Short, honest examples by occasion. Read a few, then write your own: the best letters are specific, personal and a little imperfect.
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Everyday letters that capture who you are right now.
Hi future me. Right now I am sitting on the floor of my room because the desk is covered in laundry. I am 27, I have two plants that are somehow still alive, and I am trying to drink less coffee. Has any of that changed? I hope you kept the plants.
Dear me at 35. I am writing this on a Sunday night, a little anxious about Monday as usual. I want to know if you still feel that knot, or if you found work that does not cause it. Whatever you chose, I trust you had good reasons.
Hello you. In ten years the phone in my hand will look ancient and the things I worry about will probably look small. So let me write them down anyway, so you can smile at them: money, whether I am good enough at my job, and whether Sam will say yes.
Happy birthday, future me. Today I turned 30 and spent the evening with the five people I would call at 3am. If you are reading this, call at least one of them today. You know who.
If you are reading this on a bad day, stop for a second. You have felt lost before. Last spring you were sure nothing would work out, and then it did, slowly. You do not have to see the whole road. Just the next step.
Some facts about me today, so you can check: I sleep with the window open, I cannot cook rice, I am reading three books and finishing none, and I laugh too loudly. I hope at least one of those is still true.
Hello, older me. I am 24 and I think 44 sounds ancient, which you will find funny. I hope you still go dancing, still read on the bus and still call Mum on Sundays. Tell me which of those you kept.
Future me, I want you to know I am grateful for you before I even meet you. Thank you for the things you will do that I do not dare to do yet. I am doing my part from here.
Written around January 1 and delivered a year later.
This year I am not writing a list. I only want one thing for you: that you stop apologising for things that are not your fault. Did you manage it, at least sometimes?
The best thing about this year was the trip with Mum. The worst was February. The thing I want you to remember is that I got through February, which means you can get through yours.
By next January I want to be able to run 5 km without stopping. Right now I cannot run one. If you did it, I am proud of you. If you did not, I still am: you probably did something more important.
At midnight I was holding hands with Lucy and Tom and the kids were asleep on the sofa. I hope next New Year looks exactly the same, maybe with a bigger sofa.
I am leaving behind the habit of checking my phone first thing in the morning. Please tell me you now start the day with something better. Even a window and a cup of tea counts.
Here is my question for you: what surprised you most this year? I genuinely have no idea what you will answer, and that is the exciting part.
For new jobs, big decisions and the Sunday-night feeling.
Today was my first day. I did not understand half of the acronyms and I smiled too much. If you are reading this as someone who knows everyone, remember how this felt and be kind to the next new person.
I am about to hand in my notice and I am terrified. Whatever happened next, I want you to know it was a brave decision. Not every brave decision works out, but staying would have cost me more.
Today I registered the company. It has no clients, no logo and a bank balance of 300 dollars. If it still exists when you read this, celebrate. If it does not, celebrate anyway: you tried.
They gave me the team lead role today. I feel proud and like a fraud at the same time. Future me, did you become the kind of manager you wish you had had?
I worked until 11pm again. If you are reading this and things are still like this, something needs to change, and only you can change it. Please do.
At 41 I am going back to study. Everyone says it is brave, which I think means risky. When this arrives I will probably be halfway through. Do not quit in the middle: the middle is always the hardest part.
For exams, first years and the day you finish.
Exams start in two weeks and I am sure I am going to fail. You know the result. Whatever it was, I hope you remember that one exam never decided who you were.
First week away from home. The dorm is loud and I have eaten pasta for six days in a row. Did you find your people? I hope by now you have a favourite place in this city.
Today I graduated. The gown was too long and Grandma cried. I have no job yet and no idea what comes next. When you read this, tell me where I ended up. I promise not to be disappointed.
Hey, it is me in Year 9. I want to know if you still play guitar, if you are still friends with Noah, and if you finally learned to ride a bike without hands.
I failed today. I am writing this so that you, who know how the story continued, can laugh a bit at how dramatic I was being. Please laugh. And please tell me I passed the resit.
I land in Lisbon tomorrow for six months. I speak about twelve words of Portuguese. If you are reading this back home, I hope you brought something of this place with you.
Letters to read on an 18th birthday, a first day or a graduation.
You are three weeks old and asleep on my chest as I type with one hand. You do not know any of this yet, but you were wanted, you were loved before you arrived, and the whole house rearranged itself around you.
Today you walked into school without looking back. I was the one who cried. When you read this, maybe you will be the one walking someone else to their first day.
Congratulations. I am writing this when you are eight and cannot tie your shoes, so forgive me for being emotional. Whatever you studied and wherever you go, I am proud of who you are, not just of what you did.
If you are reading this, your room is empty and I am probably standing in the doorway. Go and live your life. Call on Sundays. And yes, you can always come back.
Some things you said this year that I never want to forget: that clouds are the sky's pillows, that you will be a dinosaur doctor, and that I am your best friend. Keep the first two.
Today we argued and you slammed the door. You are 14 and I was 14 once. When you read this, I hope we both laugh about it. I love you, even on slammed-door days.
For partners, friends and the people who matter.
We have been together for one year today. You still steal the blanket. Whatever the next years bring, I want you to know that today I am happy, and that you are the reason.
We got engaged an hour ago on a rainy pier. I am writing so that, on a day we argue about the dishes, you can remember how this felt.
We met when we were seven and you lent me a green crayon. If you are reading this, we are still friends, which says a lot about the crayon. Thank you for every year since.
Today it ended. Right now I cannot imagine feeling okay again. You can, because you are me later. Please write back and tell me it got better. I believe you.
We have not spoken properly in months and I miss you. I am scheduling this so that, whatever happens before it arrives, you know I was thinking of you today. Let us have that coffee.
I have not met you yet, or maybe I have and I do not know it. I hope you are patient with my bad jokes and my early mornings. I am working on being someone worth meeting.
Letters written in difficult moments, to be read once they have passed.
Today I started treatment. I am scared and tired and the hospital coffee is terrible. If you are reading this, you made it to this date. That alone is enough.
Grandpa died on Tuesday. I want you to remember his laugh, the smell of his workshop and the way he called everyone champ. Do not let the details fade.
The flat is very quiet tonight. If you are reading this, I hope you reached out to someone instead of waiting. Loneliness is a signal, not a verdict.
My mind will not stop tonight. I am writing to you because you are proof that this passes: it always has. Breathe out longer than you breathe in. You know this.
I messed up at work today, publicly. By the time you read this, it will be one small story among many. Tell me you apologised, fixed what you could and let the rest go.
In twelve months I moved twice, changed jobs and lost a friendship. I am exhausted. I hope you are somewhere stable, and that you rest without feeling guilty about it.
Not every letter has to be deep.
Predictions for when you read this: phones will be thinner, I will still not have learned to whistle, and the neighbour's cat will still hate me. Score yourself out of three.
For the record: a coffee costs 4 dollars, a cinema ticket 15 and our rent is 1,400. I bet you will read this and wince.
My five songs on repeat this month. Listen to them when this arrives and tell me which one still holds up. I suspect only one.
Dear future dog. I do not have you yet because the flat does not allow pets. If you are reading this over my shoulder, it means we moved somewhere better. Good dog.
Quick quiz for you: did the fringe grow out? Did you finish the puzzle on the kitchen table? Did you ever learn what the third button on the remote does? One point per yes.
Three words: the blue umbrella. If you do not remember, that is a shame, because it was the funniest day of the year.
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