(Style Score 100%)

Dear Twenty Year Old,
You worry too much. Your worry comes from needing to control. The need to control comes from fear of not being enough. But you don’t know to break all that down yet. All you know is the uneasiness. That unsettled state. That uncomfortable churning of the insides called worry.

And because you invest so much of yourself in it, your worry will materialize.
Take for instance the worry that is consuming you right now. The worry about getting laid off from the job that you obsessed over and handpicked, after evaluating, analyzing, comparing, consulting.

That coveted, perfectly crafted job. You *are* going to lose that job. You are most definitely going to get laid off. Ironically, the actual moments leading up to and the moment you are walked out will pale compared to how it all seemed in your worriful imagination. The weeks that follow the lay off will be full of surprises, full of open doors and unexpected openings.

But with that experience, that grip fear has had on you loosens. That bind control puts you in, and your need to control softens. Worry comes undone.

Right now, if I could reach out and see you, I’d hold your face in my palms. I’d look into your eyes and say, enjoy this. Savor this experience of getting laid off. Enjoy the pay package you’ll receive. Take that and travel. It is like a month of paid vacation.

Toss worry into the wind and live with the freedom of knowing: all is always working out for you.

Love always,
-You, the fearless version.

This year, I solemnly swear
I will be up to no good
I will not hold a strong resolve
Only in a week, to watch it dissolve
I will not aim to be better
That’s merely a dream that will shatter
I will not promise
To dole out advice that sounds oh-so-wise
I will not always be put-together
Pieces of me will break and scatter

And since resolutions are meant to be broken
I will break all of the above ‘nots’
That will crumble the graham cracker wall that stands tall
Holding layers of soft cream within
Wait, sorry for the interruption, but what is that low rumble I hear?
Hmm, maybe that’s a sign..

This year I resolve
That I shall most definitely solve
That problem of knots
That enigma of ‘nots’
To discard all that I am not
So I may recognize all that I am.

And to begin, I need to contemplate
On softened, creamy, layered, graham cracker crust

And with this noble goal in mind,
This year, I resolve
That I most definitely shall meditate
Over a whole lot of cheesecake.