I Had Coffee with My Younger Self
A reflection inspired by the viral “I took my younger self to coffee” trend
Before you dive in, a quick note: This post is part of a viral trend that began with a poem by Jennae Cecelia and has since taken off across social media. It invites people to imagine meeting their younger selves for coffee — to offer comfort, wisdom, and perspective.
This is one of those posts that feels vulnerable to share. It’s not perfect. It’s personal. But I hope it resonates with someone out there who needs it.
I met my younger self for coffee. She was punctual, notebook in hand, ready to conquer the day with an endless list of to-dos.
I chuckled as I sat down across from her. She had no idea that the checklist was a never-ending game — one that would only keep growing.
She dove right into her agenda. There was so much she wanted to cover, so much she needed to know. She had a crazy day ahead: just graduated from college, starting her first real job. Cold calls to make, a workout to squeeze in, dinner with friends.
I couldn’t get over how much freedom she had. No kids to get home to, no house to maintain, no team at work counting on her as a leader.
I interrupted her to ask what she was planning for dinner — but I already knew. Scrambled eggs and toast. She didn’t know that one day I’d long for those simple nights, when I was only responsible for myself, living in that first apartment, making easy dinners.
She asked, “Did I make the right decision moving to Raleigh? Taking the job in sales?”
I told her to take a deep breath. To stop doubting herself. Her instincts were amazing — they always were, and always would be. I was impressed by how brave she was, taking the leap without knowing the ending. She never settled for the easy way out.
“But will I be the best?” she asked. “Will I rise in the ranks?”
I reminded her of the quote from Yay, You! by Sandra Boynton — the one we got at graduation. I doubted she’d read it more than once, but I knew it almost by heart now. I read it to my kids at night, hoping they’ll believe it more easily than she did: “Whatever you do, whether near or so far, I know you’ll be great. You already are.”
She relaxed a little and put down her agenda. “Am I doing it wrong?”
I told her: her determination, her grit, her make-it-happen attitude got her here — and it would keep her going. But when she’s my age, she’ll soften. It’s not all so serious. Don’t be so hard on yourself. That’s a lesson I’m still learning.
“Okay, fine,” she said, “less serious question. What about my friends and family? Will they still matter as much? Will the people who matter now, matter then?”
Oh, they’re all still there. You have some of the best people in your life — and they’ll be there for the long haul. You’ll be in five of their weddings. You’ll vacation together, laugh together, make new memories and inside jokes.
She laughed. “Should I get the dog?”
I laughed too. “Oh, Goose? Your bernedoodle? Yes — the most stubborn and loyal dog. He’s still with me. Sometimes I think he knows my feelings better than anyone.”
She laughed again, then got quiet. “Did I find the one?” she asked, almost embarrassed.
I remembered her situation. She knew it wasn’t right, and I didn’t have to tell her.
“You do,” I said. “It comes when you least expect it, and you’ll just know. It’s the best thing that ever happens to you. You’ll never wonder again why it didn’t work with anyone else.”
She smiled, relieved.
“And there are kids,” I said. “Two. The absolute best. They’re the whole point now. It’s why I laugh at your agenda — you haven’t even gotten to the best part.”
Her smile grew bigger.
“Girl,” I said, “enjoy that alone time. The girl dinners. Doing whatever you want. But just know — it all gets so, so much better. Enjoy the ride.”
Satisfied, she stood up and said she had to run to her next meeting. Didn’t want to be late.
I shook my head. I guess some lessons you have to learn in time.
I stopped her and gave her a hug. “You’re doing an amazing job,” I whispered. Then I said I was going to grab another coffee to go before heading out.
“So we still love coffee?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” I said. “Some things never change.