The letter I wrote to myself on my 25th birthday
October, 2010
It’s 4 a.m. and I can’t sleep. Turning on my computer, I check out a few dating sites – there isn’t much to do at this time of night, especially when you live alone. I quickly sign off when I start to get messages like, ‘How cum ur still up? Cum to me in Battersea xx’ and ‘Morning Elo11, looking good. Are you awake?’ I forgot that people can virtually see my presence on this particular site. Gross. Online dating is so weird. I never thought I’d be trying to meet someone this way.
Standing up, I switch on my lights, lie on my bed, and rearrange my body into work position. Over the next hour, I consider another wave of career choices – should I look for a part-time nanny job (it seems that’s all you can get with a psychology degree)? – and weigh up my options for finding a new apartment. But wait, there’s actually nothing I can afford. Never mind.
My stomach starts to knot up and tears stream down my cheeks. My sadness increases with the realization that nothing seems to be going right in my life. I’m beyond overwhelmed. Thoughts of frustration and questions live in my mind. They seem to have taken up a permanent home there, and more than anything, I want them to go away. I’m so sick of feeling lost and confused.
What do I want for my life? Certainly not this. I look around at the ugly, light-colored Ikea furniture that the rental agency chose to decorate this apartment. I barely own anything in this place. All of it is temporary and unsettled – fleeting – and it’s all been used before. I want a place to call my own. I want to be able to afford the dark-colored furniture (is that more expensive or something?!) I want a kitchen (with an oven) that isn’t 5 feet away from my bed. I want a washing machine, a television, and a bathtub.
I want a new home, where I won’t have to listen to the guy upstairs stomping around his room early in the morning. Or hear him peeing when he gets home from work every day. Oh, except for Thursdays: he’s off on Thursdays. I don’t want vomit falling onto my bed at 1 a.m., after he decides to throw up out the window. (I thought it was rain at first, until I picked up my blanket and smelled it.)
And don’t even get me started on my love life. I’ve scared off yet another man (this one only lasted two weeks) and have no other prospects. My ex won’t speak to me, and has simply returned my clothes in the mail in a complete ball of mess. I don’t know what I did to make him hate me. He didn’t even write my surname on the address label – all it said was ‘Emily.’
I guess I’m glad that everyone who has broken my heart did so, since they weren’t right for me anyway, but that doesn’t mean I’m less lonely. I want to find Him – the one – and go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I’ve stood in front of it twice, but I never went up it. I decided almost 10 years ago that I wouldn’t take the magical elevator ride up and look over the City of Light until I was with a man I loved. That seemed like the perfect scenario to me: little did I know I’d still be waiting.
As I blew out the candles on my cake at dinner (now eight hours ago), my wish was to find love this year. We’ll see. I’ve made that wish every birthday since I can remember.
Hoping things get better soon,
Emily
In case it’s not obvious, that girl did not heart her life. A few months earlier, she’d moved to London from Ohio in the United States. She’d had high hopes that, with a cross-Atlantic relocation, her life would improve. Her quarter-life crisis would end, and she’d get clarity on her purpose, become wildly rich, and find the love of her life.
That girl had been wishing her whole life: as a child, she’d set the alarm on her chunky G-star watch to go off at 11:11 (a lucky number) every morning, after which she’d make a wish; and when her parents took her on trips – from Florida to Italy – she’d wished when she threw coins into fountains.
She wanted a life that lit her up. A trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower, a bestselling book, her own business, a beautiful home (well, more like a mansion), true love, travel – she wanted all that life had to offer. And deep down, she knew she was meant for something big in this world. Meant to have an impact. Meant to shine.
I have compassion for that girl. This book is for her. And in case it’s not obvious, she’s not just me: she’s you too. She’s in all of us.