There is a strange level of detachment we have from ourselves. This can manifest is so many ways, from body dysmorphia, to disassociation, to trashy binging behaviors. Social media makes it so easy to compare your own self to a carefully curated image of another. Porn detaches you from the messy and delightful reality of exposing yourself to another human. Reality TV is contrived storylines for simple narratives.

I have not found a solution to any of those.

But the detachment that has struck me the most profoundly is the detachment of self from linear time.

I wish to mimic the Tralfamadorians of Slaughterhouse Five, who see time as a mountain range, with the entire landscape of peaks and valleys before them. But we humans ride a cart set on railtracks, peering down a fixed periscope, only watching frames flash before our eyes. We barely understand that the track is one way only, never to back up or even slow down. The narrow viewfinder, from which we observe our existence, our bound blinders.

The observer experience has become real with a small piece of ritual magic that briefly dispelled the illusion of time. The casting came in the form of an electronic letter to myself. A tiny time capsule from past to present, present to future.

What was apparent, in anticipation of this letter, is how much I wanted to connect to my youth. I was hoping to pull out a letter that would transport me back to the bedspread in the master bedroom of my aunt and uncle’s apartment in Pudong, Shanghai.

This contrasts with my younger self who wanted answers to questions of who I had become. In the letter I rehash many promises made at the time and asked if, in the future, I kept them, assured that having aged two decades of time, I would know who I would be in the third. I wondered how I measured up and distinctly dictated that if I came short, I had time to reevaluate my progression.

I can see the desperation. An uncertain young-adult. The fevered dreams, longing hopes, and high-set expectations placed on a future narrative. Rather than the foster the challenges and opportunities that existence in the present that he/I occupied, I punted to the future. Ignoring the present that he/I had full control over. The present burdened with accountability. For an imagined.

I can see the realization of that responsibility bud. The beginning of the letter notes how my internship was the result of many helping hands. I asked if I had begun to return the gifts bestowed to me by my family and their network of friends of friends.

At the time of writing the letter, I was working my first real internship between sophomore and junior year of college. When I was growing up, a decade ago, internships were expected for rising seniors, but the opportunities were rarer for rising juniors. It would be ambitious, aggressive, advanced to be working a desk job in the office with two years of university to go. But that’s exactly the path that my parents wanted me to be on.

So did I.

Freshman year was soaked in debauchery, away from strict parents and influenced by underaged drinking and drugs. Better habits took a sustainable hold (vaguely) by sophomore year, and the back half of college was much more enjoyable and balanced than the front half. Part of that growth can be attributed to the internship.

In the Big City, against the backdrop of true poverty and riling masses of humanity in a foreign country, I found myself commuting for the first time. It took one bus transfer and two train lines to get into the office, starting at 6AM to make it in around 8.

Every.

Day.

Work would let out, whenever. My desk was kind enough to let the intern go earlier, but as a European client facing desk, “early” was subjective.

I showed up. I didn’t do much actual work. But I showed up every day. And I understood why, because this experience, resume line, whatever, would make me more appealing in a real adult job. An impending unavoidable reality.

It was nice to read the letter and see the seeds. Even in a pretty difficult situation, I found gratitude towards the systems, people, and love surrounding me.

That is the mindset of an adult.

-

Of the things that I was concerned about, swimming was near the top. It makes sense, a huge portion of my time was concerned with practicing, and I was anxious about the outcome of that investment. Unfortunately, I never swam faster in the hundred than I did that Sophomore year, but I did end up with a little scholarship money. I dropped time in other events as well, getting faster but not exactly in the ways that I had pined for.

I probably exceeded my own physical expectations of the years after my graduation. I haven’t lost my feel for the water. I don’t think as a sophomore, I thought about how my near future would be altered by swimming, but it has. I still count my varsity letter as a crowning achievement in my life. I continue to find value and personal success in athletics.

