Dear 2011 Jonno,
I’m writing to you from 2026. Right now, you have the whole world at your feet. You have landed your dream job, and your third child, Rachel, has just been born.
You’re fit and healthy – probably in the best shape of your life. You have a nice mop of hair. I want to tell you as gently as possible — everything you thought you knew is about to change. Not just change, it will explode.
A phone call is going to turn your life upside down and inside out. It’s one of two calls in the next 15 years that will shake your world.
But hold on, just a moment. Before we get to that first phone call. You’re probably cringing that your future self is calling you “Jonno” – that cycling group’s “ironic” nickname you’re about to reluctantly adopt, but you will eventually embrace it.
Even before that earth-shattering phone call, though, your dream job becomes a nightmare, and you will leave it to enter the insecure world of freelancing.
It’s during this financial uncertainty that you get that phone call. It’s from Rachel’s paediatrician, informing you that you need to bring her in for a blood transfusion urgently.
After months of tests, Rachel will be diagnosed with a rare, life-threatening bone marrow failure condition. You will spend five years in hell as you find yourselves on a very difficult journey.
You won’t be alone: family, friends, people you have never met and one “perfect stranger” will walk with you and, at times, even carry you.
The experience will teach you the importance of community and help you reassess your priorities. You will come out of this ordeal a different person, a better one.
Eventually, you will watch Rachel ring the bell in her doctor’s rooms — the chime signals she has been cured.
Watching her ring that bell will give you a giant-sized lump in your throat. She defied all the terrible things Google predicted and has become a healthy, fun-loving 17-year-old.
PS: trust her doctor (you are in excellent medical hands) and avoid tumbling down those dark and twisty Google rabbit holes.
Your financial position will stabilise, and your career will once again get back on track.
Ten years later, though, you will receive a second life-altering call. It will not be about your daughter but about your mum. The grief will be overwhelming, and some mornings you will wake up and not know how you are going to make it through the day, but you will.
Make a point of calling your mum more often.
I don’t want to give any surprises away (I know how much you hate spoilers), but I will tell you this: during the next 15 years you will experience so many moments of joy, connection and growth.
There will be setbacks, too, of course, but you will overcome them and learn from them.
If I can offer you some advice, don’t sweat the small stuff. Come to think of it, don’t sweat the big stuff either. In fact, don’t sweat at all. Also, don’t take your hair for granted. By 2026, it will have receded into a distant memory — and Maya, your youngest daughter who joins your family in 2014, will come up with a new nickname for you: Baldermort.
You won’t love it, but perhaps by 2041, when you write a letter to your 2026 self, you will embrace it.
Also, your joints will give you trouble. Your back will creak, your knees will buckle, and you will need ankle reconstruction surgery – but throughout all of this, you will continue riding your bike. Cherish getting older, after all, this is something not everyone is fortunate enough to experience.
And, while you are doing okay financially, it wouldn’t hurt to buy a couple of these things called Bitcoins. If you do, 2026 Jonno may be able to get the new bike he’s been drooling over.
These last 15 years have marked your transition from midlife to the beginning of the next phase of your life. As the younger generation says, it’s been a lot — but you are wiser, balder, and in a good place.