Dear Future Me,

Hi. It’s me. You. But softer. The slightly more idealistic version of you who still tears up at random movie scenes and tries to tip delivery people too much even when money’s tight. The you who still cares — deeply, awkwardly, and probably too often — what kind of person we are becoming.

I’m writing this because I’m afraid.

Not of aging, not of back pain (although that’s coming, I feel it), not of forgetting passwords or the names of new pop stars. I’m afraid of something quieter, more insidious:

I’m afraid that one day, you’ll become a jerk.

Not the cartoonish, loud, punch-a-wall kind. No. I’m talking about the slow-developing, ever-so-subtle kind of jerk. The kind that looks totally normal on the outside but is slowly rotting from the inside with cynicism, self-importance, and the inability to say “I don’t know.”

Please don’t become that guy.

I’m begging you. Here’s what I hope you’ll remember.

1. Don’t confuse success with superiority.

If things go well for you — and I really, truly hope they do — please don’t let it mess with your head.

Success doesn’t make you better than anyone. It just means you were lucky, prepared, persistent, or some cocktail of those. Maybe you were in the right place. Maybe someone took a chance on you. Maybe your weird obsession with Finnish design finally paid off.

Great. Celebrate it.

But don’t walk into rooms assuming everyone wants to be you. Don’t stop listening. Don’t assume that because you climbed a ladder, you understand everyone still standing on the ground.

And please, for the love of humanity, never say “It’s not that hard, you just have to want it.” That’s prime jerk material.

2. Stay curious. Even when you think you know. Especially then.

There’s something deeply annoying about people who stop learning because they’ve decided they’ve arrived.

They quote themselves. They think questions are for amateurs. They use phrases like “back when I was in the game” or “kids these days.” It’s not just condescending — it’s stale.

Please don’t become stale.

Stay curious. Read weird stuff. Ask dumb questions. Be wrong without imploding. Let someone half your age teach you something without immediately needing to flex.

Curiosity is humility with energy. And it’s what keeps people interesting, not just intelligent.

3. Don’t start believing your own hype.

Look, if people start calling you brilliant, humble, insightful, “visionary” — enjoy it. That’s nice. Let it land softly.

Then ignore it.

Seriously. File it under “possible hallucinations” and move on.

Because the second you believe you’re some rare intellectual unicorn, you stop noticing all the things you still get wrong. Like how you interrupt too much when you’re excited. Or how you still forget to text people back. Or how your arguments occasionally sound like well-packaged TED Talk trauma.

You’re human. Stay there.

4. Be kind. No, kinder than that.

It’s easy to be kind when people agree with you. Or flatter you. Or send you clean Google Docs.

But real kindness shows up when someone’s slow, or awkward, or angry, or clearly not “your kind of people.”

That’s the test.

Will you hold space for them? Or will you shut down, turn smug, and make them feel small so you can feel smarter?

Please — remember that every person you find irritating is carrying a novel’s worth of unseen struggle. That doesn’t excuse their behavior. But it explains a lot.

Be kind. Then add 10%. That’s the real work.

5. If you ever start talking more than listening — stop. Immediately.

There’s something tragic about people who once had depth, who gradually become mouthpieces for their own ego.

They start telling stories instead of hearing them. They enter conversations as performances, not exchanges.

And you know what happens? People stop trusting them. Or worse — they stop loving them.

So if you ever find yourself dominating the room, rehearsing responses while others speak, or waiting for applause after everything you say… step outside. Touch some grass. Call a friend and ask them about their week.

Then shut up. And listen.

6. Protect your softness. Don’t let the world harden you.

Disappointment will come. Betrayal. Boredom. Bureaucracy. You’ll meet people who lie, use, flake, twist your words. You’ll encounter systems designed to reward cruelty and punish tenderness.

But please — don’t let that make you cold.

It’s not brave to become numb. It’s lazy. It’s fear wearing a suit.

The real courage is staying warm in a world that keeps trying to freeze you. Cry when things matter. Apologize when you mess up. Say “I love you” first sometimes. Be honest even when it costs you cool points.

The world has enough emotionally distant geniuses. What it needs is people who feel deeply and still choose decency.

7. Don’t confuse detachment with wisdom.

One day you’ll be tempted to withdraw. To stand above it all. To chuckle at chaos and say, “Not my circus.” And yes — some things you should walk away from.

But don’t become so distant you forget how to care.

Caring is messy. It makes you vulnerable. But it also makes you alive.

If you stop being moved by injustice, joy, laughter, or other people’s pain… you haven’t transcended anything. You’ve just started shrinking.

Stay in the arena. Stay affected.

8. If you’re lucky enough to have power — use it to lift, not impress.

Power isn’t bad. It’s neutral. It becomes good or bad based on what you do with it.

So if you ever find yourself in a room where people wait for you to speak, or change their tone when you walk in — pay attention.

Use that space to highlight someone else. Use it to redirect credit. Use it to make room for someone still finding their voice.

Never use it to feel important.

Use it to make others feel like they matter, too.

In Conclusion: Please, Just Don’t Become That Guy

You know the one.

The one who “used to be cool.”
The one who was once kind, but got tired.
The one who made success his personality.
The one who forgot how to laugh at himself.

I’m not asking you to be perfect. That’s a trap.

I’m asking you to remember where you came from.
To remember who we were when things were uncertain and wide open.
To protect your weirdness, your softness, your goofy heart.

Please don’t become a jerk.

I like you too much for that.

Sincerely,
You
(Before the TED talks and the home espresso machine)