Twenty-five years from now—if I am blessed to be here that long—I will be 68 years old. I can scarcely begin to imagine how much our world will have changed by then. What will our energy sources be? Will cars fly? Will polar bears be extinct? There are way too many questions to consider; I get dizzy just thinking about it. Twenty-five years ago, I had never even written in a journal; twenty-five years from now, I will probably have filled up 100 or more. In any case, I am guessing that the world I will be chronicling when I’m 68 will be vastly different than the one I write about these days.
But what about the chronicler? ME. How different will I be as I navigate that different world? Hmmm….that is a stumper. Theoretically, the bulk of the upheaval and “finding yourself” parts of life happen in your early adulthood: 20s, maybe some 30s. I’m 43 right now. Does that mean I am supposed to be in the settled, stagnant part, and that nothing very crazy happens after this? Just a bunch of “getting old”? I am not so sure about that theory, because it seems like I have a LOT left to do!
Whatever is ahead, and because I am basically a loner (and don’t really foresee that changing much), I thought that my 68-year-old self might appreciate a note from an old friend. ME, the 43-year-old version. So, here goes….
Dear Future Me,
I am glad you made it this far! As you well know, for much of your life, I was quite sure you would not. I had you pegged for the guy who dies young, leaving a lot of “What might have been…” thoughts behind. But here you are, alive and well. That is something to appreciate.
Look at your family! What truly extraordinary people you have been blessed to call your tribe. You completely lucked out with that wife of yours. She has done so much good in the world. I still don’t know how she puts up with you, but I am glad that she does. You better be, too! And your children have grown into such unique and authentic adults, giving their gifts to the world in ways that only they can. I know you believe that we all come to Earth with our personalities and our callings mostly determined, and that you take no credit for their successes and the class with which they handle them. However, I wish you would remind yourself once in a while that you played your part well, too, giving them the love, support, and guidance that allowed them to authentically take their leaps, knowing that you had already done what you could to soften the inevitable falls. If you have done one thing right on this journey, it is that. Knowing how hard on yourself you are about making enough of an impact during your short time on this planet, I hope you at least take some comfort in that contribution. You’ve been a good Dad. And yeah, they really are amazing.
Speaking of your impact and how you have tried to make it, I can sum it up this way: I am sorry, and I am proud of you. Like you, I really wish you would have been able to reach more people with your message and helped them to live their best and happiest lives. I am sorry for that, as I know how it pains you, and I know they would have benefited from hearing you. I hope you will continue your efforts for all the days that you live. The task is worthy of your time and effort. On the flipside of my sympathy, I truly am proud of your mission and how you have gone about living your purpose. You have, if nothing else, stayed on task these last 25 years. Just this morning, I was writing graduation cards to your niece and nephew, and my message to them was this: “If I have one piece of advice for you, it is to understand who you are and what makes your heart sing. Then just be unapologetically you, forever and always.” I am glad that, on the whole, you have stuck to your own advice. Of course, I know you have made some compromises to keep the bills paid and such, but in all these 25 years, you have never lost sight of your passion and your purpose. Remember that Life Purpose exercise you did way back when, when you decided that at your core, you were a catalyst for self-awareness and authenticity? If that is so, then you have done okay in living that purpose. I know that you wished for a bigger audience on a broader platform, but you haven’t stopped being yourself and delivering your message. And though I know your journey with this is not over and that you will keep fighting the good fight, even if you never sell another book or give another speech, I hope you will find some peace in having made the attempt. You have lived with the idea that “This is not a dress rehearsal,” and I hope you can see that as its own version of Success. So, as you hit the home stretch of the last 25 (or so) years of your journey with your message, I hope you can somehow balance the seemingly conflicting ideas of NEVER SETTLING for the amount of progress you have made and still APPRECIATING the difference you have made in people’s lives.
I can safely say that the part of my vision of you at 68 that makes me feel the best—most relieved, frankly—is that you have remembered to be, above all else, grateful for the countless gifts that you have been blessed with. Your thoughts are centered around a theme of Gratitude, and that has undoubtedly been the thing that has kept you consistently happy for all of these years, no matter how the world has turned. In whatever years you have left, as perhaps some of your physical and mental gifts may leave you, it is my great hope you never lose that precious Gratitude.
It surely has been a magnificent ride! Keep on marching your path to the beat of that drum that only your ears can hear. And remember to always reflect the Truth that you have known all along: Life is beautiful.
P.S. I almost forgot. It’s time to forgive yourself for getting old (and looking old). It’s part of the deal, so deal with it!
How about you? What would you like to say to Future You? Open up your journal and lay the groundwork for a very important letter. I think it would be easier to write a letter to Past You—maybe we will do that next week—because you know exactly what that life was. It seems the hardest part of this task is to come up with a reasonably clear feeling and visualization of what your life and worldview will be in 25 years. But I urge you: do that work! It is important. Making this visualization requires a blend of honesty and hopefulness about how you will navigate the next quarter-century: mentally, physically, spiritually. The habits of mind and body that you carry into that distant future day dictate the letter you are about to compose, so consider them fully. What is central in your life today—for example, your purpose, dreams, family—that you are certain will still have importance 25 years from now? How old will you be in 25 years? Where will you be in your career cycle then? How about your family cycle? What will Future You want/need to hear from Present You? Encouragement? Consolation? Empathy? Congratulations? Instructions? Thanks? A kick in the butt? A reminder of what she has believed in and what her purpose was? A reminder of her value and who loves her? Permission to die? It could be any or all of the above, and so much more. I know I encourage you every time to write it down, but sometimes I mean it more than others. This exercise was very helpful for me. Emotional, too. It taught me some things I need to remember today and tomorrow, not just when I am 68. So, answer the questions above, of course, but then take that final, crucial step: WRITE THE LETTER! I won’t even ask you to leave me a reply this week (though I always appreciate it more than you can imagine). Instead, leave yourself one, and start it like this: “Dear Future Me…..”
Live your whole life,
P.S. If this letter and this exercise were good for you, I hope you will share them with your friends and family. It is about improving the quality of our lives, and to my mind, that should be a universal hope. Blessed be.