Dear Self...

Task 34, August 23 to August 30

"The proper definition of a man is an animal that writes letters". Lewis Carroll

I got a note from a reader. It said, in part: "you're just writing clickbait..." and I thought: Yes. That's the point. I want clicks. I want an audience. And the reader went on to say, "you should write a letter to your younger self and tell him not to write this stupid Substack..."

That made me laugh, and it actually resonated with me--it WOULD be interesting to write a letter to my younger self. So, Mr./Ms. Reader, I want to thank you for the suggestion. I don't don't like your attitude, but whatever...

So I set to work on a letter to my younger self. But first: exactly which "younger self" would I be writing to? The teenager Jeff? Nope. That Jeff couldn't fathom basic math, let alone a letter from 2024. The college Jeff? Nope. That Jeff was too busy drinking Boone's Farm and sleeping in the library to take the letter seriously. The Jeff in his 20s? Nope. That Jeff wouldn't take advice from anyone, which is why he (I) invested in penny stocks. And lost $750.00.

I put my head in my hands, then I thought--I'd write to the Jeff of 25 years ago. The 1999 Jeff. He was married with a little one and another on the way. He was working steady and had a bank account and owned a suit and went to church occasionally. That Jeff will get (understand) my letter.

But what would I say to 1999 Jeff? I know: I'll make him RICH! Invest in GOOGLE, fool! Get yourself to Vegas--Denver wins the Super Bowl! The Yankees whip the Braves in the World Series! The Spurs beat up on the Knicks in the NBA Finals! U Conn beats Duke for the NCAA title! Nvidia is trading at $12 a share in 1999--BUY A SHITLOAD!

That's stupid. 1999 Jeff wouldn't know what to do with the money. He'd piss it away. He can make money the old fashioned way, like I did. Wait...does that make sense?

I tore up the first letter and started another. In this letter I told 1999 Jeff: call Bill Clinton and tell him that he will be impeached, but he'll be acquitted; tell George Clooney that he's going to be just fine when he quits ER; warn all the aging hippies that Woodstock 1999 is a total rip-off; and take out this ad in the New York Times: THERE AIN'T NO Y2K BUG.

CHECK OUT OUR PODCAST, OLD PEOPLE THIS WEEK, ON YOUTUBE, SPOTIFY AND APPLE PODCASTS.

I tore up that letter too. Bill Clinton should have kept his zipper closed, Clooney doesn't need my affirmation, aging hippies shouldn't try to recreate the 60s, and Y2K Bug? It was ridiculous to think that every computer was going to implode and there would be a run on the banks and the Casio watch I wore would start spinning backward.

I went for a walk. I thought about the last 25 years. I relived the hopes, the disappointments, the beautiful and the tragic. Then I went back to my desk and sat in front of my computer and started to write.

I told my younger self to go see our mother and hug her. She dies in 1999. I told him to go see our brother and tell him how much we love and respect him, and visit our sister and look her in the eyes and thank her for her care and support, even when we were a total dick to her. I told him to kiss our wife--often--and take time, EVERY DAY, to tell her that you love her and finally, I told my younger self to be mindful, respectful, generous and kind. Oh, and lay off the beer.

TASK:

Write a letter to your younger self. And tomorrow, do something that's positive and good for someone else--something your older self will be proud of.