7. Letter to the Self: Past, Present, Future – Rachel Cargle
Image by Sky Banyes
Take some time to reflect on all versions of yourself.
Lately, I’ve found comfort in appreciating the various versions of myself thus far. That younger me who was brave enough to make the big move to the city. Child me who opened her heart to curiosity and found hobbies that I still indulge in today. Teenage me who was scared often and instead of pushing myself into discomfort I cared for myself with a confident "no" to things I preferred not to be a part of. That version of me just a few years ago who found little morsels of joy even in the midst of what felt like the biggest storm.
I smile and look at her (those younger versions of me) with my mind’s eye. I hug her, I dance with her, I tell her I am proud of her, I forgive her for the things she was pitting against herself, I let her in on secrets about her future that she can only imagine.
I also have been indulging in the practice of praying to future versions of myself. The version of myself next year who will be fresh off of surviving a global pandemic. The version of myself who is 40 and will be benefiting from the choices I'm making now. The version of myself who is 50 and taking stock of how I've been existing in this world. The version of myself who is 70 who may be celebrating deeply in the friendships I am investing in now.
I pray to those versions of me. I ask her to be gentle with me, I coax her for hints on what to come, I list for her all the ways I am caring for her, right now—with that expensive face cream, through weekly therapy, by taking a few risks in business. I make promises to her, I speak my desires for her. I get energized and inspired knowing that she—that sage and grounded version of me—is waiting to meet me finally.
Take some time to reflect on all versions of yourself. This is a deeply intimate and revealing practice that can offer healing, insight, and hope.
- Rachel Cargle
Prompt:
Write a letter to your younger self. Thank them, praise them, scold them, comfort them—engage in whatever way you feel led with one or many versions of your younger self. Whatever comes to mind.
Now, let’s shift to exploring your older self. What would you want to say? To ask? To request? Tell your older self what you are doing now in service of them. Tell them what the ideal situation might look like when you finally meet—where might you be living, what type of work might you be doing, who you might be spending time and space with.
Anonymous
Now, let’s shift to exploring your older self. What would you want to say? To ask? To request? Tell your older self what you are doing now in service of them.
Non-coincidentally, what moved me to open up this next journal prompt was a meditation on embodiment from Integral Life, which sent me into a dangerous thought loop about my chronic feeling of disembodiment, and the past experiences that led to it…
To my younger self, undergoing that subtle dissolution: I so badly want to scold you! To wake you up to the invisible process of losing touch with yourself, going on right before your eyes. To make you see all the initial bodily stigmas, the subsequent disregard for the body, and worst of all, the objectification and sexualization that began to go unnoticed. The body odor and bear legs, the vulnerable vagina and the unholy period, sensuality stigmatized and thus suppressed. A first kiss, unknown and unfelt. First touch, a threat. And how do we humans deal with threats? With our fight-or-flight response - and I chose to spread my broken wings and fly, farfar away. But those injured wings needed help, and blind as they were, saw safety in the very being that threatened them. So, in what I thought was a healing redemption, a reconnection to my shunned body, turned out to be its further collapse. Only able to see its alien shell, I knew not what tides rose and fell through it. Gradually, I lost touch with someone I didn’t even know to begin with.
But - I say all this with compassion. I will hold my tongue’s burning sticks and stones, for they would only be fuel for the fire, douse shame with guilt, twist a knife already lodged in the heart of its victim… no. What my inner child needs is faith. Faith in none of that ‘past’ being permanent, defining, that I don’t have to identify with it, that it is not me.
So, to my ‘future’ self - I hope by now you can read these words without cringing. I hope you can relive that past without shame, and in fact have befriended it. I hope it is the most nurturing compost for your garden of embodiment, the garden of your body. And may that garden give rise to the ripest fruits from your mind and heart, now purified with compassion, loving kindness, and equanimity.
