A year ago today, I accidentally came up with a just-right-for-me birthday practice.

I put it here, of course, and called it a letter from me-today to me-a-year-from-now.

And now I just reread it.

Thank you, letter. Thank you, last-year-me.

Man, I had absolutely no idea. I knew how big the vision was but I didn’t realize how big my plantings were. I didn’t realize how incredibly different today would feel.

Today. Today is a really big day for me.

As you know, my company turns SIX today.

The vision for it turns seven.

And I get to find out what it’s like to be thirty five. It’s kind of hot, actually.

Meanwhile, my most glowingly beautiful and long-awaited tiny sweet things, Stompopolis and the brand new Playground and the Floating Playground have all come into the world last week.

Everything is new. Everything is big. Everything is crazy-sparkly and impossibly full of possibility.

I remember reading an interview once with a scientist who said something about the feeling of having made an outrageously bold prediction and then it turns out to be right. It feels like that.

And the biggest thing is that I’m hardly falling apart at all. Weirdly enough.

Bridge. Me from a year ago. Me from a year from now.

Actually the biggest thing is that last-year-me set it all up. Without even knowing that this was what would or could happen.

So I want to hug her! And I want to pass the gift that I received to next-year-me. I want to prepare for the voyage by remembering that everything I do is for us.

Oh, next-year-me. Wow. She’ll be experiencing things I can’t imagine — a level or frequency of radiance, internal connection and happy humming that I don’t even know about yet.

Sometimes things will be hard. But she’ll meet the hard with more equanimity, with patience, curiosity and spaciousness.

And sometimes things will be ecstatically blissfully beautiful. And she’ll interact with that experience too.

That’s what I wish for her. Presence. Grace. Sweetness. Delight.

And I want to help.

Dear me in a year from now,

We’re here!

Thank you for your guidance and direction in getting here. And not just getting here but getting here like this.

What I wish for you.

Flow, sweetness, autonomy, community, agility, grace, possibility, courage, resilience, shelter, trust, beauty, voyaging, clarity. To feel like you belong completely — in your body, your power, your business, your home and your world. And, of course, to be secretly humming your happy hum at all times.

I know these are already available to you. But you feel them and you talk to them so easily.

What I do for you.

I still pause before each entry and each exit.

I give us loooong transitions.

I talk to the Director and Ath and my other incoming selves. I go into chrysalis mode when they tell me to.

I try to remove things that disconnect me from myself and from the hum.

I try to bring more of things that reconnect me to myself and to the hum.

Glow sitting. Old Turkish lady yoga. Writing. Stone skipping. Walking. Shiva Nata. Wanting what I want. Processing the process. Playing. Being alone. Finding out what is needed.

And, as Bryan says, respecting the decisions that my body has already made for me.

What I need from you.

I will repeat the thing I asked for last year, because it worked so beautifully:

Remind me that my gwishes are valid — that my wanting is legitimate and useful.

Show me how much you benefit from each piece that gets put into place now.

Comfort me when I am fearful.

The planting of the gwishes.

[This is where I listed all the things I want from the coming year.

These are silent gwishes – things that are in between goals and wishes. They have to do with being the queen of my internal world and everything that comes from that.]

What I am giving you.

Signs and reminders.

The double flags flanking the new door: Cascadia and the Jolly Selma.

A new fairy door.

Candles and candles and candles.

The book of OODs.

An itinerary for pirate queen holidays.

A brand new office, with the best view.

Flowers.

And going Long, Slow & Deep into the night.

This is your year.

I cannot wait to meet you.

Play with me! The commenting blanket fort.

If you like, write a letter to you-in-a-year.

It can be as short or as long as you’d like. You can share it here or not. You can borrow the structure that came to me or invent your own.

Otherwise, I am currently receiving warm smiles and waving of kerchiefs as this ship embarks.

As always: this is a wonderfully safe place. We let everyone have their stuff and their own experience. We make space for people by being welcoming, and not giving unsolicited advice.

Love to the commenter mice, the Beloved Lurkers and everyone who reads. And a wave to all the other fishies.

The Fluent Self