to the girl sitting alone at the top corner of the jim miller parking structure at 3:02 am, the side that faces anaheim:

a few years from now, it will all be different.

college wasn’t the bandaid you thought it would be. if anything, college was equivalent to trying to save a sandcastle built on wet sand. and while you’ve been packing on sand, trying to hold up the castle’s structure before it falls into the earth, the tide is already rising. it’s going to knock down that castle — and you — down. and it’s not going to help you up.

in a few moments, you’ll receive a call from someone you know. they’re going to tell you that your friend threw up all over their dorm, and they don’t have supplies to clean it up. you, however, have the supplies, and the person on the other end of the line needs you to bring them over.

this is when you’ll have a choice: you can stay up there or you can get up, leave, clean up your friend’s vomit, and go to bed.

spoiler alert: you’ll choose to clean up the puke. and it will be the best decision you ever made because, a few years from now, it will all be different.

through extensive self-work, you’ll discover that life exists on a scale. as human beings, we are capable of experiencing so much pain. what brings each of us pain may be different, but feeling it is inevitable no matter who you are. but if each of us has the capability to feel so much pain, we also have the capability to feel so much joy. is that actually true? to me, it’s been worth it to find out.

that’s not to say that a few years from now it will all be easy. if anything, it will be the exact opposite. after this moment, you’ll soon discover that life will only get harder. there will be days when your floor will be covered in clothes, when your hair is matted into the same messy bun it’s been in for a week, when you’ll work from your bed, when you won’t get out of bed. days when you’ll continue building sandcastles on wet foundation because it’s all you’ve ever known how to do.

you’ll cry and you’ll wallow and you’ll feel hopeless. you’ll think about that thing. you’ll realize that things will never, ever be easy. and you’ll wish every single day that they would be.

the difference is: you’ll make that choice — the same one you made on january, 26, 2019 at 3:02 am — every day. and every time you made that choice, it will be the best thing you ever chose to do. you’ll choose to live.

so while you’ll have days when your sandcastle is falling and the tide is rising, you’ll also have days that are different. you’ll clean your room. you’ll wash your hair. you’ll put on makeup and do work at your favorite coffee shop. you’ll get out of bed and walk along the river behind your apartment at sunset because it’s what you’ll love to do. and, eventually, you’ll move somewhere new where you can build a new sandcastle — somewhere where the foundation is stronger. you will live and you will make that choice every day.

you’ll realize that there won’t be someone to pick you up when the wave is coming. you won’t have someone to protect your sandcastle. you won’t have someone to call you. you’ll realize that living has always, always been a choice that only you can make. and when the wave hits you, it is your choice to dry yourself off and rebuild.

four years from now, you’ll wake up and without realizing what day it is. you’ll get a snapchat memory of a video you took on january 26, 2019 at 3:02 am: the city of anaheim at night. and you’ll feel proud that this moment you’re in right now, is nothing more than a memory.

so, you’ll get out of bed and your legs will hurt because you decided to take up running (yes, seriously). you’ll think about the trip you just got back from and remember how much you love your family. you’ll wear your new favorite jacket that the love of your life was able to give you in person because you live in the same (very cold) city after 5 years. you’ll get coffee and work your dream job from your laptop. you’ll look at a dm from a person who you’ve never met, saying that your words made them feel less alone. tonight, you’ll fall asleep in a home full of memories that you created with your best friends in the world. january 26, 2023 will be a good day. and you’ll live to see it.

i cannot tell you about tomorrow, or the next day, or ten years from now. i know that there will be very bad days. but there will also be good days — and we chose to stick around long enough to see them. we will make that choice every single day because it is all we can do. and i know we will always be so, so, so glad that we did.

cheers,

the girl you’ll be in 4 years, who is currently freezing her ass off but wouldn’t have it any other way.