A Letter to Myself From One Year Ago

Dear you from last year,

I'm writing this from a future that's closer than you think. It's only been twelve months, but you're going to be surprised by how much that changes things. Not dramatically. Not in a movie kind of way. Just quietly, in the ways that actually matter.

First, stop waiting for the right moment to start.

You're sitting right now, telling yourself that next week will be better, that you'll have more time, more energy, more clarity. You won't. There will never be a perfect week. There will never be a day when everything is calm enough that you finally have room to begin. You're going to waste months on this idea, and the only thing that will snap you out of it is realizing that the best moment to start was yesterday, and the second-best moment is today, even if today is messy.

The people you're afraid of losing are already leaving, slowly.

Not because you did anything wrong. Just because people drift. And that's okay. It hurts, and you're going to sit with that hurt for a while, but it's not a punishment. It's just how life works. The hard part isn't letting them go—it's realizing that the people who stay are the ones who actually matter. You'll have fewer friends by the end of this year, but they'll be the real ones. That trade-off is better than you think.

You're going to fail at something you really cared about.

It's going to sting for longer than you expect. You'll replay moments, wonder what you should have done differently, stay up late with that particular kind of regret that feels physical. But I'm telling you now: that failure teaches you something success never will. You're going to come out of it harder, not in a bitter way, but in a clearer way. You'll know yourself better because of it.

Stop checking your phone first thing in the morning.

You already know this intellectually, but you're not doing it yet. One year from now, you'll finally commit to putting your phone down for thirty minutes after waking up, and you're going to feel stupid for not doing it sooner. It sounds like nothing. It sounds like productivity bullshit. But it's one of the few things that actually works, and you're going to wish you'd started earlier.

The things you're anxious about right now will either resolve or become irrelevant.

You can't control which one, but both options mean you're going to stop worrying about them eventually. So whatever it is—the money, the outcome, the approval, the uncertainty—it's not worth the energy you're spending on it now. Your future self is going to look back and think, "I stressed about that for nothing." Don't spend a year learning that lesson if you don't have to.

You're stronger than you think you are.

Not in a gym sense, not in a brave-hero sense. Just in the quiet sense of showing up, even when you're tired, even when you're not sure it matters. You're going to keep going this year without realizing how much resilience that takes. By the end of it, you'll see it.

Also, some of the small things are going to feel bigger than they are.

A kind message from someone random.

A moment of quiet in the morning.

A conversation that lands differently than expected.

A day where nothing goes wrong and you actually notice it.

These are the moments you're going to remember. Not the big achievements or the dramatic stuff. The small, ordinary moments where something clicked.

Here's the thing: I can't tell you everything will be fine.

Some difficult stuff is coming. Some disappointment, some confusion, some nights where you'll feel stuck. But you're going to get through it, and on the other side of it, you're going to understand yourself a little better. You're going to be softer with yourself. You're going to stop expecting perfection and start accepting "good enough" as actually good.

You don't need to be fixed. You just need to pay attention.

Stop trying to become someone new and start noticing who you already are. That's where it begins.

One year from now, you won't be perfect. You'll still have doubts, still make mistakes, still wish you'd done some things differently. But you'll be okay with that. And that changes everything.

Keep going.