In this series, author Kendra Alvey writes a letter from her 30+ year-old-self to her past selves. See other parts in this series here. – .ed

Dear 14-Year-Old Me,

Yay!  Like, wowee-zowee, you have a boyfriend!  Squeal!  I know you’re excited.  That note he passed you during rehearsal was pretty sweet.  And, he is older and cute and popular.  You like him.  I get it why you checked “yes.”

What’s going to happen is this:  you guys will spend an hour in the orchestra pit, then half an hour on a playground at night, then forty minutes in his bedroom holding hands.  He will not kiss you.  You will not kiss him.  You’ll decide you’re hideous and that no one will ever love you because you’re clearly such an ogre. This will turn you into an insecure spaz with the next few boys you date.

But, here’s the deal:  he’s gay.  You don’t want to kiss him, not really, because deep down you know this.  He doesn’t want to kiss you, not really, because you don’t have a penis and deep down he knows this.

It’s okay.

You guys just really like each other because you’re both nice and funny.  You’re genuinely friends! Don’t beat yourself up about it.  I’m not saying not to date him either.  You should!  You could do worse for your first ‘boyfriend’ than a smart talented gay boy.  You could be dating that guy that keeps dropping books on your head from his stinky locker.  Ew, or someone in Orchestra!

Look, you two will be in touch forever.  At parties you’ll tell the story of how you once dated, finishing each other’s sentences and giggling about it.  You’ll be in the same theatre company twice; you’ll go to New Zealand and Turkey together.  You will sing Miss Saigon in the car on road trips.  You’ll let him be Kim.  You’ll share an apartment in college and stay up late at night drinking tequila and talking about boys.

It’s all good.  You’re not that hideous, just a little bit awkward.  But, don’t get cocky, your hair is always going to look like that.

xoxo,

Older Wiser You With Better Gaydar

P.S.  Use sunscreen.  Avoid stupid tanning booths.  And, maybe don’t lay out on foil with baby oil all over your body.  You are going to live past 25, you little bitch.