November 1, 2013


Dear 17-year-old me,

Here this goes. A friend of Rachael’s (Sam, you know her) started this project where she writes a letter to herself every day in November. I (you? we? this is going to get complicated) was floating the idea of doing the novel November project, but this sounds pretty fulfilling and easier so I’m going with it.

I should start by being honest. I’m writing this on a plane on October 31. Well, actually, thats’s a lie. I did write it yesterday but it was lost so I’m redoing it the exact same today because I’m too lazy to come up with a new letter. You see me, Rachael, Jaime, and dad’s girlfriend Julie (oh yeah, dad and mom get divorced) are on our way to Vegas for the weekend and I thought there would be a good chance I’d wake up hung over tomorrow and skip the first day so I’m cheating a bit.

In this first letter I felt the need to let you down a bit. Nearly nothing about how you picture your future life is accurate. You do not become a super star prosecutor who makes it her life’s mission to right the wrongs of a big city. You (I? seriously, confusing) do become a lawyer, but it’s basically in name only as I don’t really practice. Truthfully, a lot of times I feel like it was a big waste of time and money. Feel free to learn from me and skip it. But you will miss you on meeting cool people, be forewarned. You certainly aren’t a world traveler. You just got your passport last year.

Also, you are not single and fabulous. You get married at 20. I know, girl, I know. Cry it out. Your dream of an independent life is crap. And to pour salt in the wound you end up really liking to crochet and may or may not have a drawer of craft supplies. But you do still hate the word craft and have stuck to your guns about not having kids. But we’re kind of considering it, so don’t hold your breath.

Really, nothing goes how you think. I mean life is great. Our husband is amazing. We travel a lot around the country, have four pets we love to pieces, and a home that actually feels like home. But I’m definitely a bit lost and have yet to see where this life will take me. Maybe we can talk it out over the next 30 days.

28-year-old you.

Oh and one last thing. You are in college and claim you like tequila, and since we both know that’s a bit of an exaggeration please do us both a favor and say no to at least a few of the shots that end up in front of you on your 18th birthday. Our liver and esophagus will thank you.


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