Anonymous
The future is unclear and feels far away. In 10 years, I might be pregnant. I might have a boyfriend or a girlfriend. I might be traveling and continuing to grow and find myself. I might be living in a shack or my parents house waiting for something to hit me, or more likely waiting until the next best thing is starting up. I might be a changed person. Whatever it is, please take stock. Make sure this is what you want and what is best for you. I hope the rest of your teenage years went well (I guess I’m writing this like it's 10 years in the future?), I hope you got above a 1200 on your SAT, went to the “right match” college and met some amazing people. I hope you have worked on your mental health, have a dog, and still love to read. I hope, most importantly, you are happy and healthy. These two words are similar. I hope you are happy because you have surrounded yourself with positive, like-souled people, who are passionate, educated, dedicated, thoughtful, adventurous, supportive, progressive, kind and sweet. I hope you have the luxury to have tangible things in your life to make you happy, even if it's superficial. I hope your mental health is growing to be strong and well. I hope you are happy with however you are earning an income. I hope you have experienced some cool places, changed your haircut or gotten a meaningful tattoo, have few regrets, met some life changing people, reconnected with old friends, and traveled. I hope your health is good with no major setbacks or issues. I hope you remember that habits and “your purpose” are supposed to be done naturally and daily — not every once in a while. I hope you push yourself to try new things and never be stuck in a rut. Now this doesn’t mean you don’t have downtime or a few months when you're stable. But if you get bored, find a way to get unbored. I hope you keep your brain active with books, articles, puzzles, podcasts, conversations, meeting new people, the great outdoors, volunteering, research, animals, taking classes, listening to others, listening to yourself, talking to yourself, marching, once again TRYING NEW THINGS, trying to paint and draw, eating healthy, trying new foods, finding new music, making lists, making short term and long term goals, exercising, swimming, boating, growing, reflecting, loving and writing and breathing. I hope you are passionate about what you do everyday and if not passionate, doing it for a good reason. I hope you live with purpose and never forget your mission on this earth: make people feel loved and make the biggest, positive difference you can. Of course, many things fall beneath this, such as the fact you must take care of yourself in order to take care of others. You must love yourself in order to truly love others. This I believe.
I hope you always have hope. Always believe in progress, self improvement, and that it's ok to feel what you feel, especially the extremes. Indulge in happiness and don’t feel guilty. It's ok to feel sad as well. Maintain balance in all aspects of your life. Yet this doesn't mean don’t have convictions or be passionate. That is one very valuable thing mom taught me. And dad taught me perseverance and determination. I hope you don’t focus your life around technology or a phone. I wonder what the latest and greatest thing is now. Don’t forget to put it down. I also wanted to go back to what I said earlier about feeling so confident about my body and say right now, I’m not sure I do. Better than a few months ago maybe. It fluctuates a lot but I hope you are able to feel more confident and happy and stable with your body image. Self acceptance. That sorta stuff.
In more tangible terms, I hope you’ve lived in Colorado, Wyoming, Boston, Florida, California, New York, or DC. I hope you’ve lived abroad at least once and still treasure that feeling of travel and coming home. I hope you are fortunate enough to travel and explore and hike and have someone to do it with. I hope you love your job and care about it and work hard at it. I hope you know you are lucky to be working (I hope you are, in some sort of way) and that you should always be grateful. I hope you live on the coast at some point. I hope you spend some part of the summer by the water and I hope you still ski. I hope our family is well. It’d be kind of cool if you lived in an apartment in LA or Boston and worked as a marine biologist on the coast and loved the people you worked with. That’s my dream. I hope you can teach people what you know and that you can learn from those you know more or different things. If not a marine biologist, I hope you are doing something with science, maybe teaching, maybe a psychologist. Or who the hell knows maybe you’re an engineer or a financial advisor or a plumber or a guidance counselor. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I hope you’re truly, deeply content with your life. I don’t mean you are grinning every second of every day but more when you look back at your life — the past few years, months, weeks and days — I hope you can say “I feel good about that. I have worked hard for that. I deserve this. I wouldn’t change much, yet there is always room to grow.” I hope you’re proud of how far you’ve come and I hope you know you are capable and strong enough to keep pushing forward. I hope life always gives you unexpected happy little gifts (I don’t mean a baby) and I hope things always happen for a reason. I hope you are smart and safe and protect your life — it's a sacred thing. However, I hope you are not afraid to live and have a good time, yet I have some feeling that says that won't go away. I wonder