Imagine you’re a reporter. After a long day of work, you
start having excruciating chest pains. You think this may be the end.
You call 911, and barely squeak out, “My chest is tight, I can’t breathe.” The minutes blur as you lie on
the floor, bargaining and pleading with your maker to survive until the
At last, the EMT rushes in. He comes to your side and
immediately kneels down to whisper something to you:
“I see you need my help. I can help you. But first, I want you to do us a favor, though. I want you to get on the news and say you’ve discovered incriminating details about my ex-wife. She’s done a lot of bad things, and it would really help everyone.”
Dear 15-year-old me,
It’s me. That is to say, it’s you, but from the FUTURE!
I’m writing to give you some perspective on the years ahead
of you, i.e. the years behind me. It’s 2020 now, and so much is different today
than it is for you in 1991.
In the coming years, a lot is going to happen. Some of it is
so insane, you probably won’t believe me. Then again, I’m assuming you’re going
to believe that this is a letter from the future, so I should probably maintain
this presumption of your gullibility for consistency’s sake. You were (are)
pretty naïve, as I recall.
I was born in 1976, the child of two Baby Boomers. I guess
that makes me a member of Generation X, a.k.a. The Generation Least Likely To
Take BS From Anyone. We think everyone
sucks—us included. We emerged from the womb jaded. Don’t take it personally.
We’re a unique bunch. We grew up with the Cold War, pay
phones, three TV channels, having our questions met with “look it up in the
encyclopedia.” Don’t have those?1 Don’t worry, a door-to-door
encyclopedia salesman will stop by sooner or later to convince your parents
they’re morally obligated to buy a set.