Dear Younger Version of Heather:

Yeah, yeah, you're absolutely copying Brad Paisley, he had the idea first with that "Letters to Me" song, but whatever - original idea or not, how about we have a little chat. With each other. With yourself. With me. One and the same.

So, these days, as I get a little closer to my 30th birthday, I've been nostalgic - been thinking about you a lot and wishing I really could zap myself back in time and give you some tips and pointers along the way. Nothing that would absolutely change the course of your life....I'd just like to take you by the shoulders and shake you silly when you let little things get to you. Wish I could lurk over your shoulder and affirm you here and there when you did something really well. Wish I could assure you that things will really, truly, definitely turn out JUST FINE.

I promise.

You'd be shocked, in fact, by just how fine things will end up.

They'll be nothing like you planned, your path will look nothing like you envisioned, you'll wade through things you never thought you could even dream up, let alone live through - and, miraculously, you'll love where you end up. You'll love yourself for being more tough than you thought. For being more flexible and adaptable and creative and patient than you thought. For being more capable and bold and resilient and loving than you thought.

HOWEVER - we really should have worked harder at that whole math thing. Numbers? Yeah, you probably shouldn't have just let it slide with the idea that you'll be accepting screenwriting Oscars by the time you're 24 and who needs algebra for that, anyway? Reality will step in and remind you that you're no Diablo Cody (you'll hear about her for the first time when you're about 25, when you just started blogging and thought that was the golden brick road toward literary renown. You'll figure out this is not the case about 3 years later). Take math a little more seriously. You may just end up in a job that requires it.

You'll also develop this clothes-buying hangup. The roots on this one are deep - so I'll warn you now: when Dad makes fun of you when you're 15 for wearing that striped t-shirt he bought you every day -- you remember the one, that mustard-colored striped number from Gap that he brought home for you the day you had your braces put on -- don't let it bug you so much. He was right - you wore that thing every day. If he didn't say it, someone else would have. PLEASE dear, don't let that become something you feel like you have to overcome for the next 15 years of your life. Actually, you could speak up at that point and let him know how much the gift from him meant to you - you were thrilled he thought of you, thrilled he spent the money on something frivolous, thrilled to finally have a shirt that wasn't a hand-me-down - tell him that. Then force yourself to only wear that thing once a week or so........seriously.

And that kid in middle school who asked if your hair could POSSIBLY be any more frizzy? If you spend the next decade trying to defy nature and have super-sleek, straight-haired-girl hair, you'll end up with THE WORST split ends imaginable. Badly damaged hair. Like, it will break when you run your fingers through it. So do yourself a favor - embrace the frizzy. Seriously, it will save your hair years from now. What does that kid know, anyway? His hair was sort of, um, worse than yours!

You'll wake up one morning in high school and have hips. Yep. It'll happen over night. No, your jeans won't fit the same way they did when you went to bed the night before. Yes, this will take some getting used to. Yes, you'll appreciate these eventually. It will just take a VERY LONG TIME. But you'll get there. Guess what, kiddo - when you hit your 20s you'll actually find your stride. You'll feel sexy. Wait for it. Really. Late bloomers get the last laugh.

College will be this sort of protracted, hyphenated, drawn-out ordeal that will last more than a decade and is still not finished when I'm writing this letter to you. If I could pass down some earnest encouragement: shop less, school more. YES. Save the dollars, kid, those shoes are really only going to be cute for like, 3 months tops, but a few credits of classes will be priceless. Put the debit card away, go to school. Because you'll beat yourself up a lot over the next few years for not finishing.

Keep writing. But more than that, set goals for yourself - finish the book. Find a publisher. Fight for yourself.

There will be a sad moment in an office restroom when you're about 22 years old where you'll lock yourself in a stall and SOB your mascara off wondering how you managed to so desperately lose touch with that 8 year-old version of yourself who knew PRECISELY what you wanted to do with your life. Of course, that crisis of identity was also during a period of time where you were drinking too much and making sketchy decisions about EVERYTHING, so you were sort of out of touch with  more than just your 8 year-old self. Also - that job you had in that office full of hormonal women? Yeah, maybe don't take that job.

