Tomorrow, I get to open an envelope marked ‘don’t open until September 14, 2017.’ I vaguely remember writing it. I spent 5 weeks last summer on the road as half of the Beer Yogis. I had an absolute blast. No regrets. Even as I’m still paying off the debt of taking a huge risk while living a lifestyle I absolutely could not afford for 5 weeks. I was on a huge high. And I was maybe just starting to feel a little bit of cringing at the word hustle— though I think only because it was such a buzzword and I’m a rebel— because I was still very much doing it.
So again, I vaguely remember writing whatever is in this envelope marked tomorrow. I give it like a 2% chance that it was a sweet list of accomplishments. Things to look back on and smile and go ‘oh shit, I did that. Nice job, MKM.’ Me today wants it to be something like this.
But I’m pretty sure it’s going to be more like a list (with demanding undertones) from summer 2016 me, that silly hustler. A bananas list of things that I wrote as a prediction of what I would have accomplished within 365- because I had 'done so much' in 2016. Surely I would do more in 2017. Of course.
I think I’ll be okay when I open it and see that it’s (so very likely) the latter of the two. Release of the sheer curiosity in my brain will be enough reward, even if it’ll likely be a little painful to read whatever it says-- because I've cheerfully evolved since then.
I’ll share what’s in this envelope after I open it tomorrow. And I’ll put right here, right in this moment, that I predict today, I am likely doing the exact opposite of what hustling 2016 summer me thought I wanted: SLOWING WAY THE FUCK DOWN. (More on that to follow…)