I met my younger self for coffee today.
We entered the café at the same time — punctual as always.
She was surprised that I looked almost exactly like her: long hair, skinny jeans, and an old leather jacket, as if nothing had changed over time. She was 20 and I am 30. She wore lots of jewelry, bright lipstick, and perfect graphic eyeliner. I had none of those things.
She was radiant. Vibrant. Joyful.
It felt like people looked at her when we walked in, not at me.
She said she wasn’t hungry and would order nothing. I knew she simply didn’t have any money, so I ordered for both of us: strong black coffee for her, a cappuccino with lactose-free milk for me, and the same chocolate cake for both.
She looked so full of energy she could barely sit still.
“Tell me everything,” she said. “Did we marry our blue-eyed prince? Are we happy?”
“Yes. We’ve been happily married for seven years now. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re never bored with each other. We’re still in love. Every morning I wake up and think how lucky I am.”
She smiled even wider, as if it was the best thing she could possibly hear.
“What about kids?” she asked. “Do we have three, like we planned?”
“Mmm... no kids, actually. And I don’t want them anymore. But we do have a furry little monster that I love with all my heart. We rescued her from the street, and honestly, she rescued us too. And we have a goddaughter — our cousin — and we adore her. It’s kind of the best of both worlds. We get to be the cool aunt and have all the fun without the sleepless nights.”
She laughed.
“That’s even better! So we’re still close with our family? They’re still our safe place?”
“Yes. They are. But some of them have become guardian angels now.”
Her expression changed immediately.
I saw tears gathering in her eyes.
We’ve always been sensitive like that.
I squeezed her hand.
“It’s okay,” I said. “The love stays.”
A weak smile returned.
“Tell me we had good moments,” she said. “Tell me we had fun.”
“Oh, we did. You can’t even imagine some of the things that are waiting for you. You’ll visit amazing places. You’ll have experiences you’ve never even dreamed about. And you’ll get more tattoos.”
I laughed.
She laughed too.
“I really want to travel! Do we visit all those places with our friends?”
I hesitated.
“Actually... none of your current friends make it to thirty with me.”
Her face fell.
“But cherish them anyway. They’ll teach you a lot. They’ll be there when you need them. And one day you’ll simply start walking in different directions. That’s all. New people will come into your life too, and they’ll open doors you can’t even imagine yet.”
“I hope we still have fun without them?”
“Kind of. Our definition of fun changes. We learn to appreciate small things. Quiet things. But we also collect hobbies like souvenirs, try all sorts of jobs, and we never stop writing.”
Her eyes widened.
“We still write?”
“We do. And it takes us somewhere you’d never expect.”
“Wow. I can’t wait. But what do we do? Do we finally have a serious job? A stable income? A real nine-to-five? Are we successful?”
I laughed.
I knew she’d come straight from university classes and an unofficial low-paid side hustle.
“The funny thing is that we juggle several jobs now, and there’s no nine-to-five in sight. But we love what we do. We’ve learned how to set boundaries. We’ve learned to choose ourselves. And you know what success means now?”
“What?”
“Last month I paid for a vacation for Mom and me. I’ve helped pay for renovations. I’ve helped with car repairs. Being able to support the people I love — not just emotionally but financially too — that’s success now.”
She sat quietly for a moment.
“That’s actually better than what I imagined.”
“It is.”
“Tell me something else I won’t believe.”
“Well... we finally speak Spanish.”
Her face lit up.
“I knew we’d do it!”
“And guess what? We have a blog.”
“Ew.”
I laughed.
“A couple of them, actually.”
“I would never do that. Influencers seem so shallow.”
“Never say never.”
I smiled, thinking about all the opinions she’d eventually change.
“But what about you?” she asked. “What are you dreaming about now? Or have we completed everything already?”
This time it was me trying not to cry.
I thought about all the things I couldn’t change.
The people I couldn’t bring back.
The war I couldn’t stop.
The luxury of knowing what tomorrow might look like.
But I didn’t say any of that.
I wanted her to stay light-hearted a little longer.
She sensed it and didn’t push.
Instead she tilted her head and asked:
“Okay, but has anything stayed the same?”
“Oh, definitely. Our music taste is still impeccable. We still wear the same clothes. We still own that ancient leather jacket somehow. And Harry Potter is still with us.”
“After all this time?” she almost shouted.
“Always.”
She grinned.
I love her.
We finished our coffee.
She was already rushing somewhere — to meet her friends or her boyfriend, who would eventually become my husband.
Before leaving, she stopped and looked at me carefully.
“I like you,” she said. “You look beautiful. You seem confident. Smarter than I am now.”
Then she paused.
“But you also look tired.”
I looked away.
“I can see gray hairs. And it feels like some of the spark in your eyes is missing. Most people probably wouldn’t notice, but I know you. I can feel it.”
She looked genuinely worried.
“Can I do anything to prepare? How do I avoid all the turbulence? How do I stay safe?”
I smiled sadly.
“You know I can’t tell you what’s coming. And even if I did, you wouldn’t be able to prepare for most of it.”
She nodded.
“But there is one thing you can do.”
“What?”
“Listen to yourself more.
Trust yourself more.
The people around you — even the ones you love most — will have opinions about who you should be and what you should do. But they’re living their lives, not yours.
Only you know what’s right for you.
Even when it feels strange.
Even when it feels scary.
Trust yourself.”
She smiled and hugged me.
I hugged her back, feeling that familiar mix of grief and gratitude.
Then I unlocked my car.
Her eyes nearly popped out of her head.
“You drive? You drive! Yes! I knew it! You’re so cool!”
She shrieked with excitement, and suddenly I was laughing too.
I drove away with a warm smile still lingering on my face.
I was so happy to meet my younger self today.
This idea isn’t new.
I was preparing a lesson for one of my students today when I came across a video called Coffee With My Younger Self. Apparently it was a TikTok trend a year ago, but it only reached me now.
And as I write this, I’m crying and smiling at the same time — a strange cocktail of emotions.
Thank you for experiencing it with me.
Would you invite your younger self for coffee?
If yes, how old would they be?
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