Tag: reflection

If You Could See Me Now

The assignment was simple. Write a letter to your future self.

I took the instructions seriously. For I received them during a summer internship in college — when I was inclined to do anything and everything asked of me.

So, I put pen to paper. I turned that piece of paper in. And some years later, I received it back in the mail.

But instead of opening the letter and regaling in my advice from the past, I filed that envelope away.

My words of that bygone summer couldn’t possibly meet the moment of where I was now.

Through lines.

They’re a critical element in almost any plot. For they serve as the connective tissue for the story arc.

When we look at our own narrative, it’s tempting to search for these through lines. It’s commonplace to expect our past to serve as prologue. It’s tantalizing to imagine connecting the dots with Hollywood flair.

Such scenarios might seem aesthetically pleasing. But they’re out of touch with reality.

The cold, hard truth about our narrative is best summed up by a scene in The Shawshank Redemption.

In this scene, longtime prisoner Red Redding is being interviewed by a parole board. When the interviewer asks Redding if he’s sorry for the crime that landed him behind bars, he offers up the following response.

There’s not a day goes by I don’t feel regret. Not because I’m in here, or because you think I should. I look back on the way I was then, a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime.

I wanna talk to him. I wanna try to talk some sense to him — tell him the way things are. But I can’t. That kid’s long gone and this old man is all that’s left. I gotta live with that.

Even while locked away from the world for decades, Redding has grown. And he’s gained enough perspective to realize that this growth happened while behind bars, not before it. As much as he might want to draw a through-line, he simply cannot.

I’m not a hardened criminal who’s spent decades behind foreboding prison walls. But I understand where Redding is coming from. And as such, I’ve stopped trying to connect the dots.

The person I was when I wrote that letter to myself, that was a different person than the one I am now. Yes, my body and mind have remained intact throughout that time, but both have transformed. Any quest for through lines is an exercise in futility.

Still, it’s fun to imagine. So, I’m allowing myself that liberty here — and inviting you along for the ride.

If you could see me now.

That’s how I’d start an address to my former self. The self-assured young adult, freshly immersed into the real world. Or the bratty teenager that preceded him.

The address would read like this:

If you could see me now, you wouldn’t believe your eyes.

I’ve reached the upper limits of what you think is possible, and then ascended even higher. It might not be the way you drew it up, but the result still tastes oh so sweet.

I’ve faced the struggles you might have assumed I’d confront, as well as some challenges that no one would ever see coming. The process has been painful at times, leading me to wonder if hope was beyond reach. And even now, the scars from those experiences fester. But I’ve made it to the other side.

I’ve tried new things at every turn. Novelties you might scoff at or write off, they’ve become the fabric of my life. The change I’ve encountered hasn’t always been comfortable, and it hasn’t always worked out. But branching out beyond the familiar has opened doors and unlocked so many opportunities I would have once considered unattainable.

I’ve become a TV news producer, then a marketer. I’ve gone back to school, while working full-time, to get a business degree. I’ve parlayed that into a job that I love at a company where I’m valued.

I’ve moved cities twice and forged lifelong connections along the way. I’ve launched a weekly publication, headed up an alumni association chapter, and built myself into a competitive distance runner.

Through all these experiences, I’ve grown into the man I am today. I still have that chip on my shoulder, that drive for continued excellence. But I also have a sense of balance and fulfillment in my life, along with a quiet confidence. I’m grateful for all of it.

If you could see me now, you wouldn’t believe your eyes. But in time, you’ll find out firsthand what you are truly capable of. Think bigger.

I know every inch of these words. I wrote them, and I lived them. And yet, they still give me chills.

For the younger version of me would not have been ready for any of this.

The younger me had a fixed mindset. The younger me believed in stability. The younger me took the world at face value, rather than challenging assumptions.

I’ve proven the younger me wrong at every turn. And for many years, I’ve done this without even noticing. It’s only recently that things have changed in that regard.

Perhaps this is the hallmark of growth. A steady transformation in the shadows that unlocks our potential and expands our horizons.

I don’t know for sure. But I do know that I’m in a far different place today than I was back then.

Where will I be a decade from now?

This question is a trap door. And I refuse to fall through the bottom.

You see, I might be more self-assured these days than ever before. I may have a better sense of what I’m capable of.

But the whole picture hasn’t come into focus yet. There’s still plenty of room to grow, to evolve, and to unlock even more of my potential.

Make no mistake, I’m proud of what I’ve achieved so far. But I still believe that the best is yet to come. And that a familiar refrain will still ring true.

If you could see me now, you wouldn’t believe your eyes.

Reference Points

Shake it. Shake it. Shake it. Shake it like a Polaroid picture.

