You’ve
seen them every so often… a person motivated to provide advice
for their younger self.
It’s
supposed to be inspirational. It’s supposed to be positive. And
yes… I’ve seen a handful that have some pretty cool things to
say… about how the struggles will be worth it… how the challenges
will turn you into something pretty fantastic… and so on.
I’ve
got to tell you though, more often than not I don’t understand
it.
I
mean, sure, in general I get the concept. And I’m not talking
about when they slip into cliché. They provide some great
insight.
Instead,
I’m not sure if the advice connects with the new audience that
is supposed to be inspired.
Because
when I was younger, my problem wasn’t so much with feeling left
out. (Oh, I was left out. I felt it. And I was often quietly miserable.)
More than anything else though… the problem was that back then
I had zero grasp of time and life. It’s kind of an amazing contradiction
really, and one for which there is no solution. (Even from a really
well written letter that offers perspective and appreciation for
time.)
When
you are younger, you want everything immediately. You want to
grow up, make your own decisions, and so on. It doesn’t connect
that becoming comfortable in your own skin takes time. (And experience.)
You
also feel invincible. You don’t understand how fragile life is
and that the length of your life is unknown. (And unpromised.)
And...
there isn’t a true grasp of how things aren’t created in a day.
There tends to be little patience for allowing things to develop,
or for relationships that could last for decades.
We
get wrapped up in those wonderful “if I had it to do over” debates,
when the reality is that the only consistent things about life
are that it’s not always fair, it doesn’t always go the way you
want, and occasionally, it rains. (Hard. Thunderstorms with gale
force winds hard rain.)
And
despite all that overcoming adversity stuff, that time dilemma
increases in importance. And that’s a thinker.
We
don’t all get to live to the age of 90 or beyond… don’t get to
live all of our years in good health… regardless of the decisions
we make. Illness and accidents and life get in the way of longevity
for many. I wish they didn’t. They do.
Right
out of the gate, you can’t promise your younger self a long and
happy and healthy life.
Maybe
the advice must be built around cherishing every day. (That’s
not too shabby. We do need to appreciate every day. So fair enough
there. Cliché though. Cliché.)
The
trouble is, time is exactly what you need to flourish and grow.
It is time and experience, the scars of life, that bring you to
that wonderful sense of self.
So
the letter to the younger self misses the hurry up and wait realities
of life.
Not
sure if I’m connecting on any particular thought, or even conveying
something worthy of consideration. And that’s ok. This is a train
of thought exercise, sprouting from nothing more complex than
an evening looking at the stars. (Or doing something else of equal
importance.)
The
point is, I have no way of telling my younger self that things
get better… things work out… all is well. I’m not so sure I could
write a letter to a younger anyone. I have plenty of times when
I want to exchange my adult card for a summer of playing outside
all day, until the evening’s game of hide and go seek moves from
sunlight into streetlight into ending with the call of a parent
echoing through the neighborhood.
Maybe
the glass is a bit half empty for me as I write these words. And
perhaps I should be looking for ways to inspire and delight the
next wave of difference makers. I’m sure those words will come
to me, and a day with a glass half full is on the way.
For
now though, I’m craving a drink from the hose and a round of ghost
in the graveyard.