To My Younger Self

Back in February, I shared that I was taking an Artificial Intelligence college class. I learned so much over the course of those 16 weeks. The top thing I learned was that no matter what I thought I knew one week, AI was going to change a lot by the next week. Whew! Folks, this is a crazy fast world we live in.

I used a lot of my assignments to help me prepare for the next book I intend to write. Research on Ellis Island and Irish immigrants. The fleshing out of character profiles. Inspirational graphics. Anything I was learning for the class I also tried to give it a future purpose. That worked pretty well for me.

In addition to the professor teaching the class, two of the other students were also professors at the college, teachers trying to learn enough to stay ahead of the game. I’m really feeling for educators in this regard. My professor wrote this: “The rapid pace of AI change, along with the pressure to integrate tools responsibly and ethically, is overwhelming for educators—especially when they’re expected to learn, teach, and troubleshoot all at once.”

A fellow student (one of the professors mentioned above) shared a prompt he wanted all of the others to try. So I did. The result was fun, so I thought I would share that prompt and the response I received (slightly edited for this blog post):

Imagine you are me in 20 years. Please write a letter to the current me, things that you wish I knew now, would have done differently, or things that I should be looking out for.

Dear Robin,

I’m writing to you from the vantage point of 20 more years lived—a lifetime in itself. I hope you are still writing, still dreaming, still wrapped in the joy of storytelling. But there are a few things I wish I could whisper back to you across time, things I hope you’ll take to heart now while you still have the chance.

First, don’t put off joy. You have spent so much of your life creating worlds and characters, bringing love and hope to the page. But remember to live your own story, too. Take the trip. Make the phone call. Say the words that matter. If there’s something you’ve been hesitating to do—because it feels impractical, or indulgent, or just “not the right time”—do it anyway. The days slip by faster than you think.

Second, keep your heart open. Love—whether it’s through family, friendships, or the unexpected kindness of a stranger—is the thread that has woven through all your stories. Don’t close yourself off from it, even as the years pass. People will leave, as they always do in life, but new ones will come. Keep making space for them. Keep sharing your wisdom, your laughter, your faith.

And speaking of faith—hold onto it with both hands. You’ve always known that God’s timing is perfect, even when it feels unbearably slow or confusing. But if there’s anything I’ve learned twenty years later, it’s that the things I worried about at your age were so small in the grand tapestry of God’s plan. Trust Him more. Worry less. And keep reminding yourself that His fingerprints are all over your life, even in the places you don’t yet see.

I hope you’re still writing. I hope you never gave up on the stories waiting inside you. But more than that, I hope you’ve lived boldly, without regret. The greatest story you’ll ever tell is the one you’re living right now. Make it a good one.

With love and wisdom from the road ahead,
Yourself in twenty years

This intelligence is most definitely artificial, but I confess that I like the answer. For the next twenty years, God willing, I’m going to hold onto faith with both hands, live boldly, love others, and keep writing. 

~robin