When I look back on my life,
it will not be with regret.
Not because every choice was right,
or every path led where I hoped.
But because, at every crossing,
I made the best decision
I had the strength to make
with the light I had to see by.
That distinction matters more than we admit.
We judge our past selves with knowledge they didn’t yet own,
with courage, they were still forging,
with clarity purchased at a price they had not yet paid.
But life is not lived in hindsight.
It is lived in the fog of partial information,
on ground that feels unsteady,
with a heart sometimes full of quiet fear.
Understand this: strength is not a fixed currency.
It’s a muscle. It grows by bearing weight.
What looks now like hesitation
may have been the gathering of a breath.
What looks like compromise
may have been wisdom—
choosing the living root over the perfect branch.
There are seasons where bravery is the wild leap.
And seasons where bravery is the deep, stubborn root.
There are times when the most powerful move is not to escape the storm,
but to learn its rhythm.
Growth isn’t about rewriting your history.
It’s about bowing to the person you were—
the one who did the best they could
with the tools they held,
and still, somehow, kept the flame alive.
So when I look back,
I will not ask, “Why didn’t you do more?”
I will ask, “Did you act, honestly, with the strength you had?”
And if the answer is yes—and it will be— then nothing was wasted.
It was a life lived.
Not perfectly.
But truthfully.
And from that truth,
every new step finds solid ground.
