A letter to me.

You lose your hair. Bummer, I know. “But I had a Jew fro and..” Stop. Just stop. It goes. It will make you nervous, but as you age, you learn to cut it in a way that says, “hey, at least I’m not fat.” Also, women know every man goes bald. Spoiler alert: they’re pretty okay with it. (Again, as long as you’re not also fat. That’s a bad look.)

The Warriors draft Steph Curry and your years and years of watching them fail endlessley pay off. That year you spoke to Jim Barnett with Kevin in Denver at the Nuggets game? This turns into a crucial “I’m a real fan” story that you always have in your back pocket. Remember to thank KJ for those tickets and that birthday. He did good.

You write a popular blog about The Bachelor. The Bachelor! Seriously, people read it and it makes you believe that you are worthy of something, who knows what. Don’t ever stop writing. It, unlike your hair, does not fall out.

You fall in love 1,589 times and every time you think it’s the one. It’s a bummer, I know, but it’s quite likely that she is not, whenever you’re reading this. Unless you’re 34. She might be, we haven’t aged past that yet so this could be it. Not to be hyperbolic, but things are looking up. (That was a shitty use of hyperbolic, by the way. Write more, dummy.)

Stop writing about how happy you are. It’s okay to be sad sometimes. If you tell people this, you haven’t lost your cape or your woobie: you’ve told the truth and that’s better than lying through a filter. Life is hard. Don’t pretend it isn’t when it’s not, you’re only hurting yourself.

You cry when she drives away in the Uhaul van. You knew you would, but it still stings when the hot water runs down your face like you put shampoo in your eyes. It’s for the better, you both find peace. Just go gold mine.

Oh, by the way, you gold mine for a summer. Yes, like you wear cowboy shirts and camp (!!) and learn to be a man. Sort of. Okay so maybe not a man, but you learn to be you. It’s the summer that you find music more than you ever did before, and it comes with you more than it ever had before. Everywhere. Let it in, it’s your everything.

Bananas are going extinct. You were right to never learn to eat them.

You never turn into a runner, and that’s okay. You are awkward, you flail, you challenge the treadmill to a duel more times than you’ll be able to count, but your legs will always lose. It’s just not you. Stop trying to make it so and just use the stairmaster. It’s okay. Your ass looks great.

You become a dad. Not just because you have a son, but because you evolve into something entirely different, like you’d always imagined you would and in some ways like you never thought you could. You hurt when he hurts, laugh when he laughs, and your whole everything lights up when he’s near you, like sonar. It’s the best you you’ve ever seen yourself be. Don’t run from that, just because you’re afraid.

No, seriously, bananas are going extinct. Your aunt tells you this when you turn 34. I know, right?

He’s never going to be who you want him to be. Let go. He is a wave that crashes in and the tide rolls up and you believe, every time you believe, that this is the time that the water is going to rush up and hit everyone and surprise them. It won’t. Just like the tide, it rolls back out. Be okay with that and let go. It’s okay.

You meet someone “when you least expect it,” just like all the annoying people tell you you will one day. It’s annoying that they’re right, but cathartic that you are receptive to it. It’s scary, and she may be a runner, but just go with it. She may also be a snow leopard that stays and Richard Attenborough comments about her in a silly British accent and tells you how rare she is. That would be cool, right? Right. So, again, go with it. Stop being afraid of everyone going away. They don’t.

You get mugged and lose a fingernail in an alleyway and walk home the next morning concussed from a hospital. Scary enough, you have no idea if this is the scariest thing that will ever happen to you and you still have no idea. Just remember that fingernails are neat and don’t ever take them for granted. It’s really hard to shower for like 3 months.

You lie to people. Big lies. Some so big that they crush others and set them back emotionally. Don’t beat yourself up over it, everyone does it and you aren’t reinventing the wheel. You’re just the asshole rolling the wheel, so stop doing that. You stop lying after the big ones, so there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Just remember not to do that again. It hurts.

You sometimes pick your nose in your car and forget that windows are see through. Stop doing that, it’s gross.

You get so drunk that you clear a dance floor, brush your shoes off and dance through the room like a teen movie. It’s magic. You will never dance like this again, so take it in. (You brush your fucking shoes off, man. Who knew you had it in you.)


You adopt a street dog and he becomes your best friend. Like a movie, the two of you stumble through life together teaching each other lessons about how to take care of another thing. He’s your everything, don’t ever take him for granted. Oh, and heads up: he bites Brian Chesky and is never allowed back at your job. It’s a bummer, but isn’t that sort of hilarious? It’s kinda funny, admit it.

You climb. Like, a rock. You climb a rock. I don’t know if this one happens yet, but maybe if we write it it will become true.

You smoke sometimes. Okay a lot of times. It’s gross. Stop doing it. Remember that one day your kid will see you do it and the shame you feel will be insurmountable. It’s an actual disgusting habit and you should knock that off.

You quit from time to time, too. I didn’t want to tell you that, because I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself and feeling all “hooray me!” You also unquit from time to time, so stop patting yourself on the back.

You learn to like salad. Who knew. You didn’t see it coming, but you begin to crave it, like an old Jewish man waiting to get home to his humidifier.

You write a lot of things to yourself, but in public, it’s strange. Is it narcissistic? Maybe. Who knows. Just go with it.

You become an astronaut and fly to Mars and battle aliens. Just kidding, you don’t, but I knew young Drew would be stoked to hear that.

You let love in all over the place in life and learn that if you do, it returns the favor and opens the door for you too.

Don’t ever stop walking through that door.

Oh, and one last thing: you get married eventually. Sure, you fuck it up a few times along the way, but you get it right once.

Trust me on this one. I promise.

p.s. Your kid loves when you go, “AHHH!” and rub his belly. No matter how old you get, don’t stop doing that.

Originally published at rocket-shoes.com.




I have a black belt in feelings.

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Drew Hoolhorst

Drew Hoolhorst

I have a black belt in feelings.

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