Some Things Never Change

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.

Another Letter

Dear Aunt Janice,

I didn't know you very well, and now I never will, but I'm not sad about it.

I know this sounds horrible, but you never did anything to deserve my tears.

All my life, your name was synonymous with fights, grudges, petty family feuds. You tortured my grandmother, and you did it on purpose. As my grandma likes to put it, you sunk your claws into my uncle while he was too young to realize what he was getting into, and you didn't release him until yesterday. But worst of all, you tore apart her relationship with her brother.

They were once very close and you very jealous. She even named one of her children after him, a child who probably won't even bother making the drive to your funeral. Having two Uncle Dougs, I distinguished between them by "the one with the mean wife" and the one without.

As I grew up and learned more about your conflicts with the rest of the family, the more you became a picture of what a life shouldn't be. When I die, I don't want my nieces and nephews to bow out of my funeral. I don't want to only be remembered for the grief I caused.

I've always thought that grudges are a waste of time, and you prove that. Months and years of silent treatment is ridiculous and immature, especially when you're over twelve years old.

I hate to say it, but the world might be better with you not in it. You've shunned your children and cut your husband off from his family. Maybe now my grandmother and her brother can renew the relationship you tore away, and forgiveness can mend the wounds you caused.

But I'm afraid the scars you left on Grandma's fragile conscious will be hard to erase. She will feel guilty for the nature of your relationship, even if it was your own fault. That is because she is a better person, a bigger person, than you ever where.

So I guess I should thank you for leading by example and showing me how not to be. I hope you're happy now.

Samantha

(This is my 100th post. I wish it were happier.)

"If I could write a letter to me...

and send it back in time to myself at seventeen..."

What would it say?

Brad Paisley already knows because he's 40something and successful and has plenty of evidence to reassure his young self.

What would reassure me? After all, I'm seventeen and in need of some reassurance. So if I got a letter tomorrow from my adult self, what words would I want to hear?

I would want to hear, first and foremost, that everything worked out decently and I'm not living at home with my parents. I want to know I got into college and got a job I like or love, and am not struggling to merely survive. My worst fear in all the world is being a failure, in my own eyes and the eyes of the rest of the world. I don't want to wake up when I'm 40, hating my life, myself, and everything else. I'm afraid I'm already on a road that's leading in that direction and I'm only seventeen years old.

Second, I'd like to hear that I didn't really waste my youth like I'm always convinced I'm doing. My fatal flaw is that I criticize myself constantly but never take any real action. I want reassurance that one day I do take action.

"Have no fear, these are nowhere near the best years of your life..." sings Mr. Millionaire Brad Paisley. I hope he's right, though. I truly hope these are nowhere near the best years of my life. I know there's no letter coming in the mail telling me it all worked out. I know it's up to me to make sure it works out.

But a letter wouldn't hurt...