Letter to my future self on my 40th birthday

Dear FutureMe, Wow. Today you turn forty. You’ll have forgotten you wrote this, but happy birthday—from a decade in the past, from someone who may seem like an entirely different person, living an entirely different life. I’m writing to you sitting on the torn old maroon blanket in the rented house on the corner of the abrupt bend where Norby turns into 115th Street (the neighbors prop up a makeshift “Icy - Slow” sign in their front yard when the weather’s bad; you counted ten accidents the first winter, thankfully all minor). Penny is snoozing in her bed, an exasperatingly cute ball of white and sable. Whitney and Kayley are asleep in their rooms with Chaska and Firefly. In a few hours, your sisters will get up for their jobs at the groomer's and the stable. Mom and Dad live around the corner in the sewer house. It’s nice having the family so close, taking the dogs for walks and going to City Market to buy fresh produce and cooking brunch together. Dylan and Gina visit occasionally; they're newlyweds and travel a lot. This is a challenging season for all of us. We’re trying not to worry about money, but you know that the Lord provides. You’ll be able to look back on this uncertain time and see how He blessed us—with time together as a family, if nothing else. I hope you are still close with your family. We’re doing a lot of growing and working out boundaries together; you’ll know how far we’ve come. Hug them for me if you live near them (and I hope you do!). Call or email or something if you don’t; you won’t regret it. This will probably make you cry, but take a moment to picture Chaska and Firefly: Boy tirelessly chasing after the tennis ball, Baby teasing him when she gets it instead and munching on grass in between; Chaska wagging his whole hind end in greeting and Firefly winding around you in her version of a hug while grunting with happiness. You gave them so, so many kisses and hugs over the years. They were a delight and they were beloved, and they knew it. You’ll see them again. And if Penny is still with you, she’s probably still annoyingly cute and endearingly dumb—Mommy’s precious spoiled little princess, the bane of your existence and the light of your life. I’ll hug and kiss them special for you tomorrow, okay? Seems only fair since I’ve probably made you cry. ;-) Sorry to make you bawl on your birthday, but whatever, I’m rude like that. On to me. I am newly unemployed after almost four years at that job (the one after the editing job, the cushy part-time position that suffocated you with sameness). I’m three-fourths done with my master’s and I hate everything. I lack focus, passion, purpose, skill, experience, self-discipline, self-confidence. I’m trying to deal with the mild depression that’s plagued my twenties, with varying success (you’re probably a lot better about relying on your support system than I am). I continue to believe that God brought me to grad school for a reason, but I don’t know yet what that reason is. It’s hard living without vision. I hurt all the time and I’ve lost so much spiritual ground. I hope and pray that He has brought you with Him over the mountains to a high place, and that you’re able to look back over the past decade and see what He has done for you … that it wasn’t for nothing; that you have a testimony; that you too are beloved. I hope you are happy and fulfilled, and that you have learned to be kinder to yourself. I pray so. I picture you married, involved in great relationships with your husband, family, and friends. I picture you working in a job that challenges you but that you can do well. I picture you wiser and more mature in your faith, the kind of person who loves well. I wish we could talk, truly. I would like to meet you, not least because I know you’ll look back on me with compassion. I look forward to you with hope. Happy birthday, future me. I hope you kick your forties in the face. P.S. I’m really enjoying this metabolism while it lasts. Oh my gosh, I’m going to eat SO MUCH FOOD