Dear Me

Written as an exercise with a class - writing to yourself in the past or future.

Sometime in the Future,

November 2019

Dear Me,

You’re 16. You’re in Year 12, or Fifth Form as they called it back in those days. You’re working away, getting ready for your mock exams and you’re tired and a bit anxious about it all.

I’ll tell you now, and not waste any time: it’ll be ok. One day you won’t be able to remember most of what you got in those Mock exams. Your grades at in end of Year 12 will be fine – you’ll get what you wanted, more or less, and you’ll get back into school to do all your favourite subjects. Your career choice will change completely when you’re in Year 13 though – Lower Sixth they called it then. Within a few weeks of starting your A Levels, the subject you chose as your fourth option will become your favourite subject and the one you want to study for the rest of your life. Maybe it’s the change of teacher, maybe it’s just that A Level is more interesting, but you’ll not be able to deny it. Your Mum will be disappointed that you’re not going to become a French and German translator in the European Parliament like she’d have liked you to do, but she’ll get over it. It just wasn’t right and you will get that sort of gut feeling that couldn’t be ignored. Stick with that. Those gut feelings are usually right.

You worry all the time about fitting in. You think you’re much too quiet, much too boring. You’ll probably always feel a bit like that, but that’s ok. Not everyone can be the life and soul – just think how noisy it would be if we were all as chatty as the most outgoing person in the class. Just as you’ve found your friends in school, you always will. You’ll find the people you get on with. You’ll find friends, acquaintances and even find a partner. Yes seriously: I know you think nobody could ever fall for you, I know you think you’re hideous, I know you think you’ll be on your own forever, but you won’t be. I’m telling you now. I’ve seen the spoilers. It all works out in the end, maybe not quite how you expected, but it does. #PlotTwist.

You want to go to university. You’ll do that, and you’ll love it. It will be the single best thing you’ve ever done at that point in your life. You might not have the wild, party lifestyle lots of students talk about; you’ll do an awful lot of reading and drink an awful lot of coffee, but you’ll love it. You’ll spend a year in France as well, and that will be life-changing; as well as experiencing living in another country for a year, you’ll discover what you want to do when you finish university. Much against what you’ll have thought when you’re 18, you’ll decide you want to be a teacher. Yet again, your parents will be a bit disappointed. They didn’t like many of their teachers at school; they don’t think it’s a prestigious or well-paid career; they’ll accept it, though, and they’ll gradually see why you want to do it. I suppose in that sense you’ll teach them as well – you’ll tell them about what you’re doing, about how school has changed from when they went to school and even since you were there yourself. You’ll show them how you want to share your enjoyment of learning and of your subject. They’ll get it: after a while at least.

You’ll travel a bit as well. There’s that year in France, but on holiday you’ll get a chance to visit most of the major European cities and holiday areas. You’ll spend quite a few short breaks in places like London, Edinburgh and Dublin. You’ll hit a few health obstacles as you get older – nothing desperately serious just yet, don’t panic – perhaps enough to stop you going too far away at a point in the future. You’ll cope. It’ll be fine. You’ll move to somewhere you really love to live and you’ll reach a point where you’ll be content to be near home a lot of the time. By then, someone will have invented the word staycation for a holiday spent at home, and it will become one of your favourite things. One day, you’ll even be staying in your favourite hotel (about 70 miles from home) and you’ll feel homesick. That moment, right there, is when you’ll know you’re getting old.

And yes, you will get old. You’ll reach milestone birthdays you never could imagine. You’ll find one day that you’ve been teaching longer than any of your pupils have been alive. You’ll start to teach the children of people you taught away back at the start of your career. You’ll reach the point where, when you’re out somewhere, shopping, visiting a local university, at the theatre, at a concert, that you meet someone you taught many years before and find they still remember you and that they still want to speak to you. Clearly you mustn’t have got absolutely everything wrong.

Your parents will get old too. You’ll take on the role reversal thing of looking after them. They won’t always be about, so enjoy the time you have with them. Make the most of it. They can be boring and annoying but that’s a parent’s job. Learn to deal with that and remember all they’ve done for you. Above all, remember that they are just people – people in their own right, not just Mum and Dad. They have their own issues, their own interests, their own personalities. You’ll miss them when they’re not around any more, so make the most of the time you’ve got now. Seriously.

Sitting there, at 16, you’re worried about so many things. Will you pass your exams. Will you ever look ok. Will you have friends all your life. Will you have a boyfriend, or even get married one day. Will you get a job – a home – a car. So many worries and so many more. One day, you’ll worry about different things: doing your job well, pleasing your students and colleagues, not annoying your husband too much, missing one parent and looking after the other. Managing to stay healthy enough for now. Paying the bills. Driving safely when there’s ice and snow. Getting enough sleep. Finding all the time you want to read. Normal stuff.

You’ll always worry. But I’m writing to you now, Dear Me, to tell you that the things you’re worrying about now will all work out. They’ll work out as they’re meant to do. Maybe in many years time, the really, really old, retired version of Me will write another letter to the middle-aged teacher Me. The middle-aged teacher Me who’s worrying about exam results and health and getting it right. And maybe she’ll be telling Me it all works out in the end. I hope so. I don’t know yet.

But aged 16, Me – you have the whole world opening up before you, you have so much too enjoy and a whole lifetime to look forward to. Live that lifetime one day at the time. Don’t waste it. Don’t give up hope. Don’t stop trying at everything you do.
You’ll never regret doing your best.

With lots of love,
Me.