Dear Younger Me, You spent so many years running, didn’t you? Not on the track, where you proved your grit by outworking expectations, but in a different race—one you didn’t even sign up for. You were chasing girls, chasing love, chasing a milestone you thought would define you. All because of names used like weapons, words that cut deeper than you realized at the time. My sisters Vian Ligas Normandeau and Frances Ligas Tobia would say your just like Larry, You are just like Dad in an exasperated tone. Showing disdain for their mannerisms and action.
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But those comparisons stung, didn’t they? They made you feel like you were never enough, always measured against someone else’s story. The sharpest jab was about Dad. “He got married at 35,” they’d say, their words landing heavy on your socially awkward heart. As a kid, you didn’t know how to shrug it off. As an adult, it became a deadline that loomed over you: marry by 35, or you’ve failed. So, you chased. You chased women, relationships, the idea of being someone’s husband, all to prove you weren’t “just like” the names they threw at you. The more they compared, the harder you tried to rewrite the narrative, to show them you were different. But in that chase, you lost something far more important: yourself. I see it now, looking back. Every date, every awkward conversation, every attempt to fit into a mold that wasn’t yours—it was all about proving them wrong. You weren’t focused on your grind, your passions, the things that made you, you. You were too busy dodging labels, running from “so-and-so,” and racing toward a finish line that yoru sisters, not you, had drawn. Marriage by 35 became your obsession, not because it was your dream, but because it was their yardstick. And let’s be honest: you failed miserably at that game. You didn’t cross that arbitrary line by 35, and for a while, it felt like the world was right—you weren’t enough.
But here’s the truth, Younger Me: that failure was your salvation. When you stopped chasing women to prove a point, when you let go of the need to defy their comparisons, something incredible happened. You started succeeding. Not at love, not at first, but at life. At being yourself. The moment you shifted your focus to your grind—your goals, your growth, your story—everything changed. You weren’t running to escape anymore. You were building, creating, becoming the man you were meant to be. The socially awkward kid who felt out of place? He’s still in there, but now he’s your strength, not your shame. You learned to laugh at the awkward moments, to embrace your quirks, to own your path. And when you did that, the pressure to marry, to be “like Dad,” or to avoid being “so-and-so” faded away.
If I could give you one piece of advice, it’d be this: ignore the noise. Ignore the comparisons, the deadlines, the voices telling you who you should be. Be yourself—unapologetically, fiercely, fully. Focus on your grind, not on chasing women or anyone’s approval. Love will come when it’s right, not when it’s forced to fit someone else’s timeline. You don’t need to prove them wrong to prove you’re enough. You already are. So, Younger Me, keep running—but not away from labels or toward someone else’s expectations. Run toward your own dreams. That’s where you’ll find your victory. With love and hindsight.
Your Older, Wiser Self
Open Letters 
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