“You have mail.”

“Who sent it?”

“It’s from [your name]. Has there been a mistake?”

While much too old to gain an acceptance letter to Hogwarts, I understand that many seniors will soon receive the letters they wrote to their future self when they visit their old middle schools next or this week. And while I’m not a senior, I do remember writing that letter two years ago. 

I remember a bunch of rows and columns printed on a yellow piece of paper. They were there to fill out your age, favorite song, artists, movies, food, etc. A clever idea looking back, prompting us to choose things that eventually change. Then the actual letter began. 

The first thing I did was describe the room I was in, my English class which I loved, and how that made me feel, from floor to ceiling. Basically everything I could remember about my life then. I figured these were details my future self would enjoy and probably not remember as well.  I’m pretty sure I mentioned my lunch in there.

Then the questions I most likely wasn’t getting answers to, coming from a middle schooler who hadn’t even entered high school yet. Simple things and words of encouragement. 

Then the bell rang, and that was the end of the letter. I never got around to actually finishing it at home. I’ll just call that a very well thought plan for my future self to complete the rest. I’m sure the future me isn’t going to mind, and if anything is going to be more amused at that than anything else. 

Now that letter sits in the past, waiting to be delivered. It’s supposed to represent who you were then, your ambitions, thoughts, desires and life. You don’t know the future, but you’ve got ideas. It’s an envelope filled with desire, hope and uncertainty. 

A letter which you can’t read or access till it’s delivered is different, a reflection much better than a journal or scrapbook entry and more modern than a time capsule. It’s not like you can look at it at any time as a reminder, it’s trapped between the future and the past (or most likely a mailing room). It may not be a letter from the future but it captures a perspective the future can’t.

Yet the person who wrote it and the reader are not the same anymore. The point isn’t making your younger self unhappy or proud, it’s to celebrate and acknowledge growth and to serve a reminder of who you once were.  

And the worst part?

It’s a letter you can’t write back to.

Only forward.