I got an assignment in English class. This assignment was to write a letter to our past selves telling ourselves what to do different and what we did beautifully to help ourselves along. I found this assignment quite interesting and I thought about it quite a lot.

While I was thinking, I found myself thinking a few interesting things I didn’t think I would think. I found myself writing a few interesting things I didn’t think I would write. I started writing about the people I’d met who had changed my life. I found myself writing about things I’d messed up. I found myself writing about experiences I had that were wonderful. I found myself writing about troubling times I’d gone through. I thought all these things were normal for this type of assignment.

Then, I found myself writing about how I wouldn’t have myself change anything. I wouldn’t make anything painful less painful. I wouldn’t make anything terrific more terrific. I wouldn’t even change the little things that didn’t seem to matter at all. I found myself not writing about how to get through life easier. I found myself not writing about ways to fix my problems. I didn’t write about these things because I realized something.

If we could simply go back and fix our problems, if we could simply go back and make everything wonderful, then we wouldn’t really understand how amazing the amazing times really are. Life isn’t a destination, it’s a journey. Without those mistakes and screw ups, the journey wouldn’t be as meaningful and truthfully, it’d be quite boring. If we knew all the answers, what would be the point.