Dear Future Me (aka the 2025 Version of My Awkward Self),
Happy Birthday, you glorious weirdo! 🎉
Okay, so it’s 2024-me typing this, and honestly? I have no idea what your life looks like right now. Did you finally learn how to cook something besides microwave ramen? Did you quit doomscrolling Twitter (sorry, "X"—ugh) or just get better at hiding it? Are you still pretending to like yoga but really just lying on the mat for 20 minutes thinking about tacos? Be honest.
A Quick 2024 Recap (For When You Forget)
Career: Still calling myself a "freelance creative" because "unemployed with delusions of grandeur" sounds less cute on LinkedIn.
Love Life: Swore I’d stop dating guys who say "I’m not ready for anything serious" (but let’s be real, I probably didn’t).
Health: That "I’ll start running next week" phase has now lasted approximately 312 weeks.
Birthday Wishes for 2025-You
I hope you finally…
Bought real furniture instead of calling milk crates "industrial chic."
Stopped saying "I’ll text them back later" and actually did it.
Learned that candles on a cake aren’t just for aesthetics—you’re supposed to blow them out.
But if you didn’t…
That’s cool too. Growth isn’t linear (or whatever my therapist says).
Most importantly…
Did you celebrate yourself today? Even if it’s just eating cake for breakfast in your pajamas (my personal recommendation).
A Gentle Reminder From Your Past Self
You’ve survived 100% of your worst days so far. Even that time in 2023 when you cried in a Target parking lot because they were out of pumpkin spice latte syrup. You’re doing better than you think.
So go eat something delicious, ignore any unread emails, and remember: Past You is rooting for Present You. (And also judging you a little if you’re still single-handedly keeping Taco Bell in business.)
Happy Birthday, Future Me. 🎂
— 2024 You (the version that still can’t fold a fitted sheet)
P.S. If you’re reading this and didn’t do anything fun for your birthday… I’m giving you permission to go buy that ridiculous thing you’ve been eyeing. Yes, even if it’s that neon "Live, Laugh, La Croix" sign. Treat. Yo. Self.