"Dear future me" is how most of these start, and then nothing. The trick is that you're not addressing a stranger — you're talking to someone who will have forgotten what today felt like, and wants to be reminded. And the version they'll want most isn't typed. It's you, saying it.
Below are six example messages, each for a different occasion, each about a minute long. Read one for the shape, tap record at the top of the page, and say your own. You don't need to plan it first.
dear future me — six examples
Each of these is roughly what a minute of talking sounds like, written down. Yours will be messier, and that's better.
new year's — to hear next december
Dear future me, it's January 2nd and I'm on the couch with the tree still up. The resolution this year is honestly just: call people back. I've been bad at it and I miss my friends.
By December, tell me — did I? Who did I see more of? And the thing I'm not saying out loud because it feels too big: did I finally apply? I hope you did, even if it didn't work out.
Remember this: the house smells like pine, the dog is asleep on my feet, and for one quiet week nothing is on fire.
a birthday — to hear in a year
Dear future me, happy birthday. Twenty-nine was strange. Some very good weeks and one very bad month, and I'm not sure yet which one will define it.
What I want to know from you: did the friendship with M recover? Did I stick with running once it stopped being a way to cope? Are you still at the same place, or did the thing you were too scared to try turn out to be fine?
Whatever thirty looks like, I hope you had cake with people who know you. I hope you let them make a fuss.
graduation — recorded the week before freshman year
Dear future me, I move in on Saturday and I've repacked the same box four times. I don't know a single person there. I picked the major because it was the safe one and I already suspect that's not the reason to pick a major.
You're hearing this on graduation day, so you know how it went. Did I switch? Who from the first week is still around? What's the one class that changed how I think?
Here's what I want you to know: I'm proud of us for going. Whatever the four years turned into, I'm the one who got in the car.
a hard time — to hear when it's over
Dear future me, it's week six of the recovery and I'm in the chair by the window because that's about as far as I get. I'm tired in a way that isn't about sleep. Everyone says it gets better and I mostly believe them.
You're hearing this because it did get better — that's the deal. I want you to remember how small the wins were: the first walk to the corner. The first day I didn't count the hours. The fact that people showed up.
Don't let yourself forget how kind everyone was. And go outside today, for me.
a new baby — to hear on their first birthday
Dear future me, she's eleven days old and asleep on my chest and I'm whispering this so I don't wake her. I have no idea what I'm doing. I've googled "is this normal" more times this week than in my whole life before it.
By her first birthday, I want to know: what's she like? What's the thing she does that makes you laugh every time? Did I ever figure out the sleep thing, or did I just stop needing to?
Please remember this exact weight on your chest. I already know I'm going to forget it, and I don't want to.
a big decision — to hear in two years
Dear future me, I'm deciding whether to take the offer in Denver. Better job, worse everything else — or at least, everything else unknown. I've made the pros-and-cons list three times and it comes out even every time, which I think means it's not a pros-and-cons kind of decision.
Which way did we go? Was it a choice or did it just happen? Are you glad? Not "was it the right call" — I don't think there is one — but are you glad?
Whatever you picked, I want you to know that from here, both looked like good lives. Tell me I was right about that.
what these have in common
- They open with a scene. The couch, the chair by the window, the box repacked four times. One sentence of where you physically are does more than a paragraph of feelings — and it's easy to say.
- They ask real questions. Future-you can't answer "I hope you're happy," but can answer "did the friendship with M recover?"
- They name one thing to remember. The smell of pine, the weight on your chest. That's the line you'll play twice.
- They're a minute long. None of these is over 150 words. Length is not the point; the voice is.
a starter, if you'd rather not improvise
Say this, filling in the brackets, and you're done.
Dear future me. It's [date] and I'm [where you are, in one sentence].
Right now the thing I keep thinking about is [it].
By the time you hear this, I want to know: [question]. And [question].
Something I'm proud of that I don't say out loud: [it].
Please remember [one small, specific detail from today].
prompts to start with
Tap one and it loads into the recorder above.
then let it go
A "dear future me" letter in a drawer gets read in a month. The gap is what makes it work, so the delivery has to be something you can't undo. When you hit send above, ttyl holds the recording until the date you chose and emails you a link that day. You can't peek. That's the feature.
FAQ
record your "dear future me"
One minute, your voice, delivered on the date you pick. Three recordings are free — no app required.
