Re: Parallel Parking (A Letter to my Past Self)
October 8, 2012 § Leave a comment
Dear Nine-Year-Old Katy –
Ten years from now you’ll still love birthdays. At the age of nineteen the routine still hasn’t gotten old: you’ll still love eating cake, opening presents, even the off-key singing.
What you don’t appreciate now, though, is that the best part is always the before. The sharp sugar craving that precedes the first bite of birthday cake. The first tear of wrapping paper. The inhale before you blow out the candles.
The anticipation, the not knowing, is the really the best feeling – not the actual moment itself.
I don’t want to tell you too much about the future. Global warming is a real thing, so start planning your move to Canada. Hovercars still haven’t been invented, so you should probably still get your normal driver’s license. As the next decade rolls by some things will change. You’ll suffer through hardships, celebrate joys, form opinions and change them and change them again.
Grow out that heinous bob already. Revolutionary idea: side part.
Try to skip that whole teenage angst, Warped Tour, “feelings” stage of your life.
Delete photographic evidence of your awkward phase.
Wear your retainer.
Tell your parents you love them. Don’t let them forget.
Mail $20 to your home address – I’m running low on cash.
Learn how to parallel park. It would make city driving so much easier.
Learn how to juggle too. You need a cool trick.
Be bold. Take risks you might regret. Say yes to opportunities.
Somewhere after ten birthdays, your taste preference will change from chocolate to yellow cake. You’ll grow out of Polly Pockets and Gameboy games. And we’ll reconvene. Some part of you will be mad that I didn’t warn you, that I couldn’t prevent certain things from happening or give you the inside advice to change your circumstances.
I would rather let you make your wish: eyes closed, candles radiating hope.