These are lyrics from an up-tempo hit song called Hey Ya — which was released by the Hip-Hop duo Outkast. If you’ve been to a party in recent years, this song was likely on the playlist.

The song was recorded in 2002. Which means it’s not all that old, but it’s not exactly hot off the presses either.

And while the tune remains distinctive, signs of its age are evident.

There are some lines that name-drop figures that remain relevant today (Beyonce), and others that don’t (Lucy Liu).

And then there’s that reference to Polaroid pictures. A reference that’s starting to wilt against the weight of time.

Why? Consider this.

There are many several high school students across America who weren’t even born when Hey Ya first hit the airwaves. Teenagers who don’t even know what a Polaroid picture is.

In a few short years, these high schoolers will be the young adults at the parties where Hey Ya is played. And they won’t understand what Outkast is talking about.

A musical masterpiece will fade into mediocrity. All because the perspective will have shifted.

And that, in no small way, is tragic.

 

Hey Ya is not the only entertainment staple to age poorly. Far from it.

Many songs feature over-the-hill cultural references. Many TV shows have dated set decorations and graphics. And many movies feature “cutting-edge” features that have become a punch line in the years after their cinematic releases.

When we encounter these works of art today, we’re ensconced by nostalgia. The memories come flooding back, and our hearts gush as we reminisce.

Yet, there’s a bittersweet side to all the warm fuzzies.

For we know that there are others who won’t ever have a chance to see the world as we once did. To truly participate in the trips down memory lane these pieces of entertainment provide us.

There’s a connection that’s missing — one that has drifted out of sight behind us. These entertainment relics and our own memories are the only bridges connecting us to them.

Sometimes that connection is more style than substance. Polaroid pictures were one a nice gimmick — glossy photos that developed in real-time — but digital photography quickly proved them obsolete.

Other times, the connection is more substantial. Payphones might seem ludicrous to anyone under the age of 25 these days, but they were once an important part of life to everyone else. In an era before everyone had a supercomputer in their pocket, payphones were critical for making plans on the go.

As time moves on and new tools emerge, these erstwhile staples of life get lost. And the cultural remnants capsize with them.

For the perspective has shifted. The new reality is all that’s relevant now.

Reference points mean everything.

Four years ago this week, I launched Words of the West with a confession. One that read I am not perfect.

That statement is as true today as it was then. But I wonder how much else from those early days is still valid.

The world has changed a lot in four years — becoming ever more complicated, divisive and cynical.

And I have grown a lot in four years — pushing my own boundaries and using my voice ever more boldly.

With all this growth and change, today’s reference points are a far cry from those of four years ago.

And while I’ve tried to make each and every one of these articles stand up to the test of time, I know that some simply cannot.

For what they refer to is dated. And their relevance has faded.

This bothers me.

I don’t want to my words to become mothballed relics. To be as irrelevant as Rand McNally atlases in the age of connected cars.

No, I want my words to remain resonant. I want my messages to help and inspire others.

That is why I’ve committed to sharing a fresh article each and every week for four straight years. And that why I plan on sharing articles for years to come.

Misplaced references represent missed opportunities for me to achieve these objectives. And while missed opportunities are inevitable in life, it doesn’t make them any more welcome.

And so, against my better judgment, I rue lost opportunities.

But should I?

There’s not a day goes by I don’t feel regret. Not because I’m in here, because you think I should. I look back on the way I was then: a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I want to talk to him. I want to try to talk some sense to him, tell him the way things are. But I can’t. That kid’s long gone, and this old man is all that’s left.

This soliloquy comes from the 1994 movie The Shawshank Redemption. And even though that movie is eight years older than the song Hey Ya, this passage stands a better chance of passing the test of time.

Why is that?

It’s not because we inherently relate to the character who uttered it — Red Redding. After all, it’s unlikely that any of us have found ourselves in a parole hearing after spending 40 years in prison for murder.

No, we relate to this passage because of its mention of shifting reference points.

Red is candid about how time alone has changed him. He steadfastly admits that the man he is after four decades behind bars is not the one he was when he committed a heinous crime. But he also acknowledges there is no real link between those two moments he can traverse.

There is no silver lining. Just the cold, hard truth.

This moment resonates with me. For I see my own plight just as clearly as Red saw his.

With each day, new opportunity dawns. But old references fade further into irrelevance.

Past words lack meaning. Faded memories lack context. And old messages become as obsolete as the payphone or the Polaroid.

There is nothing I can do to stem the tide of change. I can only keep charging ahead, knowing that tomorrow will bring the promise of a bright, new reality.

Reference points are merely guideposts reminding me of where I’ve been. Reminding me of how far I’ve come.

Perhaps, in this light, the faded references from Hey Ya won’t seem so sinister. And the obsolescence of yesterday’s lessons won’t seem so stark.

