More Things I’d Tell My Younger Self

Birthday notes on love, loss, and learning to lighten up

Today is my birthday. It was also my dad’s birthday—the day I was born on his. I always hoped of keeping that sweet tradition alive: a chain of shared birthdays stretching down the generations. Life had other plans.

My daughters both arrived in September. No overlap. My nephew was due right around our day but came a week and change late. Close, but no. Then, years later, my grandson Forrest was born the day after my birthday. One day off. I’ll take it. It feels like the universe gave me a gentle nod.

I still smile remembering those shared birthday parties. They began with balloons, piñatas, and sugar-high kids running wild. By evening the children were sprawled out, exhausted, while the adults kept going—music, stories, laughter—long into the night. Those nights hold some of my happiest memories.

Twelve years ago I wrote a piece called “Things I Would Tell My Younger Self” and promised an update in ten. I’m two years late. A lot of life happened in those twelve years.

So here, on my birthday, this older version of me has a few quieter, more hard-won words for the younger one:

Cherish every single moment with friends and family. Some of the people you love most deeply will leave sooner than you expect. Don’t let a single day slip by without holding them close.

Set boundaries. They might save you from heartbreak; they might not. But staying too involved can turn a difficult situation into something unbearable.

You’ve already come so far. Please, please stop caring so much what other people think. The things that mortify you today will make you laugh out loud in ten years.

You built high walls around who you let in. Boundaries are healthy, but you stacked so many conditions that almost no one could get through. Ease up a little.

Trust your gut even more fiercely. One day you’ll look back and realize how often it was right—and maybe you’ll even start calling yourself “intuitive” without blushing.

I know you almost gave up on finding the “right person.” Chin up. She’s coming. Someone who will love you completely, exactly as you are—no edits, no pretense.

And one last thing: you used to imagine you’d one day become a wise old man, all gravitas and solemnity. Spoiler—you won’t. You still crack up like a twelve-year-old at fart jokes and TikToks of people wiping out. That part of you isn’t going anywhere. And honestly? I’m okay with that. Maybe more than okay. It keeps the heart young.

Happy birthday, kid. We made it this far together. Here’s to more years, more laughter, and maybe—just maybe—a little more grace.

Live Long and Prosper,

— Danny