Dear Self,
Around this time four years ago, you were cramming for Regents and final exams in all of your advanced classes. You were 10th in your class and very, very proud of that fact. You were convinced that you were going to be an elementary music teacher someday, and you were committed to Hartwick College in upstate New York, and although you didn't know it at the time, you were probably the happiest you could be, at least for the time being.
That boy that you're dating now will not be the same boy you're dating in four years. Be grateful for that. You know what the red flags in your relationship are now, you've known them for months. Trust your gut, you know what to do. Don't worry about it, it's okay. You will find love again, I promise. I know you're worried about it. High school sweethearts are rarely a thing anyway. Besides, the boy that you're dating in the future likes hiking, music, plus he's 6'2" and very cute, so it all turns out great, I promise. He's good to you, he makes you smile, and being 3000 miles away from him is really going to suck, but his family is really cool, and if you got the opportunity, you would definitely want to fly over there too. Don't be sad he's far away, be grateful you get to spend nine months out of the year with him. He's going to be one of the best things that ever happens to you, and it'll be worth it to put up with all the other bad relationships that led him to you. Listen to your gut.
Well, maybe not always. Your gut right now is in the middle of debating whether you should shave your hair off for St. Baldrick's Day. You're going to be mad at your mom for telling you that you can't. Hair donation is the better option for you, you're going to hate it short and grow it out anyway, so don't be too concerned. Besides, you end up with rad blonde bangs and hair down to your waist. It'll look good. Listen to your mom.
Speaking of Mom, you should be kicking yourself for deciding to take Performance Theatre for the second year in a row instead of Statistics with the easiest teacher that has ever taught statistics. You're going to take it in college and end up completely miserable. Your mom told you so, you should have listened to her.
You've been (pretty much,) a goody-two shoes up until this point. It's okay to let loose this summer and have fun. You're going to make mistakes, you're going to burn bridges, you're going to lose friends, you might hurt some people, and you will regret some things. This is all okay, it's part of the much larger journey in your life. It will lead you to this happy place that you're at now.
You're going to fall asleep at your high school graduation. This is a bad choice. I know you hate this town and about 65% of the people in it, but trust me when I say you will, in fact, get homesick. Yes, you, Miss "I've-been-to-sleep-away-camp-so-college-should-be-fine." You're going to miss your mom and dad more than you think. Be more respectful to them now, they're going to come to your rescue after you spend hundreds of dollars and about a year on a boy you shouldn't have dated. They're going to surround you in love, let you come home more weekends than you planned on, and they're going to fill your bank account every so often because you blew all your graduation party money. They're going to be your biggest supporters, and your best friends. You might not always get along with them, but just know that they love you more than you think they do right now. Be good to them, and stop being so spoiled.
Your friends are your lifeline, the friends you have now will, thankfully, be the friends you have in the future. You lost a bunch along the way, you might continue to lose people, but keep the ones that lift you up and keep you out of the drama, and get rid of the extra baggage, it'll be worth it.
Look, kid, you're doing alright. It's going to suck here for a little while, but trust me, it's all going to pan out. I know you won't believe me, and I know you're going to stress, but it's all going to work out just fine, so relax.
Keep on chuggin, kiddo.
Love always,
Future Self
