Dear Me,

I'm not sure how long it's been, but let's say five years, since a guy just asked me what I'd like my life to be like then (to which I responded, "Dude, I don't even know where I'll be in six months...").

Let's start with the obvious. I hope you're traditionally published. If not, I hope you were smart enough to not have given up. I hope you're financially stable (or more realistically, at least a little more financially responsible...sort of). I hope you got the tattoos you wanted and I hope Mom and Dad aren't too mad about it.

I hope you have a job you don't hate. I hope you like your living situation. I hope you have a super cute dog and a knitting group and at least one rad neighbor, wherever it is you decide to settle.

I hope you've found someone who loves you and treats you the way you deserve to be treated, even if that person is you. When it comes to this, it's okay to be selfish.

And for the love of god, don't settle.

I hope you still keep in touch with good friends and you found the courage to let go of the bad ones. I hope you aren't as stressed and were able to finally find a happy medium between organized and complete chaos. But there's one thing I hope more than all of this.

Most of all, I hope that you're happy.

I hope that you find it in yourself to accept the fact that nothing is ever going to be completely, undeniably perfect, and I hope you're happy anyway.

I hope you had the courage to make your life everything you wanted it to be. I hope you stopped standing in your way (knock that b*tch out).

I hope you learn to love yourself in the way that others do. I hope you learn to see yourself for the funny, smart, kind person others insist you are.

And if 27-year-old me, you haven't done these things, that's okay too. Maybe 32-year-old us will have better luck. Just know that 22-year-old you needed something to shoot for. Just knowing I cared enough to want these things for myself gives me hope that all of it is possible.

Love,

You