A letter to my 18-year-old self

Dear Steve,

I’m sorry to tell you this, but life won’t work out the way you planned. Spoilers ahead, but read on: You might want to prepare yourself.

It never does, I’ve learned: not for anyone else, and not for you. You think you’re smart – and you are. But that won’t be sufficient for you to succeed, and more often than not, you won’t.

You were given a great gift as a child: a stable household with two parents who loved you, provided for you, and encouraged you. Sure, you blamed them when they couldn’t protect you from the bullies at school, but at least you were safe at home. You had your refuge.

What they didn’t tell you was that it was all temporary. As you read this, you’re sure the bullies who picked on you in junior high will grow up into responsible, respectful adults. Like your parents. But they won’t. They’ll still be bullies when they grow up. They’ll always be there; they’ll just get better at hiding it.

And more ruthless. They’ll have more money, more tools, and more experience at destroying others’ lives. I could tell you it’s because they’re insecure, but that won’t make it any easier for you. I wish I could tell you it would.

Your intelligence saved you in high school by convincing you of something you didn’t know before: You really can be good at something. But you won’t be in school forever, and you’ll need different skills to survive in the real world. You may think working hard, being dependable, and being creative are enough, but they’re not. You have to be lucky too. You’ve been luckier than you know, being raised in a stable family, but your luck won’t always be so good.  

I know you have dreams of being a writer, and you think you’ve got it all figured out. Most authors don’t make enough to live on, so you’ll become a journalist, because newspapers will be around forever. That way, you can have your cake and eat it too. You can do what you love, make a regular paycheck, and write the great American novel in your spare time.

I’m sorry to tell you it won’t work out that way. Newspapers won’t always be as stable as they look now. Your hard work will get you raises, promotions, and good evaluations, but it won’t save you from being laid off when business gets bad – not once, but twice. The good news: It will give you the time to write that great American novel; actually, you’ll write a lot of books. The bad news is that none of them so far has sold well enough to earn a living.

At least you’ll be right about that much.

You may be happy now that you’re an only child. You have all your parents’ attention, and you probably think you’re lucky. Your friends are always fighting with their brothers and sisters. Well, they’ll still be fighting as adults, but they’ll have learned how to deal with conflict a lot better than you will. You’ll try pleasing people to make them like you, and you’ll be disheartened to learn that it doesn’t work so well. As often as not, you won’t be able to please them, and you’ll end up feeling discouraged or, worse, being walked on.

Your parents have always accepted you, but they won’t always be there. Your mom will die too young, but your dad will live a good, long life. You may think you can’t live up to his expectations, but he’ll let you know in his final years how proud he’s always been. That’s something to look forward to.

I know you’re bummed about not having a girlfriend, and you dream of a marriage like your parents’: one that lasts and is free of conflict. You grew up with them as role models, so that’s only natural. But they were the exception, not the rule. You’ll get married, more than once, and things won’t go the way you hope in that department, either. You will try your best, but things will go bad – sometimes you’ll shoulder a good deal of the blame; other times, it will all be beyond your control.

It won’t matter when you’re dealing with it, because it’s all so very hard.

Life will change. You’ll be hurt, and you’ll hurt others – even though you won’t mean to.

You’ll try again.

But being a perfectionist won’t make life perfect, so forgive yourself when you make mistakes. As much as you might not like the fact, you’re human.

Your life will be full of disappointments. It won’t be fair; it never is. You’ll see less talented people succeed where you’ve failed and less noble efforts rewarded when yours have fallen flat. You’ll never quite be the best, but that doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. You won’t reach some of your intended destinations, and others will prove disappointing: the end of the rainbow will always be elusive, and sometimes you’ll wind up in what seems like a nuclear fallout zone.

But remember, the rainbow itself is beautiful. If life were about the destination, you’d be lost, but the old cliché is true: There’s joy in the journey. You’ll have great adventures, see and appreciate wonders other eyes may miss, and meet some fascinating people. You’ll learn from some, and you’ll even have a positive impact on a few you meet along the way.

Is it all worth it? I can’t answer that question for you. I wish I could. You’ll deal with depression and anxiety that will make it feel, some days, as though it’s not worth it at all. But you’ll also find fulfillment and even exhilaration at other times that will make you certain that it is.

The best advice I can give you is to keep trying, because the alternative is no alternative at all. It won’t be the life you dreamed up, and you won’t measure up to the standards you set for yourself, but that’s OK. It really is. I’m still trying to get myself to believe that, but maybe if I’d really been able to send this letter back in time to you 40 years ago, I’d have convinced you of it by now.

Or maybe not. You can be a stubborn sonofabitch.