A letter to my/your 21 year old self
Apart from instructions to listen to 'Vienna' on repeat
Dear David,
Jesus, look at that hairline. Well done. You’re washing it too much, I think. That’s what gives it that fluffy look. And don’t worry too much about the weight stuff. Your diet’s fine enough, and everything’s going to be okay.
Well, you should exercise, cut the sugar, and drink more water - all of that will make you feel better. But overall, it’s less important than the bigger stuff behind it.
I know you sense it. The deep, unending wet shadow that’s in your head. It will take years to exorcise it, and you must do it with tweezers. You must pick it up gently; it’s prone to slip away. But if you’re careful, you can move it into the nest of your hair and then over your head. In truth, this is scarier than it is in your head because it could fall at any moment, heavy and slick, down into the belly, where it will lodge.
And the gut is the most dangerous place for the shadow. It bewilders instinct. Deadens wisdom. Numbs all sense of anything transcendental.
I would tell you to get help, but you don’t even know who to ask or what to ask for. And in truth, I don’t know what to tell you. Except to keep going. Keep marching on. Rage and ambition help. They produce a ceaseless forward momentum until you find something gentler to ride.
What else is essential to know?
Coldplay won’t get any better after Viva La Vida. Don’t waste too much time on Star Wars; it has diminishing returns. Invest in companies called Netflix and Tesla. Resist joining Instagram and Twitter. I think, honestly, in the end, they will not be worth the trouble they cause.
But more importantly, when you are ready to name the Big Bad Thing, that damp shadow, go gently. You are stronger than you think. And you can survive things you cannot imagine now. You overestimate what can be done in a month but drastically underestimate the distance you can travel in a decade.
You have time and no time at all. But worrying doesn’t make much of a difference, regardless. So perhaps forget I’ve written you anything at all and carry on. Without you, I’m not here. I’m grateful for your pained, thin existence full of worry and heavy shadows. Carry on, with my sincerest thanks, and look forward. March on.
Love,
Dave, 36
What would you pen to your 21 year old self?
Did this strike a chord? You may also be interested in this post about finding happiness or a post from about a year ago when I started taking anti-depressants.
My 21 year old me wouldn't listen to the 62 year old me. He already 'knew everything'. And, what could an old man possibly tell a young man? Everything the old man knows is either: old news or so generic that the young man couldn't possibly act upon it. And, the reason the young man couldn't act upon his older self's advice, is because you have to have the hard won experience before you can believe. So (as much as I detest the word) I would ask for a little 'faith' from my 21 year old self. To which I can almost hear my younger self saying "faith is for those who believe in wishes and fairy tales" come on old man, you've got to come up with something better than that. Unfortunately, I can't tell the young man to invest in Microsoft or Google or any number of things. What I can do is tell him to be patient, invest for the long term. Not just in things that make money, but in things that build character like: relationships, education, travel, practical skills and always remember that you are stuck with this body. Take good care of it!
If only I could talk to 21 year old me. So many things would be different. I would’ve started taking meds much earlier and learned how to train the black dog. Thanks for your words David.