Dear 13-year old me

A friend of mine asked what I thought I would tell a 13 year old me and it's been nagging at me since.

It stands to reason my answer should be based on if I have achieved what that scrawny kid dreamt of and by that criteria, he would be disappointed, half disappointed at least. I remember how bright-eyed and hopeful for the future he was fueled by a little yellow sticky note with cardiologist calligraphed onto it stuck on his desk. Apropos of that dream, Iam sorry I didn't chase it hard enough. On that note: Dear 13-year old me, I would have loved for your heart's desires to be fulfilled but I hope you are proud of me no matter. We chose a different path and I am happy about it. In fact I am kind of a surgeon, just of networks and computers.

There is so so much I would tell 13-year old me I'm not even sure where it starts and ends. I would love to have a sit down with him and just talk about how much I have changed, people I have met, people I have loved and lost, maybe leave out the long, long list of ludicrous mistakes. I would love to talk about the future and what it may hold for us. I would love to hear him say he's proud of me for surviving, maybe even flourishing in this trial and error stage of life where success and failure seductively toy with your every decision. 

At the end of the day, everything I thought I'd tell him borders on paradoxical: anything in line with preventing the aforementioned ludicrous mistakes eliminates the sometimes life-changing lessons. I don't know who said we learn from mistakes but they sure were onto something. 

I suppose the only thing that made sense is to just tell him to keep his head up, we turned out alright, ish ish. 


From the future.

_storyteller.



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