Blissful Belle

Be Happy, Feel Beautiful

Dear 65-Year-Old Me: Helena Wahlstrom

Dear 65-year-old-me will feature BB writers’ and readers’ personal letters to their older selves. If you’re interested in having your letter published on Blissful Belle, send us an email to​m.

Slick back that long, straight, silvery hair and step off the hovercycle for a second, will you? It’s me, you from the past, a young version of you, the one who has yet to figure things out. I imagine you’ve figured all these things out by now, though. I wish you could tell me, and spare me the trouble. But that’d probably be against all kinds of laws of metaphysics.

May your life be filled with giraffes and things.

I also imagine you, a slender 65-year-old, clad possibly in a leather catsuit and a wicked pair of sunglasses (and it’s the future, so they must have whisked away your near-sightedness without scary eye-lasers, right?), taking a breather from all your fabulous adventuring to spend a moment with misguided little past-you. But don’t be too rough on me. I’ve made a lot of progress; I’m sure you remember.

And I also don’t want to be rough on you. So maybe your leather catsuit is more a flowery dress and your short hair is up in neat little curls. Or maybe it all fell out, even. Maybe instead of hovercycle adventures, you enjoy a spot of tea (and when did you learn to like tea?) in the evenings, curled up with a nice book in the fraying loveseat next to your dear husband, Appleton. And that sounds pretty fine to me at this age, to be perfectly honest. I’m sure you remember. When it boils down to it, dear 65-year-old me, I’m glad that you’re alive. And I hope you are too.

Shoot those zombies future me, shoot them like Helen Mirren shoots people.

Not to set any unrealistic expectations on you or anything, but I hope you’ve done a few things by now. I hope you’ve seen the world, including weird little places I’ve never even heard of in addition to all the big fantastic places, the pictures of which I collect manically at night. I hope you had a nice career – and it will probably be ongoing for several more years still. But I hope that’s fine with you, because what you do is what you love. Maybe you’re a superstar novelist and everyone knows your name. Or maybe you had a sudden change of heart and became an accountant. Or maybe the zombie apocalypse really did happen, and you live to give enigmatic yet sage advice and shelter to weary survivors who happen upon your (heavily mined) cottage. In the latter case, may your aim always be true.

Above all, I hope you’ve lived. Lived til it hurt; lived hard enough to die well, sometime in the future. I hope you met the challenge instead of shrinking away from it. I hope you never stopped listening to your heart and your gut, even if you sometimes put off their advice. I hope you never stopped writing, even if at times you wanted to. I hope you learned to not love your solitude quite so much. I hope you never stopped dreaming and chasing those dreams, blindly, madly, possessed, driven. And I’ll be indulgent, because your happiness is mine: I hope all those dreams came true.

So now, lie back in your armchair/lean forward on your hovercycle. Remember me for a bit, if you please. Look back on all of the things you’ve done so far, and yes, all the things you still have ahead of you. I hope there’s a lot to think about. I hope you smile.

Appleton? What happened to you?


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This entry was posted on August 11, 2011 by in Happy Belle and tagged , , , .
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