This article was written by The Zillennial Zine’s spring editorial intern Eli Casas. Find them on Instagram at @elicasasnow. If you would like to share an article with The Zillennial, send us an email at thezillennialzine@gmail.com.
For the past few weeks, I have watched strangers all over TikTok tug at my heart with the trend “I had coffee with my younger self,” which was started by poet Jennae Cecelia earlier this year. Cecelia shared the poem from her book Deep In My Feels on TikTok, and it blew up quickly. Now, countless individuals have contributed to the “I had coffee with my younger self trend”, sharing what they think a conversation with their younger selves would be like.
Reflecting On What That Means To Me
This trend got me thinking about my younger self and how they would have loved to converse with their older self. The conversation would provide some much-needed reassurance. They always wondered about the unknown. They didn’t always feel confident, but they kept going no matter how hard it got. So, naturally, it made me reflect on what I would say and how that conversation would go.
More than anything, it made me realize we don’t often think about how we owe everything we have or where we are to an older version of ourselves. Without all the effort of my younger self pushing through different retail jobs, I wouldn’t have found my calling. If my younger self hadn’t dropped out of college, I wouldn’t have had the courage to pursue my dreams because I would have been too busy finishing a different degree to acquire stability. And it’s funny because, for the longest time, I gave my younger self a hard time about that.
On a deeper level, I would probably say that I would still be closed-minded about trying new things hadn’t a past version of me decided to try new foods, visit new places, and have new experiences. I admire the younger version of me for being so resilient, even when that meant doing things in silence with no support. That’s bravery at its core.
I Had Coffee With My Younger Self
Here’s how having coffee with my younger self would go. I will paint you a picture worth looking at.
I had coffee with my younger self, and they arrived two hours early because arriving late is an anxiety they can’t seem to shake. I arrived about a half hour early because I dislike the feeling of the clock showing everyone that I’m late. Even after all these years, the stares feel haunting, like walking down a hall with no light at the end of the walkway in a big house that doesn’t feel lived in.
When I greet my younger self, they don’t hesitate to embrace me for living my most authentic life with a name that feels cozy. I thank them for living with their dead name even when it feels like slurs coming out of people’s mouths. They are kind, even when the world hasn’t been too much.
Despite wanting to change their pronouns, they haven’t, but I greet them how they’ve always dreamt of being referred to. Being accepted looks good on them. I compliment their hair, and we both order our coffees.
I order a decaf coffee with oat milk and no syrup. They look surprised because they ordered something already on the menu to avoid anxiety while placing their coffee order. I offer to order for them, but they decline as they are far too independent to rely on anyone but themselves.
I respect their decision and smile to remind them that they deserve kindness far more than they realize. We began talking, and they told me about their job promotion and how being a front-end supervisor has been going great. They have lots of work friends, and they all feel like family. They asked me how everything is going on my end right now.
I pause, and the room gets quiet. The type of silence that fills every inch of a giant room with open windows. For a second, everything seems surreal. I tell them about how we returned to college and pursued journalism. I even showed them some articles I’ve written so far. And for a brief second, their whole face lights up. They can’t believe I went for it and pursued a degree in the arts. We both laugh.
They ask how everyone is doing right now. “How’s Mom and the kids?” I look down briefly and tell them to keep an open mind because I know the complicated answer. “You know, I’m not sure how they are doing. I no longer speak to them, and you must understand that it wasn’t an easy choice.” The silence grows louder than before.
My younger self pauses for what seems like forever. Yet, they find the words at last. “I’m sure you had a good reason because you seem kind. I’m glad you’re putting yourself first,” they say.
We continue to drink our coffee, and I eat my favorite pastry with no worries in the world, but they eat the tiniest bites because they feel self-conscious at those moments.
I finally ask them if they care for themselves even when it all feels heavy. Still, my younger self looks me in the eyes with such agony and assures me that all is well. They say that working hard is all they know how to do to get by, but not to worry because they recently quit smoking cigarettes and probably won’t turn back. That’s the only way they can care for themselves right now.
I sigh and regret to inform them that it’s a habit we recently picked back up because we lived through a pandemic and other challenges. Sometimes, we just need a break from everything. We laugh so hard that it’s starting to get late, and I can see they don’t want to say goodbye.
We stay a little longer, and I tell them it will all work out even when it doesn’t feel like it. I ask them to please call their grandma more because nothing lasts forever, but grandparents should be allowed to stay longer. I think they knew what I meant because my eyes began to fill with tears as I struggled to get the words out.
The night came into the coffee shop as the staff began closing for the day. They held my hand and said, “Thank you for spending time with me. You don’t know how much I needed that today.” I knew exactly what they meant because their eyes began to fill with more than just tears.
Would you do the “I had coffee with my younger self trend?” Let us know in the comments below.
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