An Open Letter to 30-Year-Old Me

Dear 30-Year-Old Me,

I’m 20 now. It’s a bit strange. Someone asked me how old I was the other day and it took me a second to compute. 20? Really? There’s something intimidating about it somehow – though I know there’s really no difference between being 19 and being 20, the fact that I can no longer call myself a teenager does feel a little odd.

I wonder what life is like for you sometimes. Going into my final year of university is somewhat daunting, knowing that at the end of next year, I will be graduating and (if all goes according to plan) preparing to enter the full-time workforce. Let’s face it, I’ve done two weeks of full-time work in my entire life. Am I cut out for it? Who knows.

So how are things? I’m hoping there’s a steady job and a comfortable home and people around that love me/you/us. I’m hoping there’s an adequate amount of leisure and fun and general silliness. I’m hoping that whatever I’m doing makes me happy and gives me a sense of achievement.

And this is all very well and good, but I wonder sometimes if I’m doing all I can to try and set myself up for this sort of future. It’s hard at times to figure out if I should be studying more, working more, relaxing more or just generally doing more to work towards future success. I’m already feeling the pressure to get a foot in the door of my chosen industry, but just how to do that is a problem I’m still yet to solve.

Should I be looking at further study after my degree? Is there something vital I’ve missed in my search for internships and work experience? Am I working enough to ensure I can get by on my own? Am I taking on enough projects to keep me adequately stimulated and inspired and to keep my creative appetite satiated? Despite considering myself a relatively ‘busy’ person, I always feel that I should be doing something more.

So 30-Year-Old Me, I’m just concerned. My frustrating lack of prophetic sight means I can’t possibly know if what I’m doing now is enough. I won’t know exactly what it is you need until I am you. I can only hope that (in the strange, parallel universe in which we somehow co-exist and are able to communicate) you’re watching me now and going, “Yeah, you’re doing alright. Just keep swimming, kid.” Because let’s face it, if we’ve forgotten how to quote Finding Nemo by age 30, we’ve got issues. That aside, I suppose I can only keep trying. Which I will.

Yours with love,
20-Year-Old You


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