Dear Younger Self,
As you take your next breath, I want you to pause—really pause—and understand something it will take you years (and a few hard lessons) to fully grasp. Somewhere, someone is taking their last breath. Life is far more fragile than you realize, and far more precious than you treat it.
You’re going to spend too much time wishing things were different, wishing you looked different, felt different, lived a different life. You’ll compare yourself to others, pick yourself apart in the mirror, and feel like you’ll never be enough. And yes—one day you’ll look back at pictures of yourself and think, “What in the world was I complaining about? I would love to as skinny as I was when I thought I was fat. Trust me on that one.
Also, maybe go a little easier on the blue eyeshadow. And the hair. Oh, the hair. That ’90s hairstyle? Rethink it. You’ll waste hours of your life and gallons of Rave hairspray—trying to stiffen it into submission. Take my advice: let it go before you hit 40. One day you’ll laugh and maybe cringe a little too. That’s all part of the charm.
If I could reach back and gently redirect your heart, I would tell you this, look around. Right where you are. There are blessings you’re overlooking in your search for something more. Even in your lean years you have far more than you realize.
As for those ordinary days you are rushing through, one day you’ll wish you could have them back. You will miss the messy hands, the tear-stained faces, and the chaos of the days you are sure you won’t survive. The people that youassume will always be there? They won’t. Tell them oftenhow much you love them. Be intentional in your relationships. (Spoiler alert: you don’t have as much time as you think.)
The happiness you’re sure eludes you is not something waiting in the future. It’s not found in a number on a scale, a relationship, or a perfect set of circumstances. It’s a choice. A daily, sometimes moment-by-moment choice. Choose it, especially when life feels heavy.
There will be hard seasons that shake you, stretch you, and bring you to your knees. You won’t like them. You won’t understand them. And you’ll probably ask God “why” more times than you can count. But hear me clearly: He is in every one of those moments. Even when He feels quiet. Remember, it is in those tough times that you will learn your greatest lessons. Thank God for the trials, because they will make the good times that much sweeter.
Extend grace to those around you—and save some for yourself, because you are going to need it. You are going to make mistakes, take the wrong road at times, and say things that surprise even you. It’s okay. Try to find the humor in your circumstances and learn to laugh at yourself. Believe me, laughter will become a lifeline. God gave you a sense of humor—use it.
Slow down. Breathe deeper. Laugh louder. Don’t take everything so seriously. Half the things keeping you up at night won’t matter in a few years. And while we’re at it… don’t stress too much about the fact that one day you’ll be driving a minivan. It won’t be as uncool as you think—it will be filled with some of your sweetest memories. Fill up the tank, put a taxi sign on the roof and take advantage of your children being your captive audience. It is the perfect atmosphere for those “When I was your age” stories.
Don’t waste so much time worrying about what everyone else thinks… most of them are too busy worrying about themselves anyway. The beauty of this journey is that you have the power to define who you are. You were born to stand out.
Hold on tighter to the moments that matter. Don’t rush through your life trying to get to the next thing or you’ll miss the beauty of what’s right in front of you.
In the end, it won’t be about how many times you drew a breath, it’ll be about the moments that made you gasp, laugh, or hold your heart in wonder. Those are the ones that really count.
Live fully, love deeply, laugh at yourself a little more than you think you should—and yes, even in a minivan or a bad hair day—trust God with the rest.
Until next time, keep rocking and reflecting.
—Trish McClellan
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