Dear Future Me

I'm doing you a favor...

There was an air about me when “present me” dealt with “past me” and his actions - caution, low expectations, sadness…and disappointed grace. “I love you, Shane. But dang…” usually summed it up.

About a year ago, I went into my garage to grab some dried corn and bird seed to feed the squirrels and birds that congregate around a cedarwood feeder an old friend built for me. Inside the large bag of corn, I had placed a pink solo cup for scooping, and inside the cup I saw the bottom of the birdseed bag protruding out a bit. What came next was a typical reaction, thought process, and mindset that often arose when dealing with how I left a situation the last time I faced it.

“I bet you stuffed it in there upside down. It’s gonna spill, you know he didn’t seal it.”

My higher self, the voice of reason among dozens of voices of fear or need residing in my noggin, begins assessing the situation. I talk to myself and about myself as I consider the person I’m dealing with. For decades, everything I did was performed drunk, hungover, or both. These physical and mental states usually did not produce stellar results. I often did just enough to get by, to make it end—whatever the task was—so I could get back to my bottle. I half-assed it, justified not doing it, or screwed it up and left it for the next “me” to come along and deal with it. Usually upon discovery of the lame job I did the last time, I became angry at myself, drank at it, wallowed in it, and added it to the mix of misery I’d been carefully cultivating for years. 

So here I am, preparing for this simple task of feeding some fuzzy or feathered friends, and although I’ve been in recovery a while at this point, the prejudging begins:

“Careful when you reach for that bag, it’s gonna spill. You’ve practically foreseen it happening, bro.”

These warnings always accompanied the revisiting of my work. There was an air about me when “present me” dealt with “past me” and his actions—caution, low expectations, sadness… and disappointed grace. “I love you, Shane. But dang…” usually summed it up.

But not this time.
Something different happened.
Past Shane did me a solid.
As I lifted the pink cup out of the bag and began to carefully extract the birdseed from the mess I’d surely set up to happen, everything changed. As my eyes fell upon the act of kindness my past self had performed, my opinion of “Past Shane,” and Shane in general, shifted.

I was instantly elevated in status.

“This guy’s good.” I would hear inside.

“This is what I’m talking about!” a part of me would exclaim to another as if I’d known it all along.

These were not just words, but these were my core values regarding my own self-worth, and they were changing.

On a yellow piece of painter’s tape, which was carefully placed over the neatly-wrapped and enclosed bag of birdseed, I had written myself a note. “Hey future Shane, I did this favor for you. Enjoy bud. - Shane”

I didn’t remember it at the time, exactly when or how the tape got there. I remember smiling as I looked down at the gift I’d given myself and remembering how many times I lifted that bag of birdseed up to watch it spill. I remember laughing with myself when that would happen and disappointingly accepting the fact that this was me: a series of poorly executed attempts to get through life, followed by the discovery of those efforts later down the line and the frustration that came with having to clean them up first before I could do anything else.

Those “past Shane” mishaps plagued me. Past Shane rarely, if ever, did present or future Shane any favors. I would open the freezer to find that I hadn’t unpacked the groceries last time, just shoved all the frozen ones in the bottom, still in their Kroger bag. Maybe some toothpaste was accidentally left in it as well. I would get in the car only to find it was bone dry and out of gas because yesterday… always yesterday, I could have stopped but had more pressing things to do. I would open my banking app or my credit card app to discover that I had several packages arriving from Amazon in the next few days that I could not afford. In my mind I would see the face of the loved one with whom I was on the outs, close my eyes, pause and wince, then move on to something else and push that conversation off til wayyy later. I would lift the lid of the trash can to discover just how much crap I ate the night before.

“Really? All the pizza rolls, Shane? And the jar of peanut butter?”

But not anymore, heh heh.

*rubs hands together*

Not with the arrival of this little golden ticket in my hand. After a while, I remembered that I heard someone in a recovery meeting talk about doing her future self favors, writing notes of encouragement and whatnot, and thought I should try it sometime. Now, being on the receiving end of a past-Shane-type favor, I saw its power. What if I could wake up each day, not only hoping for, but counting on—or at least coming to expect—past Shane to set me up for success? What if it wasn’t just a cute little surprise from time to time, but a way of life?

What if today’s responses didn’t have to be tomorrow’s regrets?

In the middle of a tough conversation or decision, a poignant reminder pops in my head.

“You don’t have to finish this now. You’ve got enough information. Do yourself and everyone here a favor…sleep on it.”

When I see that I’m down to my last exercise at the gym, and it’s abs, I push through now, with visions of “summer Shane” appreciating this effort. If I’m bored and up late, or can’t sleep, my thoughts wander off to “What can I do for future me?”
I do the dishes, maybe even in stages.
I fold one load of laundry.
I put my thoughts to paper.
I start the week’s list early.
I “fur-minate” the dog.
I drop 50 bucks into my savings instead of to Amazon.

Who would’ve imagined? A craving for peace and comfort, accompanied by a way to satiate it without making things worse. An addiction to self-kindness; self-love. An addiction to “keeping it this way.”

Since breaking up with booze two and a half years ago, I have found two things to be true: I have a lot more time on my hands, and I enjoy my own company. With many therapy sessions and recovery meetings, along with much self-reflection and prayer, I have at least opened all of the rooms in the House of Shane. I’ve assessed them, cleaned some of them up, and developed a plan for the others. I don’t harbor secrets. I don’t have to keep up with lies. Instead I get to use my former weaknesses as strengths. I crave peace now, and I’m addicted to keeping it this way.

Thank you, past Shane, for getting me here. It wasn’t pretty, but it was all you could do. Myself, my family, my friends (furry and otherwise), and my doggo Robin all thank you. Your super liver and desire to survive got us here, and I vow to do my part in the here and now to continue what you’ve started.

Dear Future Shane, keep on keeping it this way.