When I was 11 years old, I wrote a letter to myself to be opened in the year 2009, when I would be 21 years old. We were supposed to write what we thought our lives would be like at that point, our hopes and dreams for the future, and so on and so forth.
Not unexpectedly, the year 2009 came and went without me ever thinking about that letter. Then, for some reason the other night (three years after the open date), I thought of that letter.
I even knew where it was, which is odd considering that I have boxes from the last time I moved (in 2010), that have not been opened, looked at, or thought of. They could be full of priceless antiques (not v. likely, considering that I don’t own any.) and I wouldn’t know, because I have never unpacked them and have long since forgotten what is in them.
It seemed almost cosmic, the way that I remembered exactly where the letter was, and that I thought of it out of the blue like that. I dug the letter out of the box it was in, pausing to reflect on the wrinkled envelope labeled with purple ink. In big letters, it read “DO NOT OPEN UNTIL THE YEAR 2009″.
I pulled the letter from its envelope, expecting to be blown away by my 11 year old writing prowess. I imagined feeling touched at my high hopes for myself, and I even expected to feel a little guilty if I decided I wasn’t living up to all my 11 year old self had hoped. I pictured myself matting and framing the letter, or at the very least, lovingly tucking it into a scrapbook to preserve for future generations.
I gently unfolded it, and I was blown away…..at what a crap writer 11 year old me was. The whole thing read as if it had been written by…well, an 11 year old girl. I jumped from one idea to the next, with no transitions or much punctuation. I made predictions and voiced opinions without giving reasons why. But apart from the syntax of the whole thing, I was blown away by one thing…the unexpected comedy gold that I had uncovered. At great personal embarrassment for my former self, I present to you the dearest hopes and dreams of my 11 year old self:
* “I’ll probably drive a BMW convertible or a Ford Taurus.”- Seriously, 11 year old self? You could have written about ANY of your hopes for the future, and you chose to write about cars? And what a spectrum at that. I was apparently so confident in my 21 year old, college student, future self that I believed that I would have the wherewithal to buy a BMW convertible. Or, you know, a Ford Taurus. Which for some reason cracks me up more than the convertible. Don’t get me wrong, I am sure they are fine cars, but it just struck me as funny. However, I believe this wish was inspired by my two much admired older cousins, who both drove Tauruses.
*“I’ll work as a nurse in a Pediatrician’s office, and I’ll go to college to major in Fine Arts.- *Snort* I sincerely doubt that I had a clue what Fine Arts were. I guess I just thought it sounded fancy or something. But, as longtime readers and dear friends will remember, Adult Rachel did go to nursing school for a bit….then I went on to get a B.S. in Child and Family Studies, obtain a teaching license, and say things like “crisscross, applesauce” and “you get what you get and you don’t pitch a fit” with a completely straight face, on a daily basis.
*”I’ll probably have at least one baby.”- Please excuse me while I simultaneously have a panic attack and laughing fit. Oh dear, former self…at least one baby at the age of 21? I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am getting closer to 24 years old everyday, and have NO babies, save for the ones that are covered in fur, bark, and eat kibble for dinner. AND I AM EXTREMELY HAPPY ABOUT THAT. Don’t get me wrong, I obviously think kids are terrific, I see them everyday….and then I happily send them back home to their parents.
*”I’ll live in an apartment.”- Well, even a broke clock is right twice a day. In the year 2009, I did, in fact, live in an apartment. Although I drove a Honda, was a college student, and had no babies. I did, however, go out a lot, drink a lot of wine, and stay up til all hours…which I’m sure would have seemed awesome to my 11 year old self.
It was hilarious to read that letter, even if it’s only redeeming quality was that it was funny…and written in perfect Zaner Bloser cursive.
The next such letter that I remember writing was in 2004, when I was 16 years old. Perhaps I’ll post it in the year 2014…I have a strong suspicion that it will be equally as mortifying….and equally as funny.
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Love this! very cute….