This post has been getting a lot of good feedback, so I added a free printable worksheet below.
Recently, I visited my parents’ home in Wisconsin and was going through some sentimental items that I had hidden in their basement to keep them safe during my vagabonding years. I found a note to myself:
I hereby declare I will swim the English Channel!
I had forgotten all about it. I had written it years ago—back when my dreams were bigger than my confidence, and my body didn’t yet argue with me. It was a promise to myself, a challenge to see how far I could go, both in body and in spirit.
When I made this declaration, none of my college roommates believed in me. In my youthful arrogance, I made them all sign my note, promising me $100 when I actually accomplished the feat.
As I held the note in my hand, waves of regret washed over me: I never swam the English Channel; I never even seriously trained for it; life happened; other adventures took its place. But as I stared at that faded note, another wave of emotion washed over me: not disappointment, but a recognition, a sense of pride. This note is proof of something important: I have an adventurous spirit.
Admittedly, despite having ridden a bicycle around the world, I sometimes — often really — doubt myself. Especially when, like now, I sit in front of the computer writing about life rather than living life.
But the note was a noteworthy reminder that I once believed anything was possible—that I could set off into unknown waters, literally and metaphorically, and find my way across.
I think we all have these little reminders tucked away—old journal entries, photos, half-finished projects, or quiet dreams written in the margins of life (marginalia). Maybe, they’re not failures; they’re fossils of our spirit, evidence that we once dared to imagine more for ourselves.
It’s strange how life speaks to you if you listen. Weeks later, I had forgotten the note again, when the above photograph popped into my news feed about the first woman to swim the English Channel, Gertrude Ederle, who is often pictured slathered in a strange mixture of grease (lanolin, olive oil, lard, and petroleum jelly) to ward off the cold and jellyfish stings before the invention of wetsuits. Another week passed, and I forgot the note yet again. Then I had dinner with my friend Niall, who accomplished another dream of mine, what I like to call the Escape from Alcatraz Swim (some people call it the Shark Race). It’s a cold water open-ocean swim near one of the densest populations of great white sharks in the world. Here’s the strange thing: Niall swam that race, a race we discussed doing together, but somehow I let the opportunity slip — Damn Past Scott! — he swam the Alcatraz swim, the same day I was rooting around my parents’ basement and found that note!
People said women couldn’t swim the Channel, but I proved they could.
Gertrude Ederle
How is that for life slapping you in the face!?
My body might have other ideas than swimming the English Channel. But that doesn’t mean the adventure is over. The real journey isn’t about swimming across oceans; it’s about refusing to let your spirit drown. I am not sure what the future will bring, but I can still test the waters, try something that scares me a little, and keep saying “yes” to the unknown, embrace the differentness. (I thought I was making up that word, but turns out “differentness” is a real word.)
In other words, there is an irony to safety. Safety requires a predictable consistency or sameness. But sameness does not provide joy. Sameness does not provide change. And without change, I cannot grow. More irony: if you prefer safety, it seems a safe rule of life: Do something different.
Sorry, I digressed into my philosophical musings…
The point is: the note to myself isn’t a reminder of my failures—it is an invitation to keep living like the person who once wrote it.
Challenge
Write a note to your future self. I have been doing this for years. I stash them in secret places like a squirrel. Sometimes, I mail them to myself so they are stamped with a time and place. Maybe you already have a list of goals, but there is something magical about actually talking to your future self. I think you will be amazed at how many dreams you will realize.
A birthday is a good event to both write yourself a letter and open the one from the previous year. But any day will do. I recommend getting started today before you forget, or before it becomes lost in the sea of priorities and medicorities and posteriorities.
If it seems too much for you, just write one sentence. Here, I’ll give you half of it:
In one year from today, I will be proud of myself for __________.
Update: This article was so popular that I created a free downloadable with even more prompts for your future and past selves. Usually, I ask you to join my newsletter, but this is a simple one.
If you liked this article, here’s another worksheet that makes a great birthday activity.
Your life in weeks — a memento mori
I walk you through an exercise to measure and plan your life in weeks. The free, downloadable worksheet will be an unforgettable reminder that life is short and to enjoy it while it lasts.
