Dear Teen Me: Authors Write Letters to Their Teen Selves (True Stories) (4 page)

See you in few decades.

Robin Benway

Dear Teen Me,

• 1. Let’s just start by ripping off the Band-Aid. You need to let your bangs grow out. I’m serious. Half of your teenage life (that’s a rough estimate, but I feel like it’s accurate) will be spent trying to straighten them and the other half will be spent worrying that they’re frizzing up, so just grow them out now. You’re welcome.
  
• 2. High school stops mattering the second you graduate from it. Crazy, I know, but it’s true! Remember how upset everyone was when you
  were too lazy
  forgot to file your paperwork for the National Honor Society? Or when your Spanish teacher got mad because you ditched her class so many times? It turns out that nobody cares whether or not you were an honors student, and your Spanish skills turn out to be quite stellar—especially when asking for directions in Spain when you’re thirty-two. (Yes, you go to Spain. And Italy and France, too. Start packing now.)
  
• 3. That boy in your chemistry class isn’t just being friendly. He’s
  flirting
  with you. The sooner you can figure out the difference between the two, the easier your life will be. And you really need to talk to Chemistry Boy more, because on the last day of senior year, he will write a beautiful sentence in your yearbook that involves him using the word “perpetually” correctly—and it will be the most awesome thing that has ever happened to you. So far.
  
• 4. You pick amazing friends. All those girls you hang out with at lunchtime? You’ll still be hanging out with them when you’re all in your thirties. They’ll still make you laugh until you have to pee, and they’ll be the first ones to call you when things go horribly wrong. (Oops, spoiler alert!)
  
• 5. Right before your senior year of high school, your house will flood while you’re on vacation with your family and you’ll come home to a total disaster. You’ll have to live with your mother and younger brother in a hotel room for the next three months, and while it seems insane at the time, the three of you will become closer than ever before as a result. They will turn out to be two of your best friends, and you’ll find yourselves laughing and reminiscing about that experience time and time again. Believe it
  or not, it actually becomes a funny story. And while you survive the hotel experience intact, you’ll never find that one sweater again.
  
• 6. That being said, before you go on vacation, CHECK TO MAKE SURE A PIPE HASN’T BURST BEFORE LEAVING THE HOUSE. SERIOUSLY. GO CHECK.
  
• 7. Six weeks after you turn eighteen, you’ll move to New York City to attend NYU and live in Greenwich Village. Sounds awesome, right? Like a dream come true? Well, you’ll cry like a baby for the entire first week, and then you’ll feel so homesick that you’ll construct elaborate fantasies about taking a cab to the airport and flying home. Don’t. Stay for at least two years. It’s good for you to be in a new city with new people. You’ll learn how to ride the subway and tell the difference between the express and local trains. And after eighteen years in Orange County, California, you’ll finally discover what “winter” really means. (Helpful hint: buy a sturdy umbrella, but don’t bother with a hat. You look ridiculous in hats.) If you leave too soon, you’ll miss walking through Washington Square Park after a January storm, seeing the bare trees filled with flecks of icy light, and feeling the contentment that comes from knowing you’re exactly where you ought to be. You’ll miss that exciting night at the diner when, for reasons that are never made entirely clear, your waiter has to run outside to punch a passerby while you huddle with the rest of the customers in the back of the restaurant, waiting for the police to arrive. (Now
  that
  is a story for another time. But don’t tell Mom about it until you’re a lot older. She’ll freak.)
  
• 8. There’s going to be a period in your life where everything goes wrong. It just does. I’m sorry. Your grandparents will pass away. Your dad is going to die. You’ll become very sick and have to quit your awesome PR job at the bookstore. You’ll also get rejected from all your MFA programs on the same day. I can’t sugarcoat it; it’s just going to suck. You’ll cry a lot, and when you start working again you’ll think that you’ve screwed everything up, that everything you want to achieve will never happen. You’ll be ashamed of your life.
  
• Please, don’t worry. You worry enough as it is. All these seemingly wrong turns are actually leading you in the right direction. All those things you want to achieve are just ahead of you, so don’t you dare stop reaching for them. They’re closer than you realize, and if you stop, if you give up and give in, then all that struggle will have been wasted.
  
• 9. You’re going to write the following in your journal on January 23, 1996: “The ideal life for me right now would be to live in a nice, sunny
  apartment in either New York or Los Angeles, with a PowerBook and my cat, and just write whenever I feel like it.” (Yes, I read your journal. Hope that doesn’t make things awkward between us. And you have lovely penmanship, by the way. Enjoy it while it lasts.)
  

  Look, I don’t want to give too much away, but one day, that journal entry will be important to you. (Except for the cat part. Why did you write that? You’ve never liked cats. Get a dog instead.) So relax. Take some deep breaths. You know how you spend every morning of senior year listening to music in the car before your first class? That’s okay. It turns out that a lot of your classmates are doing the exact same thing. And that one English teacher who hints that you don’t take your work seriously? You’ll never hear his name again, so don’t get all worked up about it. Just put that voodoo doll down.
  

You know how Mom is always saying, “Everything works out”? She’s right. It’ll take some time, but you’ll get there. And the journey isn’t all that bad either.

Buckle up, kid. You’re going to have an amazing life…just as soon as you grow out your bangs.