Yesterday, my grandma excitedly ushered me to a drawer in her spare bedroom and produced a letter addressed to her in my ten year old handwriting. I knew embarrassment was nigh.
I'd written the letter just before my family moved from Texas to Virginia. It was in two different colors of gel pen, written on the back of the notebook paper, and a few words were misspelled, but I could see my current self plain as day in the childish cursive handwriting.
It was written with weirdly adult phrasing. "They're shipping us out today," I began like the enlisted protagonist of a Tim O'Brian short story. I continued, "Sorry I didn't write earlyier (I'm ashamed, fifth grade me. Very ashamed.) as I was tied down with school work." I was tied down with school work. I was ten. Some things never change.
I said I had to pack up my stuff for our "diddy move." Eighteen year old me doesn't even know what a diddy move is, or why ten year old me put quotation marks around it. Dad explained it to me, and I did use the quotation marks correctly. That redeems some of the earlier spelling errors.
That letter is a perfect example of why I think writing is so important. I would never remember the mindset of myself eight years ago without it. The feelings that seem so monumental one moment are completely forgotten the next. I don't remember writing that letter at all, but while I was reading it, I was sucked back into that time of my life in a way I wouldn't do without that small reminder.
It also goes to show you that despite all the changes people undergo, there are parts of us that just stay the same. If I wrote those two paragraphs right now, I would probably phrase some of it the same. I'm proud of how mature I sounded, even if I don't remember it.
Grandma carefully tucked the letter back in her drawer, remembering the old me, hugging the current me. I'm glad both mes could bring her joy, and I'm glad that's something else that will never change.
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