I stumbled across an archived document. Untattered, contrary to the crinkle-edged papers the actors unsheathe in the movies. No scorch marks sear through the paper from the wrath of dragons or wars.
It is quite whole. Familiar, too. I remember writing it; I remember thinking throughout the years if I would fail to remember the little note I wrote myself freshman year to look back on as a senior.
People change drastically over the span of the marathon of life, yet high school has been comprised of so many short sprints from one era to the next that I barely noticed I left that girl behind.
I never forgot.
Although it has been stored well, there are certainly comments in the envelope that contain words and questions that did not age well.
“Anyway, here are memories that need to be remembered because they are too good to forget about.”
I wrote these lines freshman year and sealed them away in an envelope. They were deposited in a drawer, stashed with the other dozens of forgotten files and memories that don’t seem to fit quite right today.
I was the same girl four years ago. Hardly, but the truest words in that short letter I wrote my senior self still resonate with me. People change drastically over the span of the marathon of life, yet high school has been comprised of so many short sprints from one era to the next that I barely noticed I left that girl behind.
“Did you ever resume diving? I hope not. That was horrible.”
The people who told me that gymnasts made incredible divers must have been gifted athletically in all aspects because plunging into the frigid water head first—sometimes sideways if I was unfortunate enough—was not pleasurable. I made sure to confront my senior self about that era in that little letter I wrote to strongly advise against doing it again.
She said it was “horrible”—those exact words are scrawled next to other very passionate comments and viewpoints about life. Looking back, I don’t recall very many frigid waters or concealed breakdowns. I remember team showers after long practices; it was the era of COVID-19, and due to social distancing rules in place, the aquatic center removed half the handles from the showers in the locker room, making it impossible for all of my teammates to rinse off afterward promptly. It was a pain to wait for each other to shower, the steam from the few operable showerheads taunting the rest of us as we shivered off to the side.
We schemed.
My friend brought a pair of old pliers to diving practice the next day and removed the duct tape that was wrapped around the spot where the handles used to be. She pinched the rigid dial with the pliers and twisted hard, the showers springing to life from the force of a dozen valiant conspirators.
“Travel the world. Have you been anywhere cool?”
I would be ecstatic to learn as a freshman that within the four years to come, I would, in fact, go someplace “cool.” A scroll through my camera roll would make that little girl weep with excitement at the adventures she would get to have—she was desperate for adventure, having spent months holed away from the pandemic, watching videos on YouTube of people trekking Everest and plunging in the waters in Antarctica. I haven’t gotten there—yet—but my plans are brewing for another era of memories.
“Stay safe, make good choices, remember your goals!”
I was enthusiastic about the rules. However, I was more enthusiastic about my reputation: how I would appeal to peers, teachers, and friends. How could I best form the aura of the best version of me? My answer four years ago was blatant: safety, good decision-making, and accordance with my goals. While I wholeheartedly agree that my freshman self was onto something, I would fight her now.
I would simply tell her to be herself. The safety, goals, and good choices would fall into place after.
I wrote myself a command. Third to last paragraph, I demanded one my future self one thing:
“Remember all of the happy memories you had your freshman year! Nothing can compare…or has it?”
It certainly has.
Freshman year was only the beginning.
