Week 1: Write to your future self
Author’s note
I had a mid-twenties life crisis. I felt like I’d fallen behind my peers. I doubted my choices and who I was. Above all, I was lonely. I’ll spare you the details, but I was depressed and needed help. To this day, I regret wasting my time by not seeking therapy.
There was one thing I did during this time that I still appreciate to this day. I wrote myself a letter. I went to futureme.org, poured my soul out to myself, and scheduled the email to land in my inbox almost a year later. [I picked a random date, you know, to add a little mystery to my life.] Writing it gave me a sense of a release. I felt a tiny piece of the burden I was carrying float away.
Every once in a while in the months that followed, I’d think to myself, “I wonder how far I’ve come since I wrote that letter.” There was something powerfully cathartic about owning up to all of my feelings in writing. Over time, I forgot about that email to myself. A year later, there it was. In my inbox. Rapping at my chamber door.
As I read my own words, I realized how much I’d changed in a year. I wasn’t completely healed, but I was lightyears away from the girl who described herself as feeling “broken” nearly every day.
When I was thinking through ideas for the next 52 weeks, I remembered this letter and wanted another chance to check in with myself a year later. The difference now is that, on a personal and emotional level, I’m happy. Happiness should get equal appreciation and documentation, right? The answer is yes. So here we go.
Dear… me,
On this cold and snowy Wednesday evening, I’m sitting at our kitchen table, aka. my desk, warmed by my 10-year-old space heater in near darkness because we really need to buy another lamp. I just shut down my work computer for the night and can hear Nathan solving the world’s problems in the next room. He’s a hard worker among so many other things. I am blessed, lucky, fortunate, and so on and so forth.
The past two years have been challenging in many ways, but our marriage has been a refuge to me. We only experienced a few months of ordinary married life before talk of “new normals” entered the everyday conversations heard ‘round the world. I’m happy with our little island.
Pre-COVID, my motto was “be present.” In… uh… ongoing-COVID, not much has changed. However, as we set foot into this new year, I want to add something—be present and be loud.
Throughout our life, we’ve been called “quiet.” But anyone who knows us well, knows that simply isn’t true. If anyone in our life has firmly believed we’re a quiet person, most likely, that person intimidated us to silence. True story. Let’s be honest here.
Carmen, never forget that you’re a singer and a writer. Who cares if anyone wants to listen to your voice or read your words? It is who you are and what you do. These are facts.
I hope that you spend the year writing until your hands hurt and singing as though your voice will resound through eternity. You and I both know that singing is what fills your heart with joy.
On Dec. 24, I realized that I had not sung alone in front of anyone in exactly two years. Of course, singing in church is a bit different from performing, but still. I hadn’t propelled a song into the atmosphere, alone, in front of anyone in two years. We cannot do that again. We cannot go that long in silence again.
I also realized that it had been over five years since I had last written for my own enjoyment. I used to get home from work, sit in a quiet space, and write songs, draft book ideas, and blog about whatever came to mind for hours. Writing has been a long-time outlet for me, a quiet activity that I can enjoy without proving anything to anyone and that fills me with a sense of purpose and productivity.
I beg you to sing every single day. I beg you to write just as much. Heck, sing what you write. Who cares? Who cares who is listening? This song is for you.
Be present and be loud.
Love,
…me
