Hello, 10-year younger self. I don’t need to ask you how you are because I can just read your diary.
Tonight you’ll slide under the duvet and slag off your immediate family (almost illegibly) in blue biro. Not sure what they did to us on the 17th March 2007, but I doubt they deserved that language. You’ve not yet learnt that the ‘f’ word is most powerful when used sparingly.
Over the coming week, you’ll be compelled to list all your secrets. You’ll be annoyed at yourself for not writing (you might have to get used to this one). You’ll scribble down your thoughts on God. You’ll craft a two-page analogy comparing your life to a plane crash.
You’ll also make wishes, “I wish I was less complicated, more tolerant, more selfless, less emotional.”
Buckle up. It gets harder, but it grows funnier (for the most part).
The good news is it’s only a few more years to wait before you meet someone as weird as you. By the time the next shitty thing happens, you’ll have a teammate. Hopefully, this is of some comfort.
A few requests if you don’t mind: please stop reading in low light, floss, don’t spend as much time in the fetal position afraid of the world, leave your nails alone, start learning to drive now (it’s your Achilles heel), don’t play with the kittens in Tunisia (fleas).
Most of the things that you’re afraid of now haven’t happened yet, and probably never will. Breathe.
Regularly study the lyrics of Baz Luhrmann ‘Wear Sunscreen’. The wisdom is true and timeless.
You can’t control everything, or even most things. Perhaps try to enjoy that fact, because it doesn’t change.
I’m not sure whether to urge you to spend more time with Dad, or keep it the same, or even, to tell you to back away. When the inevitable happens, you will be thankful for the distance and berate yourself for the lack of memories in equal measure.
Who knows, maybe if you try harder, you can even save him. Wouldn’t that be nice? In another reality, not too dissimilar from this one you two could end up drinking tea and eating ginger biscuits and disagreeing over politics, and never know this loss.
I’d like that for you.
Trust me when I say that you end up making a lot of really great decisions. Most of them start off shaky, but you pull through. The feeling in your gut is a great reference point. It has your back.
On the 21/4/2007 you wrote:
I made Staff Writer! Read this back when you are 30, rich, happy and writing, and know that you started this day. Found it alone. Went alone. Succeeded alone. I don’t think there’s that much to be afraid of anymore.
Your future self applauds. I’m 30 in 4 months and writing more than ever. You are right, things are less scary, or perhaps we become braver. I will, however, have to disappoint you regarding the money.
Sorry about that one.
Author Gemma Leigh Glover, aka Writer At Lunch, is editing her debut novel and writes her blog, The Living Edit, from her newly purchased home in Chester, UK. Excluding lunchtime, she is a Resource Management Professional by day, and an author on nights, weekends, retreats, and vacations.
I met Gemma Leigh Glover through a writing collaboration group over a year ago now. Her dry humor and wit make me laugh on a regular basis as we write and edit our way through the creative trenches where we authors must take shelter in order to follow our dreams. Keep your eyes and ears open for her future release–of course, I’ll be bragging about her work when it’s available. I’ve been lucky enough to read her first chapter, and there are so many hooks in it, I can’t wait to find out what happens. But Gemma is the boss, so I have to wait until she is ready to publish. It will be worth the wait.
Gemma’s Dear Me makes me wish I had kept a diary. I’d love to go back and see what was on my mind on any particular day. Or maybe it’s a good thing I can’t. I could be quite dramatic and romantic.
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