A LETTER TO MY FUTURE SELF

 Dear future Emily,

Hey there, it's me- you, two days before your first day of college. Everything's finally come together, and there's no turning back now. I have no idea what to expect, how I'll cope, or how crazy my life is about to get. I'm scared and excited, and still trying to figure out if I feel like I belong in this season I'm in. Still unsure how- or if- this degree I decided to go for is going to benefit me.

But you. You've been there and back again. It's all over where you are- the homework, the tests, the awkwardness. The six-day work weeks I'm already dreading. I don't know if you're still at your current job or have finally moved on to a better one, but I do know that you're one step closer to wherever you're going. 

It seems so far away from here. It's hard sometimes. 

I know life is about to change. Another jewel is about to be added to my Adulthood Crown, pulling me even farther away from childhood and lack of responsibility. Things are probably going to be really tough. I'm probably going to cry. I'm going to wonder what my life is even good for when I have to come home from work and almost immediately leave for class. I'm going to scream and throw things in frustration because when did life get so hard. I'm going to wish I was a kid again. 

Look at me, predicting these things when you're looking back on them as a distant memory! None of it seems so big to you now, does it? In fact, I'll bet when you're reading this it will feel as if all of it only lasted for a moment. 

I know that's how it feels when I think about graduating high school four years ago. I was terrified- I mean, absolutely terrified. Of getting a job, of not knowing what the future held. To the point of wanting to curl up and watch the world go by. 

But I made it. And so have you. 

I sometimes regret waiting four years before taking this step, because the "future me" reading this letter could have been me now. I could have been done with all of this stress and worry and craziness. 

But you know what? I don't think I would have been ready then. I'm ready now. No, that doesn't mean I expect to be flawless. Or even that I'm fully prepared. But I know I can get through it, because I've gotten through obstacles before. They've caused tears and fear and unmeasurable pain, but I've gotten through them and I'm better for it. 

And you're better for what you've been through, too. This new venture is not the end of life as I know it: it's another stepping stone. A push out of my comfort zone. I will overcome it. And when you and I are the same person, I'll look back and wonder where the time went. 

Thank you, future Emily, for not giving up on me. I knew you could do it. 

A small golden leaf, fluttering nervously at the tip of a cottonwood limb. All its life it's waited for this season- for its chance to shine, for its full potential to show in stunning beauty. Now it's on the edge of that potential- and all there is left to do is let go and fall. 

But it's afraid. It knows this is what it was meant for, but what if it messes up? What if it embarrasses itself, isn't capable of going on like all the other leaves have? Crippling fear slowly eats away at the little leaf's excitement and confidence.

So still it hangs on, unwilling to detach itself from its branch- its safe place, its whole life. From here it can tentatively reach out to the world beyond, but the branch will still be there to pull it back in when it gets scared. 

"I know I have to go!" the little leaf cries. "But I don't know if I'll make it out there! I'm scared!"

But because the leaf wants to live, it has no other choice. If it stays, it will wither and die, having accomplished nothing that will last. It will be safe, but it will never be more than an ornament. What a shame it would be if it finally reached the season it has been waiting for, only to turn back because it's afraid. 

So as the wind blows, making the lea quiver and encouraging it to move forward, the leaf takes a deep breath. It places memories of its safe place in a corner of its mind- but not too far away. It's still shaking with nervous anticipation. But it knows the next season cannot come to pass if it doesn't let it. 

So the little leaf lets go. The wind carries it away- farther than it's ever been from its branch, but not too far.

The season has come for letting go and falling into the unknown. But slowly, the fear will die and make way for success.

-written in autumn of 2016-