Meeting my younger self in a dream

I stood at the edge of a wide, open field, the air crisp and full of the scent of fresh earth and grass. The sky was a rich shade of blue, dotted with soft, puffy clouds. It felt like a familiar place, though I couldn’t quite place where. The field stretched out before me, but there was something pulling me forward, something that seemed to call my name. With each step, the world around me felt both new and nostalgic at the same time, as if I were walking through memories I hadn’t realized I had.

And then, there he was.

I saw him standing in the middle of the field. A younger version of myself. He was maybe seven or eight years old, wearing a faded t-shirt and a pair of shorts. His face held the innocence I once had, a kind of hopeful curiosity in his eyes. He looked so much like I did back then—short hair that had yet to grow too unruly, that same mischievous grin that spoke of a thousand untold secrets.

For a moment, I stood still, unsure of what to do or say. My heart raced with both excitement and a touch of sadness. This wasn’t something I had ever expected to experience. To meet the version of me who hadn’t yet encountered the struggles and challenges of growing up—who still had that pure sense of wonder about the world.

He noticed me and tilted his head, a little confused, but intrigued. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice high-pitched and innocent.

“I’m... well, I’m you," I replied, the words feeling strange in my mouth. "But, from the future."

He laughed, a sound that was full of wonder. “That’s silly! How can you be me? You look old.”

I chuckled, kneeling down to his level, trying to ease his confusion. "I know it seems weird. But I promise, I’m you, just... a lot older. I came to see you, to talk."

He squinted at me for a moment, clearly processing what I said. “What’s it like?” he finally asked. “Being you, I mean.”

The question caught me off guard. What was it like? I thought about it for a second. I could feel the weight of the years, the lessons learned, the heartaches, the triumphs. But at that moment, it wasn’t the weight of those things that mattered. It was the innocence and lightness that still glimmered in this younger version of myself. That was the part I wanted to hold onto, to protect.

“OK," I began slowly, “it’s a mix of things. There’s a lot you’ll experience—some of it might be hard, and some of it will be amazing. But, if I could give you one piece of advice, it’s to not be afraid of change. Don’t be afraid to grow. Things might get tough at times, but they’ll also teach you things you never thought you could learn. You’ll become stronger and wiser, and, one day, you’ll look back and be proud of how far you’ve come.”

He seemed to absorb my words, his young face furrowing in concentration. “Do I get taller?” he asked after a pause, glancing up at me, clearly trying to figure out the mystery of growing up.

I smiled, amused. “You do. You’ll grow taller, but not just that. You’ll grow in ways you can’t even imagine right now. You’ll become someone you’re proud of, someone who can handle whatever life throws their way.”

He grinned. “That sounds cool! I can’t wait!”

I felt a wave of emotion sweep over me. Here he was, full of excitement for the future, untouched by the disappointments that would come later. He was the embodiment of possibility—an endless horizon of dreams and hopes, ready to chase whatever lay ahead.

“But…” I began, my voice softening, “you’ll also face some really hard moments. Don’t be afraid of those either. Even in the darkest times, you’ll find light. And you’ll learn who you really are. Don’t let anyone make you doubt your worth.”

He nodded, as if already absorbing what I was telling him. Then, after a long moment, he looked up at me with a thoughtful expression. "Will I still be happy?"

The question, simple as it was, hit me deeply. How could I answer that without betraying all the complexities of life? Instead, I simply smiled and said, “Yes. You will. In ways you won’t even expect.”

Suddenly, the world around us seemed to blur, the edges of the field softening, as if the dream was beginning to fade. I reached out for him, wishing I could hold on to this moment just a little longer. But as the dream unraveled, I realized something important. Meeting my younger self wasn’t just about remembering the past—it was about understanding how far I had come, and how far I still had to go.

Before I knew it, he was gone, and I was left standing in the field, alone but strangely at peace. I awoke soon after, my heart full of gratitude for the reminder of the hope and resilience that still lived within me, no matter how much time had passed.