Dear Mara,
Hi. I’m you, from the summer between Junior and Senior years of high school. I don’t know what you’re doing right now — are you in college? If so, which one? Are you an author? A teacher? Are you working in theatre? Most importantly: are you happy? I hope you are. There are so many things I want to ask you, but sadly, they haven’t invented time-travel yet. If they do, I’m counting on you to let me know.
But really, I’m not here to ask you questions today. I wish I could, but I can’t, and we’ll leave it at that. So instead, I’m here to make sure that you remember some important things. Pay close attention, future self. This is part of your past, and hence, an important part of you. So please, as a favor to the girl who is writing this post right now: treasure these moments.
An evening at the park by R.’s house. Standing on the play structure and seeing all of your friends beneath you — all safe, all happy, all together, all protected from the future by one more year of high school. Being overwhelmed with a sense of love for all of them, and an even stronger sense that the present moment would never come again. Wanting to freeze the next few hours and protect them from the passage of time. Wishing you could put it all in a snowglobe. Asking for a group hug, getting it, and confusing (nearly) everyone in the process. Summer had never seemed so painfully beautiful. Remember?
Other friends, a different afternoon. Talking about what lay ahead, burning homework and laughing and attempting to roast marshmallows. Watching a water-balloon fight. Catching up with people you hadn’t seen in a while, and wishing you’d brought a swim-suit. As a contrast to the moment above, not even considering “the passage of time.” It was summer, you were all free, and you were all delighting in it. Remember?
A class with only two people in it. Singing, dancing, laughing. Being painfully awkward. Discovering that you could sing more loudly than you ever imagined. Running around the theatre laughing your head off when you were trying to get into character for a monologue. Cats (not the musical), Herbert the ring, and two assassins. The Phantom of the Opera, going up into the attic four separate times to look for tombstones, and an old Irish drinking song. Imagining caterpillars and hookahs around every corner. A sequined black ballgown that you didn’t end up wearing (but loved anyways). Remember?
The library, and the desk, which you loved. The desk near the electrical outlets, right next to the shelf on Japanese history. Fighting over that desk with S.’s boyfriend, and getting it (roughly) two out of three times. Wondering why someone penciled “90210” into the desktop and onto the metal of the window next to it (maybe they really liked the show?). Naming the view out the window “Adelaide,” because it seemed like it should have a name. Remember?
Going to France and Italy with M. and S. on the art history trip. Eating smurf gelato, embarrassing yourself due to exhaustion and far too much sugar, and having it come up at prom. It had to do with frogs, at one point. Berrrrrrrrnini, Donatello’s statue for a sword guild, climbing to the top of the Duomo. Following M. around and wishing desperately for navigational skills (which I bet you still don’t have). Not being able to go up the Eiffel Tower because of a bomb threat, but not caring because you were so cold. Eating far too many nutella crepes (nutella’s highest calling, according to S.) on the Seine. Far too many cough drops, too, but in Italy. Wearing a skirt despite ridiculously cold weather when you visited Versailles, just so you could pretend to be a princess. Being amazed by the sense of history exuding from the Egypt exhibit in the Louvre, and for a second, pulling back the curtain of time and truly seeing the world that housed those monuments. The Nike of Samothrace. Pompeii, with the… awkward… tour guide. Touching the door of the Pantheon. S.’s kneadable eraser. Lots (and lots (and lots)) of pizza. The beauty of the sky above the Colosseum. Remember?
Prom. Showing up at C.’s house in your red dress and being overwhelmed by the huge number of people. Drawing into yourself, then coming out later. Starting Prom by requesting Titanium. Dancing and not caring how you looked, because you were having fun. Going back to C.’s for a sleepover, and climbing up onto the top of his play structure even though B. told you not to. Concluding that you should always listen to B. Always. Contemplating life with S. and seeing a shooting star. Remember?
Realizing that you could waltz while wearing headphones and that your friends wouldn’t think it was weird. Waltzing whenever you needed cheering up. Spinning, leaping, pretending to stay in 3/4 time (and actually managing it, on occasion). Nearly getting run over by a monk because you were wearing headphones and waltzing and not seeing a car coming, and having him tell you “Beautiful!” as he drove by. Remember?
Going to the labyrinth and the chapel, time and time again. Solving one problem, then another. Sometimes going out to the llama to ask its opinions on life’s existential questions, and singing and dancing on the baseball field because you knew that no one (save the llama) could see or hear you. Walking on only the bricks of the labyrinth, and having it take half an hour. Falling seven times, but granted, it was windy. Wishing for a hand to hold to keep you steady, but vowing that you could do it by yourself. You so desperately wanted to be independent — but I’m not sure you fully understood what that meant. Remember?
Going up into the theatre’s attic and having a Senior techie come up, looking for Mr. R. Telling him Mr. R’s not up there, but that he knows you are (don’t worry, you weren’t not breaking any rules!) and having him tell you “Mara, you can go anywhere in the theatre.” Feeling happy for the entire day, because someone finally told you that you belonged. That it wasn’t even something worth questioning. Remember?
The Creative Writing Club. Teaching a lesson on critiquing that you were truly proud of. Flailing your arms. Making a list of writerly problems, and solving them as a group. Fabio, the gender-neutral almost-nude who wore toe socks. Having people tell you “thank you” and being astounded. Remember?
Being assistant director. Writing line notes, and nearly levitating whenever someone actually thanked you for it. Using a purple pen. Being trusted to run rehearsal by yourself, on occasion. Shushing people in the green room. Messing up time and again, learning new things all the time (how to write blocking!), and sharpening pencils and hiding in boxes. Loving your place in the shows. Pretending to be Cardinal Richelieu and screaming “I want my nightcap back!” and scaring W. with your ferocity. Finding a harmony for the curtain song of Laramie Project, and singing it as the audience left. Figuring out how to deal with L. just staring (but he brought you a cupcake, so it was totally worth it). Advocating for actor-techie peace, and being very excited by the fact that you got a headset. Remember?
Music. Getting to sing the solo in Senior Chapel with S. You used to daydream about singing in that particular chapel when you were a Freshman and Sophomore. Getting a flute solo (not a very big one, but still) during the Christmas Concert. Going to Great America for a music contest, and delighting in the second time ever that you’d ridden roller-coasters. Forming a Celtic band with other happy band nerds. Singing on the choir bus, and making Ms. P. lead the orchestra bus in I’ll Make a Man out of You. Remember?
That, future self, was Junior year. It was beautiful, painful, fun, stressful, and absolutely wonderful. It was a time when you were figuring out who you were, what you liked, where your limits were, and just how amazing the people around you were. You were so confused. You were so happy. You wouldn’t have had it any other way. And I hope you remember that.
So future self, I want you to come away from this letter with this: while imperfect, your past was beautiful. You know where you’ve been, and I’m pretty sure that you know where you are. So go forward with courage.
-M
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