I write this not for who I am today.
I write this for the future me. The one who’ll be bogged down by how hard life is, the endless and excruciating choices it’ll have to make some day.
The me who will think that’s it’s okay to give up on your dreams, who won’t dream of doing new things every day, the one who’ll deem it okay to settle for mediocrity.
The me who will compromise on the things that I would never change a stand on. The me who won’t remember having a bucket list, the one who won’t have any.
The me who will change, when asked to, who will change only because I don’t fit someone’s ideal. The me who will give in.
The me who will doubt itself. The me who won’t believe in the invincible power of self.
The me who won’t be the most important person in the world to myself.
I write this because the future me will probably be okay with all of that. Today I’m not. And I don’t ever want to be.
Part of me documenting this, is actually the need to have something to look back at. Solid written proof! I have, over the years, realized that we do change, and we conveniently label it, “for the better” or sometimes we don’t even realize that we have. We feel like this is how we’ve always been. Sometimes, even out rightly refusing to acknowledge that we have, and finally settling on how we’ve just evolved. Or improved.
While I don’t deny the inevitable nature of change, I do have a problem with it when it changes who you are. The way you feel about yourself. How important you are to yourself and also all the things that you once wanted to do.
I don’t believe that wisdom comes with age; experience does, but not wisdom. So I may be twenty something today, and probably at forty something look back at me, and say God, I was so foolish and young.
So, I write this, so that I don’t believe my forty something self.
So that my forty something self knows that maybe I didn’t know a lot of things back then, but I was the smartest, coolest, and the most wonderful version of me. So that it looks back at this and remembers.
I was beautiful, because I knew I was, and not because anybody told me I was. I hated make up, hating nothing about my own self.
I had an indestructible self belief; I believed there was nothing I couldn’t do. I never settled. I never became a different person because I was asked to.
No one could put me down, or even pin me down.
I dreamt of the impossible. I dreamt every day, every waking second too.
I loved myself; my narcissistic unapologetic self.
I did not need anyone to make me happy. I respected myself, more than anything else in the world.
I believed it was okay to be happy for random people when something nice happened to them and deeply sad when something bad did.
I was afraid of spiders maybe, but never afraid of the bigger battles in life.
I was careful, but never cynical.
I laughed, more than I cried. I spoke more than I listened to.
I trusted everything and everyone. I was never biased. Curious, but never judgmental.
I thought too much, but acted mostly on pure impulse.
I was unpredictable.
And yes. Not to forget.
Apart from my mother, I was my only hero.
My forty something self, here’s to you.
Don’t be boring.