A letter

from a time-traveler

Hey little A,

Little as in… 25. Or as far back as 18.

I have to start here. I want to say I am incredulous thinking about how you have everything out ahead of you and you have no idea it’s coming. The world will unfold in front of you and you will do everything you can with the information you have at the time.

If I could float backward in time and whisper in your ear, would I?

If you could float forward in time and take a look around, what would you think?

I am writing to you from my bed. I live in a studio apartment in Philadelphia - where I’ve been for three and a half years. I am almost 29 1/2, which I have a hard time believing. I am still trying to figure it all out… which, as it turns out, can be pretty beautiful. Life can be hard, I’m not going to pretend it’s not, but my god it’s so full of love and spontaneity and crazy chances.

Today, I visited my alma mater. On this campus you spent four years learning, growing, writing, falling in love, breaking into pieces, cutting and dying your hair in the little freshman dorm bathroom and working to build a foundation that would carry you the rest of your life. It is the place you escaped to, despite all the guilt you carried for doing that.

It was the right decision. I promise.

I ran across Bunce’s lawn barefoot in the rain, laughing the whole way. And I wasn’t alone. One of my best friends came with me, no questions asked. We just took our shoes and socks off and ran. We stood at the edge of it all, where I took in the spot where you graduated seven years ago - out in that blazing sun, do you remember? I hugged and kissed the ginkgo tree you used to climb, the one I wrote underneath sometimes - without ever knowing its name.

I tiptoed through the empty Laurel Hall, which now houses the English department and all the professors you worked for, who are so endeared by you, and who instilled in you such profound wisdom.

Back then it was the place you spent that first year. Your first semester you were so miserable and scared and brokenhearted you poor darling, I wish I could’ve been there. Things calmed down as time went on, your heart beginning to heal as you got a little wild. You built friendships you still haven’t let go of. They’ve begun to get married, and you’ll be there for that, too.

I can tell you that eventually you will move through the world with tremendous grace and confidence. You’ve got quite a bit of that already, but it will build, multiplying tenfold over the next 11 years. You will love how you move through the world, bouncing a bit as you go.

You will be an unapologetic lover. A woman with a soulful heart and big feelings that people will try to shame you for. At the end of the day, they are the most authentic parts of you and all the right people will cherish them.

You have traveled so many places, met so many people, and cultivated such beautiful spaces. You can even speak Spanish, I shit you not. You can speak some German too, and Italian, et un peu de Français.

The ginkgo

The tenderness and love I feel for you in my heart is so deep and profound. I am threatened by a wave of tears. There is more I’d like to say but for now I will close with this:

You are not a victim of your circumstances. You are a shining example of perseverance and motivation. You are entrenched in the search for love, with a deep thirst for knowledge. This will never be a fault.

Who you are right now is a miracle. Who you continue to morph into over time — she is a gift, bursting at the seams with vigor and vitality.

I can promise you that the woman I am today, the woman you will turn into,

is a treasure. A sparkling being with a knack for boldness and a desire to try anything and everything. She is alive.

Please keep moving forward. You’ve got plenty of time. It’s so beautiful it hurts. I can’t wait for you to see it all.

Love you love you love you.

A