Our future is bright. But our past doesn’t need to be forgotten.

So, let us not lose our reference points. They’re more useful than we might think.

Daily Gratitudes

Each day, before I take my first bite of a meal, I do something peculiar.

I bow my head, close my eyes, and sit silently for a moment.

It’s similar to saying grace. But without the interlocking hands. Without the well-worn lines of thankfulness. Without any audible words whatsoever.

You see, I am not a religious man. But I am a man of faith.

Faith in humanity. Faith in the goodness of the world. And faith in the Lord above who provides us the chance to learn and grow, overcome and prosper.

This opportunity is in itself a blessing. For it provides hope eternal.

Through the good times and the bad, joy and strife, we have the opportunity to make our next move brighter than our last one. We have the chance to experience a brighter tomorrow.

This is all too often forgotten in the bustle of life. The speed of our day to day can make these overarching rays of light seem ordinary and obscure.

We hardly take the time to pause, except when we nourish ourselves.

That opportunity is, in itself, a blessing. Something so critical, yet so simple that it becomes automatic.

Not to me.

I believe that meal time is a perfect time to reflect. To bow my head and show my most sincere appreciation.

So, I do so. But quietly and personally.

What do I silently reflect on?

It depends.

I don’t believe in following a time-honored script. I recognize the power of ancient blessings for various food items, passed down through scripture over millennia. I understand the emotional connection forged by saying grace the way a beloved family member once did.

But, in my case, going over the same lines over and over rings hollow. It’s not specific enough.

So, I do something completely different. I think of a new concept to be thankful for each time I sit down for a meal. It could be an opportunity that lies ahead, a fresh experience in my memory or a lesson I learned in the prior few hours.

I reflect on what these opportunities, experiences and lessons bring me. I consider how they will make me stronger, wiser and better.

Then, I express complete humility and gratitude for them.

I mention this not to evangelize these practices. But instead to promote the overarching idea behind them.

On the day this article is posted, I will become a year older. Traditionally, such an occasion is filed with parties, gifts and wishes.

We take these occasions to recognize how much we matter to others. And to let our hopes and dreams fly free.

These are worthy things to celebrate, and worthy aspirations to hold dear.

But why limit them to just one day?

Every day is a gift. A blessing filled with experiences, opportunities and lessons to help us grow.

When we open our mind and open our heart, we can take something valuable out of each and every day. Not just the days when we’re showered with love and attention. Not just the days where we feel on top of the world.

Every day.

Through the tough times and the good ones, we have the ability to see the silver lining. We can  gain valuable perspective each day we’re above ground.

But without reflection, this intuition is lost. And without humility, we are blind to it altogether.

It’s our responsibility to take internalize life’s abundance. To transform our experiences into a brighter next chapter. To seize the opportunities placed in front of us.  To turn lessons to enlightened actions.

How we go about doing this can vary. But whether we’re silently saying grace at the dinner table or taking a walk around the block to breathe in the fresh air, our daily gratitudes mean everything.

Life is a blessing. Don’t take it for granted.

Honor In Humility

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. And as longtime Words of the West readers know, I’m not one to gloss over that fact.

No, while many are excited to get a jump on their holiday shopping or decorate their homes in lights, I’m very much in the moment.

Thanksgiving means more than Family, Food and Football. It means reflecting on all we have to be thankful for.

It’s about gratitude. It’s about appreciation. It’s about humility.

These aren’t emotions we naturally wear on our chest. Mac Davis once sang “Lord, it’s hard to be humble,” and we’ve done little to dispute that claim since then. The rapid rise of tech entrepreneurs and the myth of the self-made man have fooled us into believing that success is solely in our hands.

It’s not.

Truth be told, many people play a supporting role in our life’s work. It starts with our parents, who take care of us when we’re too young to do so ourselves. It continues with our teachers, who help us expand our mind. Then come friends and significant others, who lift us up on an emotional level. And finally, there are all those who provide us opportunities, and allow us to build the life we want.

Think we’d be where we are without any of this? No chance.

Yet, we find it difficult to admit this. At least publicly.

I’m not sure why that is. Is it ego? Pride?

Regardless of the answer, Thanksgiving gets us back to our senses.

It reminds us that there’s actually great honor in humility. In being introspective on our own vulnerability and appreciative of all those who led us through the fire.

It demonstrates that we’re all part of something bigger. That our stories are intertwined and those connections are what truly matter.

I wish we took the time to recognize these principles more than once a year. That allowed ourselves to be vulnerable. To be grateful. To put others first.

But as it is, I’m glad there’s a moment between Halloween Candy and Christmas Trees when we can do all this. When we can rediscover the honor in humility and share it with the ones who matter to us most.

This year, let’s make sure that moment doesn’t pass us by.

Happy Thanksgiving.