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When you go, will you send back, a letter from the future
Back when I was a young David I went off to university at 18. A year later I plopped back onto my parents doormat for the summer holidays and headed off to the pub where my school year had passed most of their time to see who was about. It seemed most of my old friends had had the same idea as the place was crawling with them, all seemingly having grown shoegazing hair and bought Wonder Stuff T-Shirts like first year students did in the early 1990's and an evening of catching up took place.
As I sat round chatting and holding forth about just how generally fantastic I am one of my old friends, who I hadn't seen in a year, turned to me and said in that tone of world-weary dismissal which is only available to cynical teenagers, "You know, you haven't changed a bit, have you?"
I turned to him, cheerfully. "Why should I have?" I asked. "I got it right first time."
I don't know if you've seen, but Stephen Fry has written an open letter to his teenage self in The Guardian, and as ideas like this tend to go the world of LJ has piled on it enthusiasticaly, with a large slice of my friends list writing to their teenage selves with advice.
It's an interesting question. What would you say to your teenage self? What would I say? Several people have already told me that letters like "Dear David; Netscape float at $9 a share and peak at $1497. Don't sell too early" are cheating and so not allowed, and it does seem to me that something saying "Dear David; You're right all along about the Labour Party but don't expect anyone to listen to you until it's far too late" is just a waste of time because I knew I was right all along anyway.
Most people's letters seem to be either reassurance to their insecure younger selves that everything is going to turn out fine or advice to avoid certain cringe-making mistakes that they feel they could easily have done without. The thing is that my younger self was, if anything, even more enthusiastically optimistic than I am now so I'm not sure that reassurance would really be necessary, and I tend to view mistakes as being essential ways to learn and if I didn't make errors it would not be possible to learn firstly not to make those errors again and secondly to look for better ways of doing things. As such, I wouldn't warn myself off anything so no letters like "Dear David; stop after the second bottle on your 21st birthday. Trust me on this one".
Overall, then, I'm not sure what I'd change. Our mistakes make us ourselves and without them we could never learn or grow. It is the people who do not accept they can ever make mistakes who I fear most. It's better - possibly even essential - to make our own mistakes than to rely solely on the wisdom and experience of others.
Overall, then, I think my letter to my 16-year-old self would read something along the lines of
Dear David
Keep up the good work.
David.
What's yours?
As I sat round chatting and holding forth about just how generally fantastic I am one of my old friends, who I hadn't seen in a year, turned to me and said in that tone of world-weary dismissal which is only available to cynical teenagers, "You know, you haven't changed a bit, have you?"
I turned to him, cheerfully. "Why should I have?" I asked. "I got it right first time."
I don't know if you've seen, but Stephen Fry has written an open letter to his teenage self in The Guardian, and as ideas like this tend to go the world of LJ has piled on it enthusiasticaly, with a large slice of my friends list writing to their teenage selves with advice.
It's an interesting question. What would you say to your teenage self? What would I say? Several people have already told me that letters like "Dear David; Netscape float at $9 a share and peak at $1497. Don't sell too early" are cheating and so not allowed, and it does seem to me that something saying "Dear David; You're right all along about the Labour Party but don't expect anyone to listen to you until it's far too late" is just a waste of time because I knew I was right all along anyway.
Most people's letters seem to be either reassurance to their insecure younger selves that everything is going to turn out fine or advice to avoid certain cringe-making mistakes that they feel they could easily have done without. The thing is that my younger self was, if anything, even more enthusiastically optimistic than I am now so I'm not sure that reassurance would really be necessary, and I tend to view mistakes as being essential ways to learn and if I didn't make errors it would not be possible to learn firstly not to make those errors again and secondly to look for better ways of doing things. As such, I wouldn't warn myself off anything so no letters like "Dear David; stop after the second bottle on your 21st birthday. Trust me on this one".
Overall, then, I'm not sure what I'd change. Our mistakes make us ourselves and without them we could never learn or grow. It is the people who do not accept they can ever make mistakes who I fear most. It's better - possibly even essential - to make our own mistakes than to rely solely on the wisdom and experience of others.
Overall, then, I think my letter to my 16-year-old self would read something along the lines of
Dear David
Keep up the good work.
David.
What's yours?
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Life is going to suck for a long time. Spend as much time as possible with your Mum. You'll regret afterwards that you didn't. Other than that, just suck it up. It's all necessary for you - otherwise you won't get the life you end up with, and that's pretty good.
