Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.

Dear Centenarian Me,

We made it. I had always prayed that I’d live to be 200 years old. And reaching 100 years of age means we are half way there. Maybe it’s my love for all things nostalgic, but I love it when times evolves and change occurs.

At the age of 59, I’ve seen so much change that it’s hard to process so much so fast. But, as I pen this letter, I imagine you, my centennial self, sitting in a cozy corner, living on the moon, perhaps surrounded by antique books and sepia-toned memories. The world has transformed since our shared birth year of 1965, hasn’t it? Let’s reminisce and dream together.

First, let me assure you that your journey has been remarkable. You’ve weathered impossible storms and basked in gorgeous sunsets, danced through decades, and etched your story into the fabric of time. Your hearty laughter echoes across the years, and your pain and tears have watered the roots of resilience.

Health and Vitality: I had taken lots of calcium from age 20 up until now that we see 100 years old, so I hope your bones still carry the rhythm of life, even if they creak a little. Remember the days when you sprinted through meadows, chasing butterflies, fireflies and wild bunnies ? Cherish those memories—they’re the elixir that sustains you. And if you’ve exchanged running shoes for a walking stick, know that every step is a testament to endurance.

Love and Relationships: Did you find love, my dear centenarian? Perhaps you’ve held hands with a soul who knows your heart’s secret chambers—the one who laughs at your quirks and whispers poetry into your wrinkles. If not, don’t fret; love wears many disguises. It might be in the touch of a grandchild’s hand or the warmth of a sunbeam on your face.

Technology and Progress: Oh, the marvels you’ve witnessed! From pay phones in the street and rotary phones at home to holographic displays, from typewriters to neural interfaces to nano computers.Did you ever imagine that the world would fit into a pocket-sized device? Embrace the changes, but hold tight to handwritten letters—they carry whispers of souls.

Nature’s Symphony: Have you stood atop a mountain, wind tousling your silver hair? Or dipped your toes in cerulean seas, feeling the pulse of ancient tides? Nature remains our greatest teacher. Listen to song of the birds, and the rustle of leaves; they hold secrets older than empires. And when the nearest galaxy graces your window on your home in the moon know that it’s the same moon that watched over our childhood dreams that you now live on. Do you miss earth?

Regrets and Forgiveness: Regret, my friend, is a heavy coat. Shed it. Forgive yourself for roads not taken, for words unsaid, for bridges burned. Life is a canvas, and every stroke—whether bold or hesitant—adds depth to the masterpiece. You’ve danced with joy and stumbled in shadows; both are threads in your tapestry.

Legacy: What legacy have you woven? Not in marble monuments, but in hearts touched. Did you plant gardens and trees whose shade you’ll never sit under? Did you kindle fires of kindness? Remember, legacy isn’t about fame; it’s about the ripples you create in the pond of existence.

Closing Words: As you sip moon grown lavender or gaze at constellations as you sit from your rocking chair in your home on the moon, know that you’re a cosmic miracle—a stardust symphony. And when the clock strikes a hundred, raise a glass to the journey—the messy, magnificent, mundane, miraculous journey.

With love from the past,

Your 59-year-old self

P.S. If time travel exists, send me a New York Style cheese pizza, teriyaki chicken wings and postcard from the future. 🌟