A Letter to the Person I’m Becoming

You don’t have to know exactly who you’ll become to recognize the person already taking shape.

Before You Write

We spend a lot of time looking backward.

At who we used to be.

The decisions we made.

The things we wish we'd done differently.

The versions of ourselves we miss—and the ones we're grateful to have outgrown.

And then there's the future.

That strange, unwritten stretch of life where another version of you is waiting.

Not necessarily a completely different person.

Still you.

Just with more stories.

More things you've tried.

More things you've learned.

Probably a few more mistakes.

Maybe some dreams fulfilled and others replaced by ones you haven't even thought of yet.

We tend to imagine our future selves through accomplishments.

I'll have finished this.

I'll have achieved that.

I'll finally be there.

But what if, for a moment, we forgot about what that person has accomplished?

Who do you hope you've become?

That's who we're writing to today.

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This Week’s Prompt

If you could send a letter to yourself five years from now, what would you want that person to know?

Don't try to predict exactly where you'll be.

You don't need to know your address, job title, bank balance, relationship status, or what your days will look like.

Instead, think about the person opening the letter.

What do you hope they've held onto?

What do you hope they've learned?

What do you hope they finally stopped worrying about?

What parts of yourself today do you hope are still there?

And what do you hope has changed?

Maybe there are things happening right now that you desperately hope your future self remembers.

The way your home feels.

Something your child says all the time.

A friendship.

A dream you're only beginning to pursue.

The song you've had on repeat.

The book on your nightstand.

The thing you're worried about that you hope will someday seem very small.

Tell them.

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If You Need Somewhere to Start...

You can use these questions to shape your letter, or simply choose one and begin.

• What do you hope your future self remembers about your life right now?
• What are you currently dreaming about?
• What are you afraid of?
• What are you proud of yourself for?
• What do you hope you've stopped worrying about five years from now?
• What do you hope you never become too busy for?
• Who do you hope is still part of your life?
• What do you hope you've been brave enough to try?
• What do you hope you've learned?
• What part of yourself do you never want to lose?
• What do you hope you've forgiven yourself for?
• What ordinary detail about today would you want to remember?
• What question would you love to ask your future self?

You don't have to make the letter inspirational.

Make it true.

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Put It on Paper

Turn to a fresh page and write the date.

Then begin:

Dear Me, five years from now...

And write as though you're speaking to someone you know incredibly well but haven't seen in a very long time.

Tell them what's happening today.

Not just the important things.

Tell them what you've been eating lately.

What you're reading.

What your days look like.

What you're obsessed with.

What's annoying you.

What's making you laugh.

Tell them what you're working toward.

Tell them what you're unsure about.

Tell them about something you really hope works out.

Then tell them what you hope for them.

Maybe:

I hope you still make things.

I hope you finally took that trip.

I hope you learned to rest without feeling guilty.

I hope you're still curious.

I hope there are books everywhere.

I hope you did at least one thing that scared us.

And before you finish, write:

Whatever happened, I hope...

Complete the sentence however you need to.

Then sign your name.

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One Last Thought

Five years is a strange amount of time.

Long enough for almost everything to change.

Short enough that it somehow disappears before we realize it has.

Think about who you were five years ago.

There were things that person couldn't possibly have predicted about your life today.

People you hadn't met.

Places you hadn't been.

Things you hadn't learned.

Problems you hadn't solved yet.

Good things you didn't know were coming.

Your future probably contains some of those, too.

You don't have to see them yet.

And maybe that's part of what makes an unwritten future so frightening—and so wonderful.

There are pages you haven't lived yet.

For today, you don't need to fill them.

Just write a little note to whoever eventually will.

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This Week’s Featured Journal

Burgundy Celestial Journal

There was something about this journal that made me think of time.

A deep burgundy background is scattered with little golden suns, crescent moons, and stars—a quiet reminder of days becoming nights, nights becoming mornings, and time continuing to move whether we're paying attention to it or not.

It felt like the right place for a letter meant to travel into the future.

The Burgundy Celestial Journal can hold today's version of you.

Your current thoughts.

Your unfinished plans.

Your worries.

Your dreams.

The little details you're certain you'll remember but probably won't.

And if you keep writing in it, the journal itself becomes something rather special: a record of all the versions of you that existed between the first page and the last.

Someday, you may open those pages and meet someone you almost forgot you used to be.

Shop the Burgundy Celestial Journal →

Already have a journal you love?

Use it.

The Journal Entry isn't about having the "right" notebook. These prompts are yours to take wherever you like to write.

Looking for a different cover?

Find the journal that feels a little more like you.

Explore the Journal Collection →

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Until Next Time

Write the date on this one.

Five years from now, you might be very glad you did.

And wherever the person who eventually rereads it happens to be, I hope they smile at some of the things you were worried about.

I hope they remember things they'd forgotten.

And I hope, in at least a few ways, they've become exactly who you hoped they would.

The Journal Entry is a weekly invitation to put something on paper—thoughts to explore, questions worth sitting with, and little reasons to keep filling the pages.

Come back next week for The Journal Entry No. 08.