Dear 16-year-old Me

There's a PSA for melanoma awareness that someone re-posted on Facebook a few days ago. It is lovely and heartbreaking and you should really stop reading this blog immediately and watch it, because it's bound to be better than anything I can think of.

Back?

The PSA hooked me from the beginning line, "Dear 16-year-old me . . ." It made me wonder what I would tell myself  if I actually had that opportunity. Sixteen was NOT a stellar year for me: it was my first year living in Tampa after having lived in Louisville since I was 8; it was me dealing with a new school culture and figuring out where I fit in at school and church; it was me navigating the troubled waters of adolescence when I was pretty sure all I wanted to do was stay in my room all day with a good book and stash of Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies (partially hydrogenated oil never tasted so good!).

I thought about it for a little bit and here are some of my ideas:
- I could tell myself that brushing curly hair is never a good idea (still very bitter no one passed this on earlier!).
- I could tell myself that I don't really hate vegetables, just ones that have been boiled to within an inch of their lives.
- I could could tell myself that Dave Grohl's best work would come after Nirvana.
- I could tell myself that as far-fetched as it seems, Chinese, rather than Italian, would be a better language elective in college.

All those ideas got discarded in favor if this one, short and sweet:

Dear 16-year-old me, 
Stop caring so much about what other people think. 
Love, 
Me . . . You . . . Er, Us

One of the best things about getting older is that, with every passing year, I worry less and less about the opinions of others as they relate to me. Frankly, I don't have the energy to obsess over it anymore - I need all that energy to get my job done, spend time with friends and family, and maybe wash my face before I collapse into bed at 9:30 (sadly, not a joke). No time is left for thinking about if my outfit matched because if it didn't, at least I wasn't naked. WIN!

Adolescence is such a hyper-sensitive time and I wish it didn't have to be. I work on a university campus, and when I see students who are trying too hard to fit in (or stand out) I want to give them a hug and tell them that it does get better. If I had known that one day I was honestly not going to care, it would have gotten me through a lot of drama and angst and stress.

Of course, hugging strangers would get me arrested, and I'm honestly not sure if they'd listen to me anyway. After all, I'm not sure I would have listened to a letter from Future Me.

So, that my letter. What would your letter say?