Have you ever wished you could go back in time and tell yourself something? Maybe a vital piece of information or a few words of encouragement? After packing our things and enduring the three day move from Colorado to Maine, I realized I had a few words of advice for my past self.
-Dear self in 2007, 2009 and 2012,
You already have Afrin. It might be stuffed in a small box in the linen closet, in a pile of junk in the nightstand or crammed into the corner of the medicine cabinet. You don’t need to buy more. How do I know this? I’m from the future, silly.
And you should be careful with that stuff. It’s really addictive.
Your slightly older and still congested self
-Dear self in what I assume to be the early 1980s,
The piece of art you are crafting today will one day be considered for display in the very prestigious Windram House. I believe your use of neutral seashells, contrasted with hot pink and yellow felt are the work of a mixed media genius. Yes, this piece has been hidden away too long in an oversized box in our basement. It’s time to let it shine.
So continue cutting and gluing that seaweed, little one. And don’t let anyone tell you those floating seashells should be on the ocean floor.
Your much, much older and wiser self
-Dear self one year and six months ago,
Hey, there! So, you’re like going to receive this birthday check from Logan’s parents. Don’t … I repeat … Don’t set it on that stack of magazines by your feet. I know, I know. You’re in the middle of writing that super amazing novel and can’t be bothered. But if you set it there, it will never be cashed. Nope. You’ll find it as you’re packing to move Maine. Yes, that’s right. You’re moving to Maine. Crazy, huh? And a few extra bucks would be really helpful, but you can’t cash the check a year and half later. And asking for them to reissue it would be in poor taste. I think.
Your older and $50 poorer self
-Dear self in the last two decades,
Stop buying so many tank tops. I know they look cute on the rack, but you’ll hardly ever wear them. All those shoes, too. One of them even still has a sticker on it! Then there’s the jeans. Self from 2010, yeah I’m specifically calling you out. You need to give up the dream of fitting into those size 8s again. Just let it go. Trust me, if you stop the buying and the wishful thinking, you’ll have more money in the bank and spend less time weeding through all of this when you have to pack.
Why do I have a feeling you’re not going to listen to me?
Your older and now wearing size 12 jeans self
-Dear self two months ago,
You’ve made it through the move and I have some last minute tips to share:
-Don’t fret so much about the cats. They’ll be fine. Great, even. They end up sleeping most of the way. Sure, you have to disassemble the bed in one hotel because you couldn’t get MoJo and Olive out from under it, but other than that they were perfect little angels.
-Schedule Logan a dentist appointment now, or begin saving up some big bucks. Three weeks after you arrive he ends up with a dead tooth and needs a root canal. Looking on the bright side, you’ve already found a new dentist!
-That extra set of car keys that you unexplainably keep in the car, you should start carrying those in your purse. Logan will manage to lock the keys in the car in Coralville IA, while the car is running. It would be super helpful to have those keys on you when that happens.
-Plan your meals on the road. Otherwise, you’ll end up at eating at McDonalds every day. I’m serious.
Your older and currently shopping for winter boots self