If I could talk to 15 years ago me, she would be astounded.

Poor little 21-year-old me thought she knew exactly the way her life was going to go. She was doing really well in school and had her path planned out – become one of the best sports journalists in the country, travel, write a book.

She’s going to have her dreams crushed a few times before she re-jigs. And once she re-jigs, this dude is going to walk right in and change her whole life.

That instead of being a spinster, working, writing and travelling, she will be a married suburban mother with a Masters degree. And a schnauzer. Her heart will be full.

In fifteen years she will have graduated with a diploma and two degrees, she will have met a man, moved in with him, bought a dog, gotten married, had a baby and bought a house. She will have been a close-up witness to history while working on Parliament Hill. She will have major disappointments in her early 20s and recover from them all by her 30s.

And while she thinks she understands herself at 21, she’ll only begin to have a grasp after her 30th birthday, when she suddenly has all the things she had convinced herself she never wanted. And she will be at peace with all the things she has let go.

I would also tell her to change for the reception, she’ll be more comfortable.


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