somewhere up in the sky, we’re looking around at our amazing surroundings, with a vague idea of which star to start traveling toward next. So, although I could probably ask you a trillion questions about your life right now, I leave you with one. Have you looked at the stars lately?
Yours Truly,
A Younger You
