On my eighteenth birthday, a letter appeared on my desk.
Across the envelope were the words:
OPEN WHEN YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW EVERYTHING TURNS OUT.
Underneath:
FROM YOURSELF, AGE 50.
Obviously, I opened it.
Or at least I tried.
My finger slipped beneath the flap.
Then I stopped.
What if it told me which university I attended?
Who I married?
Whether I became successful?
Whether Mum and Dad were still alive?
Whether the dreams I had at eighteen survived until fifty?
Suddenly, the envelope felt dangerous.
I put it in my drawer.
For three days, I thought about nothing else.
Whenever something uncertain happened, the letter became tempting.
Exam results next month?
The answer might be inside.
My best friend moving overseas?
Maybe the letter said whether we remained friends.
The person I was afraid to tell how I felt?
Perhaps Future Me had already written the ending.
On Friday, I carried the letter to the roof.
I told myself I would finally open it.
Instead, I watched the city.
Thousands of windows.
Thousands of lives.
Nobody below knew exactly what would happen next.
That uncertainty had always frightened me.
Now, for the first time, I wondered whether it was also the reason anything mattered.
If the letter told me I became a writer, would I write because I loved it or because I was trying to obey the future?
If it said I failed, would I stop before giving myself the chance to prove it wrong?
If it told me who stayed in my life, would I begin treating everyone else as temporary?
I returned downstairs.
I found another envelope.
On it, I wrote:
TO MYSELF, AGE 50.
Then I put the unopened future letter inside.
I added a note.
Dear Me,
Thank you for writing.
I have decided I don’t want the answers yet.
If we made it to fifty, I hope you understand.
I sealed both envelopes together.
Thirty-two years later, on my fiftieth birthday, a package arrived.
I recognised my eighteen-year-old handwriting immediately.
I smiled.
For more than three decades, I had wondered what was inside that original letter.
Now I could finally find out.
I opened the package.
There was only one piece of paper.
It was blank.
Except for a sentence at the bottom.
In my own handwriting:
Good. You chose the story instead of the spoiler.
