Short Daily Update: Dear Past Me, You Were Onto Something

Week 3 - Day 19 of letting AI be my career coach. No Regrets (Yet).

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I recently stumbled upon a forgotten journal entry from last summer, one where I unknowingly wrote my future in advance. It was a promise to myself, one I had completely forgotten. Yet somehow, I had followed it anyway.

And maybe that’s the thing about dreams and happiness: we’re always writing the next chapter, whether we realize it or not.

This week has been one of deep reflections, so today, I’m keeping it lighter—with two small stories.

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A Small Question

Last night, I was texting a friend who lives far away. I asked her how she was doing, and she said: “All good.”

That wasn’t enough for me—I wanted to know more. So I asked:
"Tell me about a happy moment from the last month."

She paused, then replied:
"At the end of a football match, we surprised a teammate with a cake and sang happy birthday. She’s been going through a rough time and had decided not to celebrate, but seeing that everyone cared made her happy."

From that simple story, I learned so much more about her life, and we had a great conversation afterward. And honestly—doesn’t this just warm your heart?

So, I decided to do the same in my school friends’ WhatsApp group. Here’s what they shared:

📍 Her son scored goals at his football match, and she was beaming with pride.

📍 After a year of asking, she finally got the chance to try something new at work.

📍 She quit her job—and landed a great severance package. (This was big news, so we’re already planning a proper celebration.)

📍 Going through a heartbreaking divorce, she shared how the old man at the café in her neighborhood—who was always a bit closed off—quietly offered her a bowl of soup and some cookies.

These little glimpses into each other’s lives filled my heart with joy and reminded me how small moments—often the ones we don’t think to mention—can be the most meaningful.

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Notes From Last Summer

I tell myself I’m a minimalist. (Compared to most stationery addicts, I mean.)

But, well… I just bought a vegetable leather cover for my notebooks from Paper Republic, and I’m obsessed. One day, I’ll tell you all about my favorite pens, notebooks, and journaling systems—but I feel like that’s not even niche anymore. It’s beyond niche.

Anyway, I’m getting lost here. The point is: because of my new Paper Republic cover, I decided it was time to say goodbye to my old journal, the one that’s been with me since January 1st, 2024, and start fresh.

Before I put it away, I skimmed through a few pages. And I found an entry from last summer I want to share with you.

I was on a plane, returning from my first visit to the country I lived in when I was five.

For some reason, that trip reconnected me with myself—the version of me that we sometimes bury to comply, to act, to survive in this system we call modern society.

I wrote in my journal that the only hobby that has never left me is writing. It’s the one thing I’ve done continuously since I first learned how. I remembered that my strongest memory from that country wasn’t a place, or a person, or a smell—it was a hallway filled with pens and papers, which I’d grab to draw on and pretend I was writing.

And I wrote something I hadn’t let myself say out loud in years:I want to be a writer.

It has always been my dream. My childhood dream. The one I always thought: one day, one day, I’ll get to do this.

And then I asked myself: How does someone become a writer?

I decided I should read about the lives of writers to understand how they made it happen.

I closed my journal. Picked up the magazine I had brought with me.

And the first thing I saw?

An interview with a Brazilian writer, explaining her story, her career, how she became a writer, and what her latest book was about.

I grabbed my journal again and wrote—enthusiastically this time: This is my sign! I’m going to be a writer. Thank you, Universe!

I even glued the interview into my journal and promised myself I would take steps toward that dream.

That summer, I read another book—the biography of Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen. I found it by chance, sitting in the corner of a bookstore.

But Sophia? She never had to become a writer. She never stopped being one. She never stopped writing poems, stories, reflections. And she lived a beautiful, funny, sad, and complex life—the kind that makes a life whole.

Maybe I Was Writing My Future in Advance

And now here I am.

I had completely forgotten about that summer, about the feeling that trip gave me, about the promise I made to myself.

I am thankful for my journals, for capturing these thoughts. Because even though I forgot that promise consciously, I guess I carried it with me.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t have started this Substack.

And here’s something funny: just a few pages later in that same journal, I highlighted two words:

Exit Strategy.

The exact words I later chose as the title for this Substack.

Maybe I’ve been writing my life a few months in advance—if only I’d take the time to notice. If only I’d look closer.