it's all the same, only the names will change

haven't written here for a while. my thoughts have been coming in dribs and drabs, and they have ended up elsewhere, fragmented and difficult to make sense of. i have been writing something else too: my thesis is almost done, which gives me at least a modicum of satisfaction.

but i do have an interesting subject to bring up today. i was wondering what i would tell my 12 year old self if i met him. it's all perhaps inspired by the time traveling shenanigans on 'lost'.

i will tell him, first of all, not to worry about his vocabulary. by the time he's 16, he would have picked up a perfectly serviceable number of words that he could put to use. by the time he's 22, he'll be effectively using words like 'modicum', 'eviscerate' and 'facetious' in both writing and speech. despite the suggestion of his teachers, he will become a decent writer, and be pretty good at other academic areas too.

i would tell him to exercise more. even now i'm paying a price for my childhood sloth. i'll tell him that by the time he was 22, he'll actually enjoy the pain that comes from exerting himself. he won't believe me, but i'll try. i'll tell him that if he held back on the snackfoods now, he'll one day have a good enough metabolism that it won't matter.

i'll also tell him not to worry about not being cool. one day he'll grow up and realize it doesn't matter. he'll end up doing better than most of the kids that would make him miserable, and in his own way, figure out that he's alright. he'll become less awkward, and more interesting. less helpless and more confident. if only he believed in himself, the world had plenty of pleasant surprises waiting.

i'll tell him not let other people decide who he was. it won't be easy, but he should try. i'll tell him he'll have friends that he can count on, if he'd only stop trying to impress people who he can't. i'll tell him exactly who to watch out for, and who he's safe with. but i won't help him avoid all the unhappiness of youth, because he'll need all of those things to figure out who he was.

i'll tell him how things worked out quite alright for him. by the time he's 19, he would have traveled halfway around the world. by the time he was 22, he would have visited most of the places he'd ever dreamed about. he will be able to drive a car, cook a meal, and make intelligent conversation with members of the opposite sex. he'll fit decently into clothes, and have appropriate shoes. he'll be able to calculate a tip, and fix slightly broken toilets. he'll be able to change lightbulbs of all sorts, hang pictures and mix martinis.

he would have loved a little and lost a little. saw a little and missed a little. i will tell him he'll be happier than he's ever been, but also sadder. i'll tell him to get ready. among all the millions of little things i can tell him, nothing will be more important than this: i might not know who i am, but i get the sense that we're getting there.

well that's done. in other news, my mood has taken a turn for the bizarre. unhappy things happened, and i feel more callous about life. strangely though, i'm happy about that.