Letter to My Future Self: When You’re Lost, Read This

Have you ever wanted advice from someone who truly understands what you’re going through?

Not a therapist.
Not a stranger online.
Not even a friend.

But… you. Your past self. The version of you who lived through the darkness, who knew your dreams, your pain, and your heart without filters.

This is one of those letters.

As I write this, I’m in my hot, cluttered room—fan barely working, distractions screaming, the summer sun burning outside, and inside me… doubt.
I feel stuck.

Dad keeps asking, “What next, now that you’ve left MBA?”
I wish I had a good answer. Most days, I just avoid the question.

But deep inside—I know I don’t want to live a life just for expectations.

I have dreams—like driving into the mountains with nothing but my dog, my camera, and no destination.
Simple dreams. Real peace.

But right now, even peace feels like a luxury I can’t afford.

I’ve failed more times than I want to count.
And yet, I get back up.

Because society may love the winners and dramatic failures, but no one tells the story of those stuck in between.
Those silently trying. Quietly surviving.

You know what makes me proud though?

Harry.
The day I brought him home without permission. The joy in Mom’s eyes. The way he became family without effort.
That one decision reminded me—I can trust my instincts.

Lately, my only peace is a smoothie and a workout.
Simple rituals. No motivation speeches, no “rise and grind.”
Just movement. Just me.

Skip it, and my day feels off-balance.

“

Future Tushar, if you ever feel like a stranger to yourself—
Read the Gita.
Sit under a tree.
Breathe deep.
Forget “career plans.”
Just be. You’ll find the answers again.

”

I messed up with smoking. I relapsed, more than once.
Sometimes from boredom.
Sometimes just to feel something.

But each time, I learned more about my triggers.
Even my failures are slowly teaching me who I am.

Our parents are our anchor.
They’ve faced real fear, real struggle. Nights without sleep, months without security. And yet, they never broke.

I owe them everything.

More than success, I just want to give them comfort, a reason to smile every day, and a small house where peace is permanent.

One day, you’ll build that cabin in the hills.

You’ll sit outside with Harry (or maybe his golden son), watching the clouds, sipping something warm. And you’ll smile—not because life is perfect—but because you made it here.

“

You're closer than you think.
Stay steady.
Don’t let the fog make you forget the destination.

”

Forgive me—for the late starts, the fears, the friendships I didn’t hold tight enough.
Thank you—for not giving up. For carrying us forward. For becoming the man I’m writing to.

You don’t have to have it all figured out.
You just have to keep going.

Now it’s your turn:
Have you ever written to your future self? Try it.
Even if no one else understands you—you will.