if you’re married or are in a serious relationship or just ended one or are in a new one. Or maybe you’ve sworn off those wretched things and decided to buy 7 dogs (as currently planned) and live in some big glass house in Florida, Cali, or the Caribbean. Honestly, both are great options. My biggest fear for the future is losing sight of who I am. I don’t want to lose a part of Francesca, just because I become a wife. I don’t want to lose a part of Francesca, just because I become a mother. I only want to gain parts of me. Maybe that’s not the right way to put it but I don’t want to end up grouchy and lonely and sad that I have lost me. I want to feel confident saying “having kids is not the right decision for me” or fill in the blank. I want to support everyone. I want to feel supported. I suppose I don’t have as much to ask. I’ve requested a lot and hoped a lot which are similar to asking. Stay fit, educated (by watching Ted Talks...obviously), kind and eat healthy (ehhh...most of the time??). Stay true to yourself. Right now, I feel like there’s not a lot of big picture stuff I'm doing besides trying to remain grounded and “me”. But I did just deposit some birthday money!! I’m trying to get into a good college, trying to set myself up for a good future with my interviews and summer jobs, taking care of my body and making good relationships. I hope you’re spending time with family, people you have chosen and people who have chosen you, and dogs. And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. Be well:) xoxo Francesca
Dinn Eferet
Location: FCT, Nigeria, Africa
About: My name is Dinn Eferet, and I am a musical/visual artist and writer from West Africa. I learned about the Isolation Journals from an acquaintance and was taken by the community it was building. I chose to write a short song for the Day 7 prompt, to give voice to the idea that all we really are as individuals is a community of selves spread out across time, and each self has a choice: to either give something to or take something from the self that extends just a little further into the future.
Age: 23
Khosi Nkosi
Location: Johannesburg
About: Thank you the global inclusion. I've always appreciated the benefits of journalling but could never keep to it. Discovering this community has been a game changer for me. I had never considered journaling through prompts and am now an advocate for it as an outlet for daily reflection. My son is 1.5 years old and we created an email address for him when he was born and I've been sending my daily prompts to the future him. One day, he'll hopefully see that his mom is multi-dimensionally imperfect but filled with love and hope.
Age: 33
Dear 12-year-old me,
Put those pills down. I know your hurting and the thoughts running through your head are so overwhelming right now. But what if I told you it gets better? I promise. Just for a moment, push past the dark thoughts and let’s consider your dreams. I’ll tell you a secret…your dreams…they come true. They do. Exciting right? Look, I’ll be honest with you; while I promise things do get better, I don’t mean they become easier. You just develop coping mechanisms. It sounds daunting I know but hear me out, you’ll learn that life is filled with all sorts of polarizing dynamics; good and bad, positive and negative, ying and yang. You’re smart, you get it. You’ll learn that to experience joy, you sometimes have to lean into the things that make you feel uncomfortable or the things that scare you, or the things that make you want to give up. Those feelings are ok, by the way. They’re very normal. You’ll learn to lean in to the discomfort, to acquire a set of skills and tools to help you process and work through all that pain. It wont always be easy. Boy, it can be hard but when you get to the other side of the emotional spectrum, oh lady, it is so worth it.
I know you feel like you don’t fit in, here’s another secret, you wont always fit in. In fact, you’re going to spend most of the next few years not fitting in. You’ll soon see that that is your super power. Your litmus test for life is that once you feel like you’re fitting it too neatly, then you probably need to do some re-evaluating because, baby, you were born to be different. You were born to stand out. You’ll
even be celebrated for it. Crazy right? Here’s a snippet of your super powers: 1. Stand firm in your beliefs and your values. You’re allowed to modify these as you grow but make sure you’re anchored by them.
2. Speak your mind. You’ll soon learn that all those thoughts racing through your mind just need a little organizing and once that’s achieved they hold so much wisdom. So, take a deep breath, count to 10 and just speak up. I’m not saying speak over people or speak loudly, no. Embrace your ability to organize your thoughts and articulate them in a way that will make people stop to consider the new perspective that you’ll so often give.
3. Don’t obsess over finding a specific talent. I’m going to let you in on a recent epiphany: we’re good at what everything we put our minds to, except singing – let that one go. I’ll be honest and say I may have spent way too much time trying to find the one singular thing that I’m good at but that’s not for us. Literally, think about whatever you want to do – do it. Your love of learning, sense of adventure and adaptability will drive many of your choices. You wont always enjoy all the tasks you set your mind to but lady, you can change direction. You’ll do this a few times. It wont always be a popular decision and you’ll sometimes wrestle with your decisions – for this, remember super power #1.
