A Simple Question

Back in my 3rd year of Computer Engineering, final exams were always a chaotic but strangely memorable time. Like most last-minute readers, I preferred group study — it helped us share shortcuts, explain things faster, and increase our probability of passing (yes, that was the actual goal 😅).

My go-to study partner was Arpan. We’d usually cram the syllabus together just days before the exam, fueled by stress and cheap coffee. But it wasn’t easy — long study hours were mentally exhausting. So, in between, we’d try to recharge ourselves. One of our favorite ways? Daydreaming about life after the exams.

One evening, in the middle of such a break, Arpan suddenly suggested something random — “Let’s write a letter to our future selves, like 10 years older.” I’m not sure where he got the idea from — maybe a movie, maybe just exam delirium — but it instantly felt exciting. Something different. Something refreshing.

So, we grabbed some blank paper sheets and sat in opposite corners of the room. Occasionally glancing up and smiling, we began writing. What started as a lighthearted activity turned unexpectedly serious. We wrote… and wrote… and wrote. For over three hours.

That was in 2011. The plan was to read those letters in 2021. Arpan even took responsibility for keeping them safe and delivering them to us when the time came. I trusted him.

Now it’s 2025. And I still haven’t received that letter.

Arpan settled in the US soon after. He hasn’t been back to Nepal since 7-8 years — the last time was probably his wedding. Since 2021, I’ve been asking about the letter. He tells me it’s somewhere safe in his family home here. He’s asked his family to look for it, but no luck so far. He still believes he’ll find it when he visits next.

So, why am I sharing this now?

Because even though I don’t remember everything I wrote, I do remember how serious and personal it was. It felt like I was truly talking to my future self. Like real-time travel. Maybe it was the pressure of the exam, or maybe it was something deeper. But I meant every word in that letter.

That’s why it still means a lot to me.

I genuinely hope to read it someday — and when I do, I might write a follow-up to this post. A real conversation between me and the version of me from 14+ years ago.

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I’m 35 now. And when I look back — say like at life 10 years ago — it feels like a completely different world. I had more freedom, fewer responsibilities, and almost no blockers. And like many people, one thought often crosses my mind:

I didn’t fully live or enjoy that phase of life.

Don’t get me wrong — I did have fun, I did explore things, and I did live my youth in many ways. But if I were to rate it, I’d give it maybe a 5 or 6 out of 10. Looking back, I could’ve easily made it a solid 8 or 9 if I had just been a bit more bold.

Here’s one example:
Just a couple of weeks ago, I proposed an idea to my friend, Rabin — a month long road trip across Nepal. We’d drive through all the major cities and scenic places, work a few hours from our hotel rooms, and continue the journey. Every time I bring it up these days, we have more blockers than before — family, work, responsibilities, energy.

But from 2013 to 2019, we lived together as flatmates for 6–7 years. Back then, we had none of these blockers — no money issues, no time constraints. We could have easily planned that trip for months if we wanted to. But we didn’t.

And now? I wish we had.

That’s the point I’m trying to make.

Looking back, everything seems so clear. I should have said yes to that trip. I shouldn’t have held back. It’s painfully obvious in hindsight how doable — and memorable — it could’ve been.

These days, whenever life starts to feel monotonous, I use a simple mental trick:
I ask myself, “When I’m 45, will I be proud of how 35-year-old Sanjip lived?”
Would I rate this version of me an 8 or 9 out of 10?

This perspective pushes me to say yes more often. To try new things. To take chances.
Because I know — 10 years from now, I want fewer regrets and more stories to tell.

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If you’ve made it this far, maybe it’s time you ask yourself this simple question too:

“Will my future self be proud of how I’m living today?”

It’s not meant to create pressure — just perspective.

Sometimes, all it takes is a small shift in how we think to break out of routine, take that trip, have that conversation, start that project, or simply enjoy the present a bit more. You might not regret not doing it today, but your future self might.

Your future self is waiting.
Make sure you give them a story worth remembering.