Dear Past Me,

Honestly, I can’t stand people who say that, if they could, they wouldn’t go back in time to change things they did because “it got me where I am today.” I can’t stand those people, and I know you can’t either. Because you are me, after all.

Dear early 20s Julia,

I wish you could meet almost 30 Julia.

She’s the feminist you swore you’d never be. She uses the female pronoun for God, hardly ever wears a bra (even when she probably should), and is living in what some in your family might call sin.

Dear Ashley,

It's Sunday morning and I'm driving to work. I'm taking the back roads to avoid the freeway and I just saw a deer. I drove past the yoga place that you only went to once, but swear you'll go back. Past the theater that always makes you question if you should audition for a part, but then quickly reminds you of the one time you did and bombed, so embarrassingly racked with stage fright you didn't know you had. 

Dear Early 20's Me I kind of miss you,

The infamous early 20’s… subject of endless blog posts and time of self-exploration and a time when freedom clashes with adulthood before you find yourself in the sea of matching houses in a strangely named suburb somewhere on the outskirts of a city. Doesn’t feel like your future? Don’t worry; I can assure you that is where you are headed, happily. It’s not a sad existence, it’s everything you want right now, but there are some funny things you learn on the road to get there.

Dear Me: 

You aren’t perfect. You don’t have to be perfect. You will never be perfect. 

I know that’s difficult to consider, especially because you strive for it. I know it’s painful to accept because you simply want to please those expecting you to be perfect. But you aren’t. And you

won’t be. 

And it’s okay.

Oh, Meredith.

There are so many things I wish I could go back and tell you to save you from years of pain. I sit here at almost 26 thinking, perhaps a little arrogantly, about how much I’ve learned in the past year or so and how much I’ve changed. I think about how life would be different if these tiny revelations had happened just a year sooner, but then I realize there’s no point in wondering. It doesn’t change anything that happened in the past. It only changes how I move forward.

Dear Kelsey,

You think too much. No really, you do.

For years, that thinking paid off in big ways. You got the best grades, earned a spot in the Ivy League and charted a course for yourself from dreams to reality.

Dearheart, I write to you as you are on that November night in 2007,

In 9 years, you will not believe that it is possible for humans to hear the voice of an anthropomorphic supernatural entity recognized by the Christian church to be the creator of the universe. But here's the thing that you will never get over: you are going to think that you hear a very clear message tonight at your campus ministry's worship service.

Dear Past Me: You Can Handle the Heat…Stay in the Kitchen.

Your cooking skills are rough. And they will get worse before they get better. I know because I have eaten the burnt rice, the quinoa that could crack a tooth, and the Hamburger Helper meals that managed to morph into pureed cheeseburger just by being in the oven. I’ve had more than my fair share of pots boiling over, Styrofoam melting in the microwave, and a meal consisting of solely a raw onion. You are likely at the point in life where you have accepted rice will always be dry and crunchy.

Dear 18 -Year-Old Lizzy, 

It’s me, Liz. Liz who? It’s Liz-Your-Future-Self coming at you from the not-so-distant future of 2016. Yes, I officially go by Liz now, and most people are cool with that (except sometimes your family, as you’ll always be their Lizzy/Lizardbreath/Bohunkis-Face, sorry girl).