—a letter from someone who has lived longer than you have

Dearest One,

I know you scroll past words like these.
They don’t trend. They don’t sparkle.
They don’t come from someone your own age, someone who talks like you, or someone with the right filter, but maybe, just maybe, you’ll read these words anyway.

You think we don’t understand your world.
That we’re out of touch.
That because our skin has softened and our hair has silvered, that our minds must have dimmed too.

But here’s the truth you don’t know:

We’ve been you—but you have not yet been us.

We were not meant to age out of relevance, we were meant to become guides. You wouldn’t go down a raging river without an experienced guide, yet you walk through the torrents of life believing we have nothing of value left to offer you.

Here is what you don’t know:

We’ve loved with the kind of fire that burns through decades.
We’ve lost people and things. We’ve experienced life. Its hardships and brilliance.
We’ve laughed so hard we forgot our grief. We’ve grieved so hard we forgot how to laugh.
We’ve raised children. We have said yes when we wanted to scream no. We have learned to forgive without apology.

You think you’re the only one trying to figure out who you are?

We’ve done that a hundred times over.
And we still wonder some days.

We just want you to know: You are not the first to feel lost. Or splendid. Or broken. Or called.

And no, we don’t have all the answers.
But we have learned so many things through simply existing.
We have hard-won perspectives.
We have warnings soaked in love.

We are not here to lecture.
We are here to whisper,

“Slow down.”
“You don’t have to burn out to prove your light.”
“Not everyone who says ‘I love you’ will stay.”
“And yes—you will survive this.”

There is still so much joy waiting. So much love. So much growth.
And one day, if life is kind and time is long,
you’ll be the one writing letters like this.

Until then, we’re here.
Even if you don’t knock.
Even if you roll your eyes.
Even if you forget we exist.

Even if you believe we are totally dull and senseless.

Because we remember you.
We were you.
We love you.

With quiet hope,
Someone Older
(Who sees you more clearly than you think, and still knows how to party, but would like to be home by 9 pm)

L. L. Reynolds