This fall, my husband and I decided to make good on a long-deferred Some Day.
Some Day, we will take our son to UCLA for a fall football weekend.
My alma mater. Games were an activity I admittedly did not partake in as much as I could have while I was there. However, to me, they are one of those quintessential iconic college experiences I’ve wanted to introduce him to.
We’d walked the campus and visited for events over the course of his life, trying to share that feeling I get walking between the library I rarely went inside but loved to look at and Royce Hall where I took some of my favorite literature classes. Yet, it had been many years and we were realizing that, while it felt like a blink for us, it was getting to be lifetimes over for him.
So, this became the year for that Some Day.
What I realized as we walked through the student union (where I remember going for dinner on orientation weekend and so many times since), and then up Bruin Walk (a path worn with my footsteps, as well as so many others’), is that it’s been several lifetimes over for me too.
My last visit was without my son. Just my husband and I, walking the campus after I got my surgery results. Everything felt different then. And everything feels different now.
Each pivotal moment. Each wake-up call. Moving me towards a braver, bolder, more expressed version of that girl who first walked these grounds. Healing and clearing the path. Shedding all the things that no longer serve us. And, really, never did. But, perhaps, were all we knew. Or the best we could do with what we had or understood or believed at the time.
I think a lot about this girl I am now helping that girl I was then. I think a lot about going back and picking up the dreams she put down. Because she had to. Or because she didn’t know how to carry them. Or carry herself. Empower herself. Believe in herself.
I’ve walked through the fire so I can show her how. Her, and others. My son. My clients. Anyone who wants to engage in this dialogue with life and possibility.
As we walked, and I looked at my child, walking towards his future in so many ways, blooming and surprising me every day, I reflected: What would I say to that younger me who walked these steps first?
Imperfectionism will free you.
Don’t quit your daydream.
Find your people.
Worry less about the people who are not your people. (And, while we’re at it, worry less about what other people think full-stop.)
You can do anything.
You don’t have to do everything.
Don’t be afraid to use your voice, follow your dreams or be seen.
You will be afraid but do it anyway.
When you try to make change, you will meet with resistance. Keep going.
Don’t give away your power.
And, think about whose power you contribute to.
Never lose sight of your why.
You are here for a reason. Shine your unique light.
It’s awkward and hard for everyone. It isn’t just you. Keep going.
Everything is possible. Dream big.
Your greatest love story will be with yourself.
I sit here as the year sunsets with so much gratitude. For the climb. And for all the people and places who have been a part of my journey. The music in my head. The magic in the moment. The wind in my sails.
Everyone who encouraged me. Believed in me. Everyone who showed interest. Showed up. Took a chance on something a little different. Someone a little different. Every kind note. Loving curiosity. Every testimonial. Every referral. Every like. Every share. Every smile. Every hug. Your support means the world to me. Thank you.
And I can’t wait to keep paying it forward in the new year.
Until then, honoring your mountain, your climb, as well as the rest and reflection that fuels it all.
To that end, sharing some reflection inspiration for the slow, quiet moments I hope await you in the twilight of the year – What has been most important in your climb? What would you tell your younger self preparing for the journey? And what do you want your future self to reflect back on?