Kennedy Stidham, managing editor

Dear future self,

At this point in time, you are a senior in high school. Two years have passed since the sophomore version of yourself sat down to write this letter. In this short amount of time, I’m sure you’ve undergone a metamorphosis of sorts; you’ve said hellos and goodbyes, you’ve had joyous moments and experienced pain, you’ve sought and found. If you’ve had any luck at all, your acne has cleared up, and you grew a few inches (a girl can dream, right?). Though some aspects of you may be different from the you of today, I pray that some things have remained the same.

Your life is still probably hectic, thanks to newspaper, Academic Decathlon, NHS, your grades, and your social life. I expect that you’ve been overwhelmed at times, but you still put every ounce of energy into being the best version of yourself in each activity. If you have, you should have had no problem making it to state level competition. You may have even won.

I’m optimistic that you’re still ranked first in your class; the dream we’ve had since we learned the meaning of “Valedictorian” at age six is literally so close you can taste it. If this is so, please write an interesting speech, and try not to cry as your recite it; if this is not so, know that you’ve done the best you can, and a number can’t define you anyway.

I hope you have not crossed the dark side and decided to go to A&M. This is down right betrayal, and I hate to break it to you, but you’ve never looked good in maroon anyway. Once a Longhorn, always a Longhorn.

I beg that my best friends are still by your side. No matter who else may have come along, I hope it is still Anna’s arms that you seek when you desire comfort and Ariel’s jokes you laugh at in your worst moments. It makes me happy to picture you and Kalen are still together. You must be an idiot if you let go of someone who made you so happy.

Of course, I want our family to be in good health and happy. Please continue to play with and protect Bruce. Please never stop running to hug Dad when he gets home from his business trips. I also hope you’ve made a better effort to get closer to your mother because right now, you’re not being the greatest daughter.

I’m optimistic that you’ve passed all of life’s tests and clung tightly to your morals. If you’ve turned into a liar, done drugs or lost your relationship with Christ, I’m disappointed in you, but you should know that you’re just experiencing rough patches. No one is so lost that they can not be redeemed.

I hope you are able to look back at your high school years with absolutely no regrets and know you accomplished all you sought to. But more than anything, I hope you are someone that I would look up to if I knew you today.

Print Friendly