4. Walk tall; look at how beautiful you are. I know right now, you wish for a different body, a shorter height, but I can not express enough how this will be another thing that people admire about you. It’s a gift. That said, don’t spend too much time obsessing over it – well, actually you will spend too much time thinking about it but you’ll eventually learn to love it in the moment and stop idealizing a perfect body or comparing it to previous versions of yourself.
Dear 54 year old me,
There’s 21 years between us. 21 years before now, I felt so lost and the future seemed so daunting. As I write this, we as a nation have been under lock-down for 42 days, the rest of the world too, for more or less days. The future is objectively uncertain but it doesn’t feel terribly daunting. I think that now as a 33-year-old, I have the perspective that I can make weighted decisions. Of cause, curveballs may and have come my way but I do feel better equipped to take them in my stride. I am continually learning that life moves in cycles and when I feel I’m in the downcycle I reach into my arsenal of tools to help
me get through it; therapy, isolation, baking, journaling, crying…actually, I kind of do the same in my upcycles, the energy with which approach each part of the cycle is the only variable I guess.
So James is 22 years old now. I just cried thinking about that. My baby is an adult. Goodness. I hope he is as joyful as he is now. I hope we’ve done a good job in raising him to be kind, empathetic, thoughtful, curious about the world and global cultures, adventurous (but please not too much).
My Doudou, I know he’s still making me laugh, roll-my-eyes, scream, happy. How many novels has he written now? I hope he continued writing and that its brought him joy.
Where do we live? Did we make it to Canada? That’s where we’re dreaming of going. At this exact moment, I’m not completely divorced to the idea of being in another place. I just hope and pray that it’s a new, unfamiliar place that offers us exciting prospects and safety as a family.
Did I get my doctorate in clean energy sciences? That’s my next dream. Although, I haven’t been working very hard toward this dream: 1) I haven’t even started studying for the GMAT. I promise to start this weekend. In my mind, the GMAT will give me better access to funding for the masters/ MBA program at a good international school.
I’m currently working in an Oil and Gasteam. This certainly won’t exist in 21 years’ time. Let me explain. I didn’t start my career with any ambitions toward energy. The opportunity came to me and I’m grateful for it. My focus has been on energy in Sub-Saharan Africa, or at least lack thereof. I pray everyday that I’ll be part of the positive and necessary change in the transition to cleaner/ clean energies. I pray that Africa wont be left behind once again in the global energy landscape. I pray that the world that James lives in is filled with current oil and gas companies that have successfully transitioned to energy companies with net zero carbons. I am part of that transition process and I pray that I’m doing the right things for the planet and all of us in it, especially our children who must inherit it. I hope that when I meet you, we’re known and revered as experts in the field of clean energy.
Well, I can’t wait to meet you, future me. I’m excited. I also promise to learn how to do a push-up. Our upper body strength is really not good. But hey, we’ve got mean lower body strength, so we’re not doing too badly.
xx
Current me
Madison Gill
Location: Colorado
About: This prompt was very healing for me. I ended up revisiting all the "phases" I've gone through in my life up to this point that I may have associated with shame or other negative feelings and finding the value in them and how they've made me into a person I am happy with today. Then I wanted to express how that work isn't finished and how who I am now has a role to play in who I will be – and it just keeps getting better!
Age: 25
A Letter to My Former Selves –
I accept all of you.
To the child who grew up
wild, shameless. Watering
the flowers in my mother’s
garden naked – I do not
roll my eyes at those photos
anymore. To the awkward
adolescent pushing through
the crushing dirt of puberty.
Who took some major stumbles
along the stony path
of socialization – you will embrace
your body hair.
No ordinary pot
can contain your unfurling
roots. In time, you will realize
this is a good thing.
To the teenager who drank
and cried too much
over every unworthy wrist
you tied the balloon string
of your heart around – you have
no idea the love that is coming
for you. Don’t be afraid when
your chest becomes so inflated
you could float into outer space.
Even pressed against the world’s
sharpest corners, this love’s bubble
will not burst.
To the young adult who was
brave enough to chart her own course,
push off from the familiar shore,
set sail for an uncertain horizon –
thank you for proving the wind
is not always against us. A piece
from each of your broken shells
make up the spine of my current self.
Soon to be another outgrown husk
from which the future me must splinter
if she is to become the one who closes
the space between us and our dreams.
