An Open Letter To Who I Was 2 Years Ago

Hey, 

It’s almost unfathomable to know the weight of what you are about to experience as you sit at your coffee table making a list of rules about how to survive two weeks of quarantine in a global pandemic. Spoiler alert: it’s more than two weeks—try two years—and you abandon that list one week in. I want to tell you I’m sorry for what you’re about to experience and I am, but I also want you to know that you’re okay, even if you weren’t for a while. With your grief comes growth, with your loss comes strength, and your deep depression breeds a version of yourself that is finally willing to be vulnerable. It all does still suck, and this isn’t to excuse that, but you’d be amazed to learn how much you can survive, and more importantly, who you’ll meet along the way. 

Now a few thoughts: Call Grammy more, ask her questions, and write down everything she says. When dad calls you to tell you this is the end and offers to put the phone up to her, say yes—it’s okay to feel out loud. You learn pretty quickly after that how important it is to tell people you love them and how much they’ve changed your life. When you lose your job (sorry you won’t see it coming), don’t apologize to the man laying you off—it’s good to be kind, but remember to put yourself first. It’s also okay to be angry. You don’t have to make yourself small for other people. Take time to try and sort through who you want to be and stay true to that person. You’re going to meet a whole bunch of people soon who will love you more than you thought was possible and it’s because of who you are. And when you move to New York City, remember your gut is right in pulling you there and to say yes to everything and don’t assume everyone you meet is a serial killer—they aren’t, and they become your best friends. Which leads me to a big one: Make your Twitter public during puzzle week (that will make sense soon), you’ll find your best friends quicker. Oh, and include the real note you want to send to Jack in the envelope. Don’t be quiet, either; share your puzzle theories sooner. 

Take the job with the first company you get an offer from—you’re going to do this anyway, but I want you to know it’s worth it. It really won’t feel worth it, and your mental health will decline, and for that I am sorry, but it’s vital you meet the people there. You’re going to make some really close friends, one of which will help you survive so much and encourage you to dream really big. Just remember, and it’s important you learn this, no job is worth your mental health. So say yes when your coworker offers to introduce you to her friend who does recruiting at a small startup–you do say yes, but you should know that yes will help you land the best job you’ve ever had and you’ll get to wake up every day and say this matters and the work I do matters. Remember that, because you need to hold onto the fact that on the days you don’t want to get out of bed that it will get better, I promise. Please, please remember that life is so much more than your job.

Don’t hesitate for a second either when you buy the ticket to see Bleachers at Pier 17 (and say yes the second your friend suggests going to The Stone Pony)—that will be just the beginning of all of the best things. Remember every second of being in Asbury Park, because those memories will get you through a lot, and don’t question any of it. Buy the tickets to go to California, and Chicago, and Detroit too. When people tell you it’s ridiculous you’re seeing a band so many times in a row, walk away—they don’t get it, and you don’t owe anyone an explanation. Keep going to the shows, keep meeting people, tell them all how much this experience has changed you. Hold onto every second. That is really important.

When your relationship ends, it’s going to hurt, but know you stood by you and that counts for so much. And while you feel all the loss, pain, and sadness of the last few years, know that you will also get immense joy in big and small ways. You’ll spend New Years Eve of 2022 on Zoom with friends you don’t know yet, feeling a sense of easiness you haven’t known before. You’ll also start to tell people what you actually think and how you feel instead of keeping it to yourself. Remember to say thank you to the group chat (you know the one) for that and for the investment they’ve made in you and your friendship and for believing in you when you didn’t. It’s going to feel like you’ve lost so much, and you have, but it will probably take us a lifetime to understand the magnitude of what you’ve gained. Please know joy will come, I promise. You’re going to know friendship like you never have, and one of the people you feel closest to in the whole world actually lives an ocean away, but you spend days and nights trading audio messages. You might think you’ll feel lonely forever, but you’ll see that’s not true, in phone calls with so many of your friends, in late nights spent with your head at the foot of the bed talking until you fall asleep, in silly Twitter group chats, in handwritten letters, in everything you do you’ll feel at seen. 

It may overwhelm you at times, and that is okay too. Also it still may hurt like hell at times, but it’s okay to think about and imagine what the future might look like. Stop being so afraid of the future and of joy. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you your whole life is about to change as of March, 13, 2020 and I wish I could say you’ll handle it perfectly, but it’s honestly better you didn’t. Just know it’s all for the better, but most importantly, you will survive. It isn’t a whole new world, or even a better one here in 2022, but know you survived and you’re in it. 

Always, 

Syd (by the way, you finally tell people you prefer Syd over Sydney)