Dear Self

As I lay awake in bed at 6am, I am accosted by the sounds of morning routine.

Alarms beep faintly in the distance, only barely audible as the sounds echo on the courtyard walls.

My neighbor slides open her closet door.

A car honks to unlock.

The garage gate screeches open.

A lump forms in my throat as I thank whatever power has allowed me to remain in bed.

I have a deeply rooted fear of actually becoming a part of the workforce. The sheer horror of it hits me at least once a day. And the worst part about it – I know it’s coming. One day… whether next week or two months from now… I’m going to be listening to the radio, thick with static, as it shakes me from my dreams at an ungodly hour.

I’m not okay with this. Is it healthy to constantly fear the day reality steps up to the plate?

I got a letter in the mail a few days ago. It was from me. High School Allie, to be exact.

High School Allie apparently did not share the same apprehension as I do today.

On the day before graduation, my Physics teacher (Mr. Lampert) had the class sit down and write letters to themselves which he would send out in five years time. We were instructed to tell our future selves where we thought we would be, what we thought we might be doing and remind ourselves of our previous goals.

High School Allie obviously had other things on her mind.

Inside my letter are several pictures I vaguely remember Mr. Lampert printing off his desk jet. I cut out the ones of my friends and myself and pasted them across the notebook paper. Also included is a fortune cookie that reads: Pack your bags! You are bound for an exciting destination to the far east. Uhuh.

The text of the letter says…

Allie –

Hey there. It is one day until graduation. How exciting! I plan to go to Willamette and study abroad at least one year (Europe hopefully). Good luck! Become an actress!

Then I go on to list four people I should call.

Oh, High School Allie – did you not know yourself at all? Didn’t you know you have an irrational distaste for telephone conversations and an inherent fear of calling people? Shouldn’t you have told yourself to shoot off an email or two?

And “Good luck! Become an actress!” – is that for real? Did you honestly think that was going to happen?

The thing that really disappoints me (besides the guilt that comes with the acknowledgement that not only did I not go abroad, I did not become an actress, nor do I intend to call those four people) is that High School Allie, in all her paranoia about schoolwork and getting As, couldn’t take the time out to actually write a quality letter? For shame.

It appears I wasn’t the only one in a hurry to finish sixth period and get in line for a chance at good placement in the ceremony seating chart. Attached to my letter is another sheet of notebook paper covered in chicken scratch. I take consolation in the fact that my friends had science second period and the people I managed to convince to write something to my future self were little more than acquaintances. But still… the only thing any of them had to say was “good luck” and “I’m sure you’re still a great person.” One of them took the time to remind me my nickname was Shmallie. Man. My friends were creative.

The kicker is the message from Mr. Lampert. He wrote that he was sure that by the time this letter reached me I would be a student teacher making others smile the way I made him smile every day.

Oh ow. The guilt… it hurts… the shame of it all.

Oh Shmallie, what have you become?

And should you be disappointed?