july 23rd, 2026
dear 18-year old liz,
Hi. It’s been awhile since we’ve last talked, huh?
I don’t think about you much these days, as I’ve allowed you to finally rest in time after serving your purpose for so long. It also seems like when I do think about you, it is solely because there are aspects of you that come through in me now. I also find myself talking about you a lot these days, not for the bad things you’ve done or about the experiences you went through, but because your story is a lesson learned. It is a story to tell those who may fear the things you once feared, all the while reminding myself just how far we’ve come.
Let’s give you some context: a good friend of mine has a daughter your age, and she just graduated from high school. She’s going away for college in a month, and she fears what the future holds for her. It’s like the euphoric feeling of finishing something to then start something new has now sunken in. It will be the first time she is away from her mother for a long period of time. It will be the first time she experiences life as a young adult, and because of that, she feels like time is slipping away from her.
I was shocked; how do you feel like you’re losing time at such a young age? She is only 18. She has her whole life ahead of her and so much more life to live. Her 21st birthday, her college graduation, her first big girl job, and everything else that’s still to come. But I guess for someone who is now 32 years old, I can say that. I’ve lived to see my 21st birthday; the one where I wore 4 inch boots in snow, slipping and holding my best friend’s hand trying to get to the sushi restaurant to celebrate. I’ve lived to sit in my college cap and gown, and stand to represent one of the many first-gen college graduates attending commencement. I’ve lived to make the decision of leaving my bookstore job to pursue a career in higher education full-time. I’ve lived to see my 20’s go from my highest of highs, and my lowest of lows, and still made it to my 30’s.
But even at 32, the future is scary for me; even for someone who’s lived 14 more years than her. 14 years that I did not think I’d be alive for. At 32, I can’t imagine having missed 14 years of living. 14 years of time.
At 32, I fear that I’m losing time and I fear for my future, but my friend, who happens to be 14 years older than me, is telling me I still have so much more life to live, so much more time ahead.
18, although I am now 14 years older, I still look back and remember that you made it out. You chose to fear the future and still be curious enough to see what it had in store for you. I carry you around with me as a reminder that even if I can no longer relate to you, your strength to keep going will always inspire me to do so too. I wish there was someone in your life that was able to tell you this: because of time, things get better.
Things get better. Not easier, but better. Time is both a scary and beautiful thing. The future is both uncertain and inspiring. You’re never going to feel like you have all the right answers, but you keep going anyways.
I’m glad you gave me this time to realize that, and it’s only fair that I allow myself to take my own advice—because future me would want me to.
Thank you for choosing to believe in the ability of time. Because of that, I am able to tell my current self to believe in it too.
Letters From Liz. 