I Met My Younger Self For Coffee This Morning

I met my younger self for coffee this morning. She was running late- she's never been much of a morning person. She tumbled into the cafe, hair a little messy, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, muttering something about how summer had completely wrecked her sleep schedule again. I just smiled. She'll figure it out. She always does.

We ordered our drinks, and I watched her take everything in, her mind always buzzing, always overthinking. She eyed me carefully, like she was trying to determine whether the future has been kind to her. I wanted to tell her not to worry so much, but I knew she wouldn't listen. Control is her safety net, her way of making sense of things. I wanted to tell her that loosening her grip won't make everything fall apart, that sometimes the best things happen when she lets go. But I knew she'd have to learn that on her own.

She asked me if we ever got better at handling change. I sipped my coffee and thought about how to answer. "A little," I finally said. "But mostly, we just learn that change isn't always the enemy." She nodded, filing that answer away somewhere in her mind, already trying to analyze it.

I told her about the things she'd fall in love with- the books she'd read, the music she'd play while writing late into the night, the way laughter and wonder fills her classroom. I told her about the friendships she'd nurture, the students she'd meet, the way she'd slowly start shaping the world around her, even if she didn't always realize it.

Then, she hesitated before asking, "So... do we ever find someone?" I signed, taking a long sip of my coffee. "Not yet," I admitted. Her face fell slightly, but I leaned in, lowering my voice like I was telling her a secret. "But here's what I've learned- it's not a race. And being single isn't a placeholder for something better. We're still figuring out who we are, what we want, and let me tell you, we are SO much better at loving ourselves now." She bit her lip, thinking it over, not sure if she believed me. "It'll happen when it's meant to," I added. "And when it does, we'll be ready."

She looked relieved, like maybe, just maybe, she was on the right track after all. I wanted to reach across the table, take her hand, and promise her that everything would be okay, even when it didn't feel like it. But instead, I just smiled and said, "Trust me, you're going to be proud of how far you've come."

She smiled back, and for the first time, I think she believed me.