During my childhood, I wrote letters asking to Santa or baby Jesus what I wished to receive for Christmas. And I diligently listed all those toys that would allow me to materialize my imagination, and grasp a pinch of my dreams: driving a race car, pilot a plane, travel through the entire space.
For many years I thought—like most of the children—that the toys were the most important thing I had back then, because they signify my dreams.
As I got old, I looked at the toys and realized they were not presents I received in exchange of my wish letters, they were the letters itself. Each one of those letters were addressed to my future self, to the person I wanted to be. That person that would drive a F1 car and win a Grand prix, pilot a fighter aircraft and colonize the solar system and later the galaxy.
Holding the toys in my hands, I realized that I’m not the person that I thought I’d be.
But it was bad?
And with no clear answer, I reformulated my question: Would my younger me, feel proud of the person that I’m now?
Despite the long list of mistakes I’ve committed and an equally long list of things I haven’t accomplished during my life time, I believe I would feel proud of having the discipline of a F1 driver to achieve my goals, the courage of a pilot to sort through my problems and have the capacity of an astronaut to keep dreaming about reaching the stars.
Maybe I’m not exactly the person that I dreamed I’d be, but that’s ok.
I’m more concerned now in not forgetting who I was.
The dreamer that believed I could become my better self.
That’s the reason why, even when I don’t believe in Santa or Baby Jesus anymore, I will keep writing the wish letters this Christmas.
Wish letters to my past self, for stay honest to my true self.
And wish letters to my future self …
M. Ch. Landa
PS. Merry Christmas to everyone!