I decided then and there, the greatest way to break the universe is to give a book you wrote to a younger you. Not that I wanted exactly me. I wanted someone of my likeness down to the dents in my teeth.
For the sake of my perfect reader? As I launch ad campaigns I sift and push for readers, it may be the greatest game of hide and go seek. Can I find you? I swear, I promise, I really think, I mean, I’m mostly sure, you most definitely want this, to be found, by this book. Please leave your biggest toe sticking out. Please forget to clear your throat before I finish counting down from ten. Let that little scratch show.
If I had a time machine and gave high school Sean a copy of my book the implications would no doubt be mind bending. I couldn’t write what I’ve already read. That’s a recipe for brain pain. Maybe my name would erase from the cover. The author would be anonymous, the future. But would I read something without reason from a stranger? Would I go looking for more from the same author and be disappointed in such a small catalogue of work? Would I champion it to my friends, not knowing I was nearly bragging?
I think maybe I would study it, work forward, expand upon it. Get a jumpstart on this business of writing. And by the time I was 29 I would have a much deeper sense of life and I would share it with the world, never knowing I would later want to share this now, with me then, so very very badly.
In the words of Phil Collins “You’re the only one who really knew me at all, so take a look at me now…”