Actually - PLEASE - avoid that job.

But if you completely ignore me, succumb to that temporary sense of cash-strapped desperation and -- against your better judgment -- DO take it: don't feel too bad about taking off with some post-its and ballpoint pens and a few rolls of tape if you eventually decide to quit abruptly and deliver your resignation surreptitiously in the middle of the night. They made you cry over Sweet n' Low, fer the love of pop tarts. And that woman who hated you? She'll end up getting fired, anyway.

Learn some basic HTML as early as you can. It's useful.

When you're in your early 20s there will be this moment where you're cruising down the freeway and decide you MUST - at that very moment - dig out your Britney Spears "In the Zone" cd. You'll look down for a second to flip through a stack of CDs and you'll rear-end someone and total the only car you ever really loved. If you're on a rainy freeway in that little white Acura and have a Britney emergency - seriously - don't take your eyes off the road.  You'll miss that car for years and years and years.

Watch "The OC." Great show. Over much too soon.

If you can afford that little rental house on Alki, go for it. You'll regret not living there. The apartment you do end up with, however: to die for. Get excited for that in advance.

You'll go through a phase where you think about going to cosmetology school. Then you'll go through a phase when you want to go to law school. Then you'll go through a phase when you want to go to culinary school. Then you'll go through a fashion design phase. And a philosophy phase. And a criminal justice phase. Unfortunately, can't tell you which of those to pursue, since, as of today, we haven't pursued any of them.

Mom and Bethy will continue to be amazing people in your life, through every step of the process. You've got a beautiful family - appreciate them.

And those bumpy phases the family goes through toward the end of high school - those get better, too. You'll get to see mom and dad fall in love again and it's fun to watch them adore each other, finally. They'll giggle together. Yes, giggle. There will be pet names and all. Hard to believe, but it's true.

Floss more often. Don't roll your eyes at me - DO IT.

Think about learning to play the guitar or the piano or something. I think we'd enjoy it.

You'll discover joy of the Doyle She-Cousins years too late. We should not all be well into our 20s before we discover how much we really like each other. It's a great discovery (there will be matching t-shirts at an age when you should probably not be wearing matching t-shirts. There will be some line-jumping hi-jinks at Disneyland. There will be this...FROG). Get to know them earlier.

God is there all along. You might not feel like He is, but believe me, he's there. He never goes away. You might not do a very good job of paying attention to him for years at a time - but if you take any of this advice, take this: talk to Him more often.

That belly button piercing will last until you're about 25. You won't miss it when it's gone. You'll be the first person you know who gets hers pierced, by the way, you little trail blazer, you.

Don't cut your hair your senior year. It won't look anything like Kimberly Williams in that Relativity show, it will take years to grow out, you'll get about 3 "whoa, you cut your hair!" remarks of the horrified variety and no one really knows what to say when you show up to school nearly bald. Don't. Cut. Your. Hair.

Absolutely take that life-sized cardboard cut-out to prom. You'll be very proud of yourself for that. It was a moment of true individuality. It was your turn to say, "Hey world, I don't care what you think." You normally care what people think MUCH too deeply. That night will be a glorious opportunity to do something unexpected and revel in how lovely it feels to be unexpected, original, carefree. You'll have fun.

Go to your 10 year high school reunion.  I almost don't want to spoil that surprise for you, but there's someone from school (if I tell you who you will NOT believe me), someone that you've never even spoken to who, later on, will absolutely blow your mind. You'll meet him when you're 28. That will change the course of your life.

Your life, by the way, will be amazing. Full of unexpected twists and turns, but by the time you hit 30 you'll be the happiest, most blessed, most content you've ever been. You'll appreciate the journey that's brought you here, you'll be looking forward to your next 70 years on earth, you'll accept yourself, love the woman God created you to be, and appreciate that the best things, the things most worth having, the things you value the most are the things you worked hard to achieve.

But seriously - don't cut your hair.

With MUCH, MUCH, MUCH love,

Older Heather