You may remember a post I wrote this time last year where I mentioned a letter I had written to myself to be opened on my 35th birthday. Well, my birthday came and went and I completely forgot about it until today.
I’m not sure what reminded me, but open it I have. Read it even! It turns out I was 21 when I wrote it, not 18 like I previously thought.
“To put this in a historical context, curretly the french are testing Nuclea Wapons at Muroa Atoll, in the face of the rest of the world. Paul Keating is PM, Jeff Kennett is Premier. They are talking about putting in toll-ways. The Grand Prix is going to be held at Albert Park and they are building the Casino.“
Twenty-one (about to turn 22) year-old me seemed to be pre-occupied with one day finding a partner. What an odd thing for someone so young to be pining for. These days it doesn’t seem to bother me. If I find a partner, well and good, if not I’m not really bothered. I feel very comfortable in my little house, pottering about. In fact at the moment, I’m probably more content now than I’ve ever been (not counting work).
I was amazed at how old I was getting! Imagine that, at 22. I haven’t out grown this, I’m still amazed at how old I am. Do you ever get to an age where you’re not amazed? This kind of ties in with Miztres’, latest post. (By the way Miztres, Twenty-one year-old me says to say hello, and that she hopes we’re still writing.)
And a final message to my Twenty-one year-old self (who has never used the Internet, so won’t get to read this). I can tell you I’m many times more confident and sure of myself. I also, (having worked hard at it) no longer care what other people think of me (except the important people of course, you know who you are). I’m happy just to be me. We’ll keep in touch. I’m re-sealing the letter to open when I’m 45. I’ll include a printout of this entry.