I am planting the seeds she will water,
so the next may wear its blossoms
in her hair. The juice of its future fruit
dripping from the chin of an even
further evolved version of us
laughing in a not-so-distant valley
so bright our eyes burn
just conceiving of her.
Marisa Siegel
Location: Westchester, New York
About: Marisa Siegel lives, writes, and edits near NYC. Her essay “Inherited Anger” appears in the anthology BURN IT DOWN (Seal Press, 2019), and her debut poetry chapbook FIXED STARS is forthcoming from Burrow Press. Follow her on Twitter @marisasaystweet.
Age: 37
Prayers for Versions of a Self
Prayer at 8:
The fire will burn
clear through; you
will see the smoke
for what he is.
You listen too well
and wonder is a gift
that won’t singe.
You know how strong
you are.
Prayer at 13:
The safety of sameness
is not a solution; you might
know better than she does
but you are still a child.
You expand and contract
as required—rooms are yours
to own. Never be quiet.
Never be uncertain.
You have the answers
but won’t know better
until you climb the fence
and run. The cuts and scrapes
are a kind of evidence.
Prayer at 18:
Would you go farther if I told you
what freedom you’d find? Now,
the smoke clears and you see
only a brilliant fiction. The fierce
fixation that cannot soothe. The fear
of stepping away from without
turning back. Always looking
over your shoulder. Would you trust
your brother if I told you that betraying
him would burn for years? The taste
of ash, the scent of star, the tall pine
tree gods. The willow tree, weeping.
You are in danger.
You are a danger.
Prayer at 25:
Don’t leave. If you leave,
go back. Listen to the screaming
cat; listen to the whisper
of the yellow bird. Home is allowed
to be a kind place. You are allowed
to stay. Go back. Don’t leave.
What do you miss most, and where
does your body belong, and why
must you blow up this blue sky dream?
Don’t leave. Go back. Home
will not exist for you as you imagined;
home is a choice you have to make.
Prayer at 30:
The darkness closes in, breathless;
this will hurt forever and you
are an expert at managing pain.
The music you here will take you
where you need it to. Impossible,
this frozen body, this solid bone.
At a market in Rome let the colors
make you believe in an otherwise;
step forward into it. Breathe—
you, in, him, out. All that death.
A bloody year. Breath—
so much is still ahead. The fire
still burns, and brightly.
Prayer at 35:
Believe you are there or don’t;
Regardless, you stand, two feet,
one child. You are now a home,
even if you’re not at home, here.
You are not the ghost—haunted,
but a world away, you are alive.
You won’t forgive yourself
until you’ve worked your words
raw. The world is on fire,
and you are prepared.
Prayer for the future:
Please find the path back
to the blue-sky wonder.
Please learn to find peace
in surrender, in failure. Please
take care with your scars.
Please choose the story,
and write it, even if…
Please never bend only
because you’ve been told to,
and always balk at what burns.
You can be close to a fire
without starting a fire.
Please give yourself time,
but find the words.
Go wherever you need to be
to be deliciously happy.
Remember that strength
often seems like disaster,
until the smoke clears.
Sari Monaco
Location: Boca Raton, FL
About: This was a letter to my younger self and older self. I decided they deserve love and compassion.
Age: 54
Dear younger self Sari,
I want to thank you for your tenacity and your compassion and your bravery as a little girl -your curiosity led you to discover things of value. I do believe you should hold onto your virginity longer and not be in such a rush to grow up and be grown-up. I love you and you deserve comfort, hugs, love and embraces and praise and you won’t get a whole lot of that from your mom so realize now that you can get it from your grandparents or dad. it’s ok. Your mommy had a hard life and probably some severe mental illness. She has a lot of fear and naivety. She is bright in some ways but very poorly educated. You are going to be ok. Don’t punish yourself. Don’t loathe yourself. God don’t make junk. Eat to nourish - don’t torture your body. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. You are going to look this way for many decades in this vehicle. Treasure it. Have compassion for your mom. She doesn’t mean to be mean all the time it’s her “go to” protective mechanism.
Dear older Sari
I am trying to eat enough protein and good foods to keep you healthy. I am taking vitamins and exercising a lot to stay in good shape so that you have strong muscles and spine for your senior years. I am trying to laugh a lot and avoid any illness so that your last quarter of life is very easy and pleasant. You are a valuable human being and you have accomplished so many great things in your lifetime you have the love of your family and the respect of your friends and your life is worthy and a miracle.