Dear Suzanne at Fifty Years Old,
Decades are good benchmarks. At thirty I wrote a letter to me at forty (on paper... with a pen... imagine!) and today I'm writing one to you. To remind you of where you were, so you can appreciate where you are.
Right now you're happy. Sure, some things are unbearably sad. Watching people you love die, grow up, make mistakes. Couples around you are divorcing. Life seems like an endless skid.
You work hard. So hard. Long hours and endless days. And you keep up your home and your garden too. Your children know who you are. And they love you. Even the seventeen year old wants you when she's sick. I hope you didn't screw that up. If you did, tell them it was your fault and get them back. I demand it.
You found a literary agent who you LOVE and who loves your work. You went to NYC and had lunch and made the road to publication shorter. The dream is within reach.
Are you a full time novelist now? Did it all work out? Did the world get to hear your stories? I hope so.
I hope you've seen the world, survived the death of your grandmother and learned how to cook rice properly. I hope you've aged gracefully and that your husband still looks at you with the same love and longing in his eyes.
I hope you have laughter and peace, and that this decade was full of rewards.
And if it wasn't... if it all went south and the world treated you poorly... well then: Turn it around! And get back to writing!