A letter to my younger self

Honoring the way and the struggles of my teenage self

Alexander

Oct 14, 2024

Transcript

I resolved to write a certain post this week. Instead I tried to write a thousand others. It didn't work. So now I'm bowing my head and bending my knee to my intention and intuition... and I write...

A letter to my younger self.

Hey, brother.

Sometimes as you grow older you hear people ask the following question: What advice would you give to your younger self? I recently asked myself this same question: What advice would I give to you? I started to laugh, because I knew that it wouldn't matter what I said. Why would you listen to some middle-aged spindly guy like me? And anyway, I don't remember us being very into listening at all.

Maybe other people have younger selves that are sitting in their teenage or student rooms with their notebooks ready, willing to change their lives in new productive ways based on some man-with-thinning-hair's smeary sounding wisdom. I know I don't. That's not you. So don't worry, you won't have too.

I write to you today because... I want to honor you.

I saw you in the woods behind school the other day. Cigarettes are quite a trip, I know. I see how you somehow walk with a new energy gleaming through your eyes. You carry a secret now. A secret you share with the cool young men who let you into their circle. You found a way in, I'm really happy for you. I know how lonely it can be on the outside.

Of course no-one else can know, I won't tell, only those who think it's as cool us may share our hidden looks. Wash your hands, extra chewing gum, perfume samples from the mall, travel many stops to that little tobacco store that doesn't check ID. Quite a project, its worth it.

And I saw you steal from the store. I know you know how it is a double-edged thing. A secret as well. But those who see you, they see you. And that vital kick of joining your friends, victorious in your rebellious act. Aaah such a clear breath compared to the smothering softness.

It is like two worlds, isn't it? The world you have known all your life is framed by a fence of expected behaviour. It is a big world, but there is no room to move really - a sticky mask of polite and fine. It doesn't matter how quiet you get, no-one will notice. But there is something on the other side of the fence. The world of the shouldn't. There are a few young men moving out there. You cut a hidden opening and sneek out into the night.

And you are right of course, you cannot stay in your mother's house forever. Although it is messy, your life full of loneliness and driven by a certain gleaming desperation, this - my friend - is your way. No-one else will be coming, no-one else will take the lead. I honor you, for doing what you can and what you know to carve out a space for you in this life. It takes courage. I see your strength and your will.

And then you got caught. The police brought you back to your mother's doorstep and she wasn't angry with you. She cared, with worry and concern and a gentle hand. I wonder if her care surprised you?

It really did.

And we used to play basketball. Once we were small and we cried when we fell, do you remember? But you stayed at it. Through all the different penalistic coaches, you grew fit and strong. Hell, I wouldn't stand a chance against you. You got almost ten kilos on me, kid.

Basketball, cigarettes, gym, rage against the machine, porn, counter strike, mars bars, alcohol, guns n' roses, electric guitars, making out, passing out, cool mysterious looks, hair wax, perfumes, bandanas, late nights. Your world. You have built something that is yours. Of course I also know the shyness, the embarrassment, the shame, the insecurities. A constant tug-of-war. Bro, it isn't easy. You are carrying it all. I fucking feel you.

And you fell in love a few times. Do you mind if I step back a little? Before you got so cool, we were small and shy. Kind and insecure. Lonely and silent. Like a ghost. And you fell in love. She was like a tiny sun. There was something so pure and radiant about her. A soft smile, kind eyes. You wanted to be close to her warmth. You were there in flesh and blood but unseen still. Unnoticed.

Unborn.

You - my friend - are a young, naive, complicated, miserable, teenager. But you are creating a space for your life. This is the hardest part and you have no-one there to help you. I see you. I see how you are making your way, urged by the deep fucking calling to exist. Your feet are touching the ground. You see how they are starting to notice and it feels right and bright. You are real to them, and at this point...

nothing else matters.

With love,
Alexander

"Nothing Else Matters" by Metallica was one of the first songs I learnt to play on the guitar when I was 14. I have surely listened to it hundreds of times. For some reason it unfolded itself and appeared as the coda concluding this letter. I haven't listened to this song in ages. In honor of my 14 year old self: