We meet our future selves before we become them.
When I was freshly 21, I was having lunch at one of those mediocre corporate-coded eateries (the kind of place analysts visit on their lunch break when they want an overpriced salad). I was sitting by the window and had a clear view of everyone walking through the financial district below me.
I noticed a tall, modelesque woman gliding through the streets in stilettos. She had these incredible bouncy red Julia Roberts-esque curls. There was a middle-aged, bald, heavyset man in a suit trailing behind her like a sad lost puppy. He had an armful of designer shopping bags and you could tell he'd just spent the afternoon dutifully shopping for her. He was stumbling over his own legs trying to catch up to her, while she went on ahead without a single glance back.
The entire interaction captivated my little starry-eyed self. Her presence, the way she commanded attention from everyone around, how this important man seemed so attentive to her, and how indifferent she was towards him.
I used to think of her as a stranger I happened to witness on a random Tuesday afternoon. But the universe is funny sometimes. She feels less like a stranger now and more like a version of me I accidentally encountered years ahead of time.
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