I Met My Younger Self for Coffee

Today, I celebrate forty years on this planet. FORTY. It still sounds so weird in my head. I can’t be forty. My mom is still forty. Right? I’m shocked at how quickly the last decade has gone by, but I guess that’s how it goes when you’re having fun.

There’s a trend going around social media in which users write about meeting their younger self for coffee. I figured now would be a great time to try the exercise in self-reflection as I look back on what’s changed or stayed the same as I celebrate forty.

I met my younger self for coffee. She walked in wearing a ponytail and jeans, effortlessly and obliviously pretty with almost no makeup, and ordered a grande white mocha with extra syrup. I ordered a cold brew with cold foam.

She asks if I’ve been waiting long, rushing to apologize and I stop her right there. “You’ll learn to say thank you instead of I’m sorry,” I say. She tells me about her college courses in broadcast journalism and balancing her honors classes, clubs, and internship. She’s worried about getting perfect grades. I tell her she’s a lot smarter than she thinks, and she’ll get a Masters one day. She wonders how to balance it all, and I tell her it’ll be hard but she’ll end up learning to balance even more.

She asks if I live at the beach. I tell her I did, but then moved to the desert. She smiles and nods, pretending to be pleased while I know she never imagined leaving the East Coast. I tell her it’s where I live with my husband and two kids. Her smile turns genuine. She hesitates, looking down before asking, “Are you on tv? Did you make it? Did you become a reporter?”

“I did. But I’m not anymore. It was so exciting and fun, but then my dream changed,” I say. I tell her she’ll fall in love with the desert but she’ll continue to travel frequently. I tell her she’ll stop worrying so much about pleasing everyone around her. She’ll get comfortable with change, chaos, and failure. That they’ll lead to her greatest opportunities. She’ll change careers a few times on her own terms but she’ll stay in communications. She will never stop writing.

We finish our coffee and she pulls out her flip phone to look at the time, quickly closing it without a second thought. My phone is still sitting face down on the table and I find myself longing for the simplicity of that pink Motorola Razr only capable of making calls and taking photos with .3 megapixels. Before she leaves, she aks one more question. “Do you have any advise?”

I smile, and the wrinkles around my eyes get deeper. “Slow down when you can, and enjoy it,” I say. “Time only seems to get faster.”