Dear Future,

Hey me, it's early, the classroom’s fresh, the air is crisp. A brown desk to write on, a cold, blue metal chair for a seat. A whiteboard for instruction and guidance, that takes me through through the steps to write this. Papers are scattered, pencils and highlighters astray, a Starbucks mug once containing my “fuel” for the day. Just a distance from the window, a parking lot compiled with older cars which makes the place feel as if I'm in high school. Here I sit in English class down the “new section” of E hall. A pair of Sperry's, khakis, a sweater, and north face describes my current daily attire. My freedom as a teen allows my hair to be long, my lanyard hanging out of pocket. My dress style is who I am, who I want to become. semi-formal attire just feels right. Maybe you have chosen the path I'm unaware of.

I can imagine you wearing a suit sharper than steak knives, a posture and look that cuts through crowds. Navy blue blazer, tie flowing with radiant pink, a shirt stainless-white with not a single crinkle. Dress pants that have a fold so clean a ruler could not have made a such perfect line with a matching navy blue color to add to the flawless touch. Shoes so shiny they radiate their success, waiting to impress the next on-looker. People take a glance at you and lose their train of thought because of a such perfect person. Your precedence over others changes rooms  starting from the door, almost as if the world stops for you. No worries about an income, bills to pay, having enough money, and even retirement. Everything fell in place like you wanted to, even exceeding your own expectations, people see you as a powerful image, the only thing that can stop you is yourself.

In the shadow of my future, I spot another version of me. Barely surviving. My faults caused you to struggle to even eat one meal a day. Your face is darkened with the mistakes I made, the unshaven 5 o'clock shadow that deepens your expression. Life turned 180 degrees as your family accounts you for your failures. You never made the cut. Emotionally dead, depressed. Friends surpass you as you dwell at my peak so young in life. Through the album of time, you put your songs of mistakes on loop, soon forgetting the songs of succession and pursuing self-completion.

Here stands, once more, another you. This is the more moderate, in the middle, of the two. A hawaiian t-shirt, pair of tan shorts, beach sandals. You look happy, things seem to fit in. Although bills and payments flood your life, a life-preserving jacket of a job keeps you afloat. Nothing special. Day-to-day life just to live on. You're disappointed you never became that rich, successful person you hoped to be, but glad you never chose the path of greed, selfishness, poverty, or even guilt. Either way, you did the best you could, which is what really matters regardless of what you become.

Future me, you carry what I have yet to find out about myself. I carry the indecisive future for what it holds, like a mother and child. The future I carry is a blind path, pushing forward the only option. We all, in a way, carry our own futures . It awaits us as we cross the finish line; but when we cross that line, it doesn't matter if you came first or last, it will embrace you, for it is you. Some ask, “How do you carry your future?”. There's no wrong or right answer to this question. It's learning to accept  our decisions and choices we make now will be carried on for eternity. It is as if someone built a wall in a river. Eventually, the river will take shape to that wall and recreate its path downstream.

Sincerely,
Yourself.