My dear, darling Lena,

Let me start off by saying wow. After all, it's pretty amazing that you're here, right? There were a lot of times when you weren't sure you'd be able to get to even this point. Remember your first day of classes, when your maxi skirt got caught in your bike chain and you showed your butt to everyone going in and out of Nielson Library? Remember your first month, when you were completely snubbed by every single a cappella group and the improv troupe? Remember that horrible semester where you did a program at another college, and you had to go home for a while? This calendar year alone, you've gone through two big break-ups and gotten mono. It's sort of amazing that you're here, writing this to yourself, at all.

I'm not saying that because I want to make you feel bad for all the crap you've gone through over these past three school years. I'm saying it because, right as you're about to start your fourth, I know you're scared and I think you could use some reminding that you've been through a lot and come out okay.

You've never been great at feeling out of control, and it feels like a lot of unknowns are piling on top of you right now. I know it's so easy to feel smothered by questions: What will this year be like? Will I lose any friends? Will I be okay? Where am I going to be living a year from now? What will I be doing? What will my hair look like? Does "Crimson Peak" end up being a good movie? Will Kristen Stewart ever answer my calls?

I'm going to tell you a hard truth, Lena--the questions aren't going to go away for a while. In fact, they may even prove to be hydra-esque: As soon as you think you've answered one, another may take its place.

I'm writing to you today because I want you to know that it's going to be okay to feel adrift for a while. You can (and probably even should) feel that way before, during, and after your very last year of college--after all, that's the basis of many of our most beloved movies and TV shows. I know you put a lot of pressure on yourself to solve everything, to be perfect, and to be independent, because you think that's what adults are supposed to do. I'm writing to you today because I want you to see two facts in writing:

1. You are 20, and 20-year-olds are not adults.
2. You were never very good at being a grown-up, anyway, and that's okay.

You have the capacity to do whatever you want, but that doesn't mean you can do everything. And that's okay. Nobody can.

This summer, you've figured out a lot about yourself. You've done some incredible things and made some incredible discoveries about the world. You are smart, you are capable, and you are working that new hat you just bought and have doubts about. You can do this and more. See you at Commencement.

All my love,

Lena