“Hello, future Emily! I’m sure you are much more mature than I am now,” starts a journal entry from 2017, when I was deep into the existential question of what I was doing with my life. I continued: “Do you remember me? Still tender and learning how to not let people hurt me.” Feeling like I had few options left, I had decided to ask my future self if she had any advice on handling the last few years of my 20s.
Of course, it was just a projection I had created. But something about writing to my future self soothed me, and ever since then, I’ve implemented regular letters to my future self into my journaling practice. In fact, I’ve done this long enough to actually have “received” some of them (like the letter I wrote to myself at 35 when I was 30.)
I have found these to be very grounding and remind me of all the time I still have to do those things that I want to do. It’s an empowering practice that has helped me feel more present in my current situation — and on track with my present goals.
“Writing letters to my future self is an empowering practice that has helped me feel more present in my current situation — and on track with my present goals.”
What really started my interest in conversing with my future self was when I was freshly in a new city, away from all the friends and family I had been so close to in the first 24 years of my life. I was in Los Angeles with a partner, doing work that paid the bills and kept me connected to my Indiana roots, but that didn’t have me engaging with the community in a meaningful way. Which, as a deep feeler, I wanted that meaning — and I wanted it right then.
But the reality was I couldn’t access those things in the moment my heart demanded them, so I turned to considering how my future self might look back on this season of my life. And when I asked her what I should do, I found myself listing all the tangible things I could do: start a business, start a blog, start a vlog. In the end, it all served the purpose of profit, not meaning.
So I asked further: what does future me want to tell present me? Suddenly my hand began to write in my journal, reminding me that good things take time, to have patience, and to focus on the things directly in my own control — that taking care of myself as an investment in the future.
“What does future me want to tell present me? That good things take time, to have patience, and to focus on the things directly in my own control — that taking care of myself as an investment in the future.”
Since then I’ve used my future self as a Magic Eight Ball (meaning that I enjoy and consider its insights, but I don’t always put my full trust in it). I’ve learned some ways to tap into more authentic versions of my future self, instead of just hearing out-of-touch predictions about my future successes as a producer, a pop star, or a president. Some of the prompts I’ve used to ask my future self:
- What advice would my 2035/2040 self give me about my life in 2025?
- What unexpected interests am I curious about now, that my future self will say was “writing on the walls”? (My current obsession is collecting vintage beads — I’m still waiting on an answer for that one).
- What habits have brought me successfully into my 40s? My 50s? And beyond, if I am lucky to see those years?
- What memories am I making now that will be most important? Which ones will be forgotten after ten years?
- Who in my life currently will I remember, and who will eventually become an anonymous “what was their name again” friend?
- What will I miss most about this moment; and what will I miss most about the years I’ve had before, so far?
- What do I regret not doing in my teens, 20s, 30s? What do I wish I had started earlier?
- What qualities do I have in the future, that my past self is proud of? (I once wrote that my future self was “colorful, funny, kind, clever, and problem-solving” — things that I think I already am. What an assurance!).
I use these lines of inquiry to help me hone in on what’s most important in the present. I don’t ask my future self if I’ve gone to outer space, or if I’ve made a million dollars — those, ultimately, are egoic and unhelpful. Instead, asking my future self about my feelings about “present me” and “past me” helps identify the meaningful parts of my life that are intuitive and easeful.
All of this knowledge comes from an amalgamation of experiences, predictions, and media intake, not all of which are consistently reliable. I think of the LinkedIn posts about lessons learned and podcasts that tell me the regrets of the dying; those influence my conversations with my future self, so I try to keep a critical eye on which media might be influencing my answers.
But ultimately, I cannot divine the future. I’ve predicted some things correctly, like trips to New York or traveling abroad. But I never predicted a divorce, a legacy of caring for rabbits, or even a sudden interest in vintage beads.
“Conversing with your future self is essentially having a conversation with your gut. It supercedes all ego, and instead gets to the core of what makes you happy.”
Conversing with your future self is essentially having a conversation with your gut. It supercedes all ego, and instead gets to the core of what is making you happy, and that feels like it has some longevity. Every specific detail is up to change, but each general theme carries you forward like the undercurrent of a wave. Every twist and turn brings you to a new place that will, eventually, take you closer to where you’re meant to be. At least that’s what I believe.
Two-way communication between your past, present, and future selves is a portal towards self-understanding. An imperfect one, perhaps, but asking yourself to imagine different versions of yourself helps narrow down to what your present self holds most dear — your core beliefs.
In a twist on this exercise, I’ve also invoked the advice of both my past and future selves — what would they say to me? Past Emily is proud of me, and reminds me to stay weird, don’t overcomplicate things, listen to more music, and wear more sparkles.
Future Emily has told me to calm down, drop the pretense, and to not take everything so seriously. Upon my meditations, she’s also told me to keep a steady hand, even when I’m shaking, and even though growth feels out of my grasp, I’ll love where it’ll take me.
“You won’t believe it, so I won’t tell you,” is the message I concluded from my future self.
Of course, these are just momentary visions that may not hold a lot of weight in truth (although I’m much more familiar with my past self than I am with my future, of course). But there’s something so powerful in calling on these versions of myself, even if they’re only imagined — to see myself as both past, present, and future all wrapped up in one life.
And as I asked my future self, when I was in my late 20s, “are you just as full of questions as I am now, on the cusp of the next decade?”
And yes, I believe I will be.
Emily McGowan is the Editorial Director at The Good Trade. She studied Creative Writing and Business at Indiana University, and has over ten years of experience as a writer and editor in sustainability and lifestyle spaces. Since 2017, she’s been discovering and reviewing the top sustainable home, fashion, beauty, and wellness products so readers can make their most informed decisions. Her editorial work has been recognized by major publications like The New York Times and BBC Worklife. You can usually find her in her colorful Los Angeles apartment journaling, caring for her rabbits and cat, or gaming. Say hi on Instagram!