I liked the team, but I don’t talk to a single teammate now. Not out of my choice, I did try to see Nolan, Feeley, and Emmett. I hung with Devin. Ellman and Budner. I invited Josh to pitch something to my colleagues. But none of them stuck around and I don’t much care.

But I must have cared when I was 20. I can see the honest admission in my keystrokes. I probably still care a little. I don’t know if we’d be friends but I’d have a beer with anyone who reached out. They won’t though. They don’t think much about me.

They do hang out with each other. Or as far as I know. But are they sticking together out of comfort and fear or an actual connection.

It’s near impossible to guess the results of a relationship, premeditated or a meetcute. Rather it is the regular practice of showing up, checking in, and being mindful that dictates who your friends are. I didn’t understand that at all at 20, I wasn’t mature enough to know. It’s a lesson I value a lot at 30. If you want to keep people in your life, you have to show up. But also decay is natural. Time and place friendships are not less valuable but finding real ones and keeping them is important work.

These days I try to reach out a bit randomly across long spans of distance and radio silence. Just to remember the memories and keep them alive. Life is long and the world is small. I’d like to run into lots of acquaintances yet. [Lesson to myself to keep some friends alive]

Younger me had lots of grandeur, plenty of plans and hopes, dreams and fears. I spoke pompously, but earnestly about my ideas to change the world, the assurances that I would be part of the wave that made advancements towards a more justice and fair society.

I hope I haven’t lost him, the one who dreams. Who wishes kind, fair, justice for all people. Who believed America’s promises could come true for anyone.

I would guess that I stood up as I could. But my ambitions where much higher. Probably uninformed by the reality of how difficult social change could be. Still, difficult challenges make for more savory successes.

Or something.

-

I also wrote about an island and a girlfriend. Hilarious that they were about equal in probability to my younger self. Actually, I probably thought I would own a piece of land before I had a relationship.

I can happily say that I did beat that promise, but I can also relay that I still don’t understand anything about women. That the journey is longer than I would have thought. [Or maybe I had a premonition]

The aspirations I had in a partner are mirrors to the aspirations I had in myself. Looks, brains, determination. Love and care and partnership were unsaid, but valued. Again, I was uninformed by reality. I dreamed large, beyond achievable into fantasy. I believed those fantasies so truly that I would share them to myself without shame.

In many ways it was defensive to dream large. At 20 I had barely kissed a girl, much less had a relationship, physical or emotional. Not for a lack of trying, but it would have been difficult for me to understand another person anyway. Imaginary was better than despondent.

That included material fantasies…

-

I can sense how kind I must have been. I was only years removed from my maximum-angst teenage phase. Yet my first message is to be thankful for my blessings and to embrace the burdens of restitution. Something about going to China did that for me as well. Being so close to the alternate outcomes of my life shook me. China is a completely different world, and not a better one. That realization that my life could have been there changed how I felt about everything I went through here, in America. The challenges were not less difficult but the environment was better, and for that I was privileged.

In that impressionable time, I got my first taste of reality against imagination. I stuck stubbornly to imagination. This letter was merely an instrument for calling my shots, a reinforcement in my constructed castles. I had just started to discover that your future is a function of your presence. Present. Effort could pay off. Even if I was unhinged on the pay scale.

I’ve heard that we overestimate what we can accomplish in one year, but underestimate what we can do in five. Clearly younger me overestimated both.

in the last sentence there is a single acknowledgement of my shortcoming. Along with a little reassurance from my past to my present. This small piece puts the journey into perspective. 10 years is a long time, but also so limited. My past and I are not exactly the same, but we’re close echoes. I have a lot of gratitude for who that person was. I have infinite gratitude how that person made me. We still fight similar battles and share similar goals, but today we are better prepared. Seasoned with battle experience, not always sweet and pleasant but at least not oversalted. A function of dedicated work, a touch of foolishness, and many guiding hands.

I look forward to the next ten. I hope to god they will be as good to me as the previous. My inner optimist says they will be even better. But somethings never change.