If I Knew Then…

A Letter To My Younger Self

Last week, an old friend texted me a photo of a photo—one of those slightly grainy, slightly faded gems that could only come from the olden days when people used actual cameras with actual film. The picture she’d unearthed while sifting through old photos for her daughter’s upcoming Bat Mitzvah, shows four teenage girls (our core high school posse), sprawled haphazardly across a railroad track somewhere in California, circa 1989.

Neither of us can recall why we’re sitting on railway ties like we’re channeling our angsty inner Molly Ringwalds for some coming of age movie poster. What we do remember is the night before, when we coerced a stranger in a park into buying us a case of Bartles & Jaymes wine coolers. Drank the wine coolers in said park. And you can see us all paying deeply for it right there on those train tracks. This is definitely a “morning after” shot.

Looking at our unlined, baby faces and Eighties bobs, I was overtaken by a wave of tenderness, and not just because of the peach-flavored hangovers I know were pounding in our little heads. It turns out, with enough years and enough mistakes under your belt, you develop a certain generosity toward your younger self. So, in the spirit of the Bat Mitzvah (which is, after all, a celebration of growth and wisdom), I thought I’d write a letter to that younger me. The one on the railroad track. The one who worried too much, shrank herself too small, and had yet to discover that the only thing permanent…certain in this world…is that nothing is permanent:

Dear Me,

First, hold tight to these girls and the other select few that you add to your posse over time. These friendships are not just a passing phase—they are the scaffolding for all the versions of yourself yet to come. I know you, and years from now when you are slogging through life’s more complicated chapters, you will be tempted to “turtle.” To retreat in your shell and shut people out when life gets hard, because in the moment, that feels like the only way to survive. But trust me, girlfriends are the emergency contact for your soul, and the true-blue ones will pick up the phone no matter how much time has passed. Let them in. Through it all, these women will be your lifeline. Hang on to them. Invest in them. Call them, even when you don’t know what to say. The world will try to convince you that romantic love is the end-all, be-all. It isn’t. It’s your girlfriends who will see you through.

Second, that “Permanent Record” everyone’s always threatening you with? Spoiler alert: it’s a myth. Teachers will forget. Principals will move on. Nothing is permanent - not records, not regrets, not even your love for Jack Wagner. The only permanent record that matters is the one you keep for yourself. The real record is your collection of memories, lessons, and the stories you hold in your heart. Life is a series of do-overs, so lean into it. Nobody’s keeping score except you.

Third, please stop worrying so much about what everyone else thinks. I know. I know. The world feels like a panel of judges (and you don’t even know about reality TV and social media yet!), but making decisions based on other people’s expectations will only disappoint you in the end. The word “should” is a sneaky thief—don’t let it steal your joy.

Fourth, stop trying to take up less space – physically, emotionally and metaphorically. Stop counting calories, stop shrinking yourself, stop biting your tongue when you want to laugh too loudly. The world doesn’t need another girl who knows how to disappear. It needs you, in all your glorious, messy, extra-ness. Resist the urge to make yourself smaller to fit someone else’s expectations. There are no extra points for being small. The ones worth knowing will love you for your bigness.

If I could, I’d go back and sit beside you on that railroad track, hand you some Gatorade and Advil, and I’d tell you: You’re doing just fine. The road ahead is wild and winding, but you’re not alone. And one day, you’ll look at an old photograph and realize you survived yourself, and then some. Enjoy this moment. Take it in. Laugh at your mistakes, cherish your friendships, and please—promise me you’ll lay off the wine coolers. Your future self will thank you.

With love,

Future You

P.S. Wear sunscreen. Mom was right.