All through October, I ruminated upon the fact that it has been five years since October 2013. All month I thought about the letter I had written to myself; the letter that I finally opened on November 1st. I hesitate to type any of these words without adding KNOCK ON WOOD to avoid tempting fate, because we definitely don’t want a repeat. It was a year that overflowed with the very worst of the worst and the very best of the best, and the last of those happened in October. Was it the worst thing to happen that year? No. Not by a long shot. But, by October, we were feeling pretty beat up by 2013.
Now, as I flip another October to November on my calendar, I quietly sigh in relief that 2013 is one more year in the past. I ripped open the letter, already remembering what my past self would say to the present me. “If you’re opening this letter, you’re alive. And if you’re reading this letter, you can see.” I won’t lie. Even though I knew what I had written, it still felt incredible to read the words.
Dickens described the feeling perfectly, “The best of times; the worst of times.” It seems most years are a messy mixture. I suppose that is how we learn to recognize the best of times.
Maybe it’s time to write my future self another letter.
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