1.

Dear younger self,
It's February and you're twenty-one and it is cold. This is the middle of your last winter quarter. I only have a few things to tell you. Most of them are about school.

Stop being obstinate and waiting for some almost ecclesiastical epiphany to strike you while you read Proverbs. Just go to college.

Your adviser will not advise you. Ever. So that quarter when you sign up for a ceramics class you don't need and a writing class you don't need and a speech class you don't need and an ED class you don't need, don't do it.

Math is pure. Math is beautiful.There is a man named Charlie and he teaches math and he's going to tell you these things. You'll believe him. And also, never try to take math winter quarter of 2013 from a lady who has the same name as your mother. You will most certainly drop it.

By this time you can speak French adequately. Do not hesitate to register for that class. And do not freak out when your teacher only speaks in French for the first thirty minutes. It'll get easier. I swear. (Also, the boy next to you? He's going to cheat off of you. A lot. Prevent this.)

Early on, there's a speech teacher who you're going to really like learning from. But he's also going to make you flustered because he thinks you don't talk enough in class. You will receive a very long email from him telling you all of your faults in a very kind, gentle way. Do not be bitter. Thank him for this.

Stop taking creative writing classes. You won't learn anything new. And your future brother-in-law (Yes, you will gain a brother-in-law during this season of life) will buy you Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird for Christmas, which is really all you need.

The library has Beatrix Potter on the top level. There is a children's books section behind the Emily Dickinson row. Go there.

You will get your first history exam back. It will be a "B." This will be your first "B" ever. Get over it. No, seriously. Let it go. Drink a lot of tea. Paint a lot of pictures. Wrap yourself in a big comforter and come to the realization that what will matter will matter and you are still breathing so it's not that big a deal. You will hold yourself to a standard of grace, not perfection. So embrace your mistakes. And stop being so dang stubborn about precision in your excellence. You're only human. (I promise that I'll try to get an "A." But he has a woman's hands and thinks that getting a "C" in his class is an accomplishment.)

There is a class that you almost don't register for. It's taught by A. Not by the A with strawberry hair, the other one. There will only be ten of you in this class. It will be one of your best experiences ever. You bring origami and gold glitter to your final. You also paint a wonderful book about your favorite first grader.

Give up early on with trying to carry a backpack and just lug around those vintage leather shoulder bags and be done with it. (But I think you're going to treat yourself to something REI before you transfer to University this next year. We'll see.)

This is only some of the important things. But really not at all. The more important things have to do with people and trips and tea and weddings and ukuleles and singleness and Church. I'll write you about all of those too. Cross my heart.

Sincerely,
your older self.