Sally
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-01 09:22 am (UTC)(link)That would be when you shagged that Chinese girl in the bog and I got arrested. Happy days.
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-01 09:32 am (UTC)(link)no subject
But yes, I do believe I may have been a trifle sick in bed, but apparently someone emptied a tube of garlic paste over me as well. A delightful combination which I have only subsequently encountered on the menu of the Days Inn Birmingham East, although I think they called it chicken curry.
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There are very painfull things in (my past)(your future) which it's tempting to want to change but without them there are very wonderful things that wont happen. That which does not kill us makes us strong. (I)(you) may not be perfect but you are completly your own person and thats what counts.Keep listening to Joni.
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"If I had known beforehand the terrible tragedy which would ensue, would I have done it? Yes, only more so."
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It's not gin you hate, it's tonic. Just drink it with something else.
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-01 10:04 am (UTC)(link)Don't let David join in the D & D group, it'll only create difficulties later on
H
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This is a letter from your future self. I know you've devoured every work of SF in every library you can get at, so I'm sure you'll realise immediately that if you change your future actions by one iota as a result of this letter, the me who wrote it will no longer exist to write it, and the resulting paradox may have "interesting" effects on the stability of the universe. This is not a risk I feel inclined to take, especially as the best bits of my life (meeting my husband, and getting my current job) are due to pure blind chance.
So, I am not going to give you any advice at all. I know you well enough to realise that you wouldn't take it anyway: you have your own mind, you do not accept anything as gospel no matter who's saying it, and good for you.
In fact, I'm not going to send you this letter. The Cretan paradox is far more interesting than the kill-your-own-grandfather one, even if the Quantum Butterfly does have very pretty wings.
Love, Jane.
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You are beautiful, and not at all fat. When you meet him, follow your heart, but please do go back home for thanksgiving that first year you are together. It will be a magical one, and you'll be sorry for missing it. Marry him, and enjoy your life together, but keep your name - you'll want it when the time comes to publish.
You are stronger than you ever realized.
Love,
R
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X
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Cam doesn't matter as much as you will think it does.
Cathy
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I do, however, draw the line at mirror-hogging self-obsessed elitists :D
(these days anyway)
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(Anonymous) 2009-05-01 02:14 pm (UTC)(link)H
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don't worry, although it feels like it's getting worse it's only cause it's getting better.
also, keep your kidneys covered otherwise nana gaye will never shut up.
oh, one more thing - 4 may 2001 - don't miss the plane.
b
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Put on a goddamned bikini and get a tan. It only goes downhill from here.
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We do not want to say it cos its Mr fry and we LIKE Mr fry but really- a letter to your teenage self?
Oh dear.
Is he getting old?
Is he living in the past?
Bless.
Well after pulling it from our collective arse's why not do something MUCH more useful.
Write a letter to your FUTURE self.
Now THAT has some merit and use beyond retrospective belly button gazing.
Reminders, advice, and above all... allowing for communications over the years if need be.
Best place for this?
http://www.futureme.org/
:)
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Heaven knows why you read my LJ then :p
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Your website sucks. Animated GIFs? You should be ashamed of yourself.
Sincerely,
Will of 2009.
PS. To confirm I am Future Will, the secret password is [secret password].
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Dear Me,
Do not look up at the owl, when you are having a drink by the Yarra with a friend in May, 2009. Having a series of rabies shots because a bat shat in your eye may make a good story, but you have better things to do than wait endlessly in hospital waiting rooms over a period of weeks, even if the young blonde doctor is a total hottie.
Cheers,
You.
Of course, this gives me a fantastic idea
Dear Sarah
Don't read the Invisibles, it's pretentious claptrap. If you insist on reading it, at least give it up with the issue when Grant Morrison tried to boost his sales by asking his readers to have a wank. I mean, really.
David
Re: Of course, this gives me a fantastic idea
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I was going to say "Salacious Semaphore", but that sounded too much like a harry potter character.
Re: Of course, this gives me a fantastic idea
I just knew you were a sensible sort of chap.:)
As for the latter, thank God there's no flag for "/".
To my dismay, I only just realised the best reply to this, months late.
"One moment, Captain...'Ron...moved...his hand...inside...harry's...robes..."
"Oh, God, they're shipping."