Gwen Pemberton // Features Editor
Right, so bad news first.
None of the stuff that you thought was going to fix you worked. There isn’t a fix. But that’s also the good news, in a way.
It’s been a long five years. Honestly, I struggle to remember what life was like before. Before COVID, before university, before moving away from home. I don’t remember what it feels like to be you anymore. I am sorry about that. I still have the fragments that you left to remember you by. Whenever I stumble across one, scribbled in an old journal or pasted in a photo album, I want to reach back across the years in between us. I want to give you the hug you refused to ask for.
I wonder what you would think of me, too. I know that you would be disappointed that I never finished film school, and that I still don’t have my driver’s license. I know because I am also disappointed. The past few years have been the hardest, scariest, most fulfilling and messiest. But please don’t panic.
The plan has changed a bit. You might say there isn’t one anymore. I chose to do it this way, partly because of you. The planning was so hard on you. It made you so hard on yourself. I promise that every misstep took you in the right direction, even if it felt like twisting your ankle. I know that boring platitudes aren’t really helpful, but unfortunately Mom was right. You are going to end up right where you need to be.
I’m not in the industry you want to be in, but I have a good job. I don’t live with the people you want to live with, but I have a decent place. I didn’t graduate when you plan on graduating, but I did get to travel the world. I’m scared to tell you too much, just in case paradoxes are real, but it turns out all right. You did a good job setting me up for success. Thank you.
There are a lot of great people in your future. More than you can possibly imagine. The kind of friends and supporters and partners that you wrote bad poems begging for. They’re all waiting for you. Some of them will drift in and out of your life, like waves rolling in on the beach. There are a few that will pull you under like a riptide, but I know you will be able to get back up. Just remember you don’t have to be afraid of the water.
Maybe I’ll push the metaphor a little further. Go with the flow. Unclench. Biting your tongue too long might make you lose your voice. The one dirty little secret I can tell you is that you didn’t change all that much. You’re still me, and I’m still you. We fucked up a lot, but we needed to. The shitshows were definitely tests, but we made it. Plus, they make great stories.
Some final notes from a very slightly wiser version of yourself: Skip class every once in a while, say “yes” to new opportunities, believe people when they say they want you to come, moisturize, dance in your bedroom, go to therapy, listen to music you liked when you were 12, keep your passport up to date and keep working hard. None of the rest of it matters all that much.
You got this.