Hey Self, You Forgetful Wench, I’m Talking to You.

Honestly. Writing letters to your future self is the pinnacle of self absorption. (I’m talking to you, Ethan Hawke.) Of all the people you could reach out to – old friends, a long ago mentor, your grandmother, whomever, you pick your self?
But 365 days ago, future.me (letters to the future) made me forget my reservations for long enough to dash off a quick New Year’s greeting which I promptly forgot about.
(I was 7 months pregnant at the time and particularly prone to bouts of self-absorption (followed by stretches of forgetfulness.))
Ping. Email landing:

The following is an e-mail from the past, composed 11 months and 30 days ago, on December 31, 2012. It is being delivered from the past through FutureMe.org

Dear FutureMe,
Any other year, standing at the Turning of the Calendar, I could kind of count on what was to come. Little tweaks, improvements, resolutions – sure. The possibility of some unforeseen random event – sure. But this year is weird, because I know, 365 days from now, everything will have changed. This basketball I am smuggling will emerge (out of my body!?!?!) in about 10 weeks time. And instead of being lisandave, we’ll be a family. We’ll be looking after a human being. We’ll be responsible. I don’t know what this means or what it will look like. I don’t know if there’s any point in making resolutions, in trying to promise myself that I’ll write one blog post a week, a poem a day, will remember to floss, will try and hold on to the spirit of this year, in which we have tried to cherish each other, and cherish every adventure and unencumbered moment and experience… I don’t know what kind of person I’ll be if I’m chronically overtired. So, I slip sideways into the New Year just holding space for all-possibility. And hoping that one planetary cycle from now, I will be able to look back and say, yes, on the whole, I cherished more than I squandered, I laughed more than I scowled, and I created more than I wallowed. Happy New Year. I’m rooting for you.

My response to Past Me? (Apart from being a bit gobsmacked at how kind I was…)
Honey, on that laugh more than you scowl thing? I know how etched your face is going to look a year from now, so let me reiterate – laugh. As often as you can.

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