Right now, I’m at a point in my life where if I can make this work, I’ll remember it as “the low point from which I rose like a triumphant phoenix through hard work and gumption!” …Or some other dishonest, self-aggrandizing garbage.
Straight up: I had to ask my mom for help with rent money this month. I have five-digit debt. My hours at work were cut down to a couple shifts per week, leaving me worried that I wouldn’t have enough money to my name to pay for the basic automatic withdrawals that come from my account each month.
But I’ve also begun to see a glimmer of hope.
I wrote my first paid, front page feature for a website. I have a meeting with business folk this week that could result in me being paid to run a D&D game live on-stage. I started recording and editing videos for YouTube again.
So with the possibility of success in mind, I wanted to write something of a letter to my future self.
Dear Future Vince,
Books are crammed with stories of successful folk who were once hard on their luck, and only too eager to tell you that your misfortune is only a result of your own shortcomings and flaws. That if you could JUST work that extra hour, JUST hustle a little more, then Ayn Rand herself would reach one of her gnarled harpy claws down from whatever plane of existence she currently resides in to bestow her bounty on you.
Right now, I know how bullshit that story is: I just want to make sure that you still do. If at this point, you are making money doing what you love, having endured the hardships I’m currently in the middle of, I want you to know that I’m proud of you. You DID work hard. You DID persevere.
So have I. But I’m still poor.
In enjoying your success, don’t forget to be compassionate to those who aren’t where you are. Who don’t have what you have. Because (and I know this is gonna be hard to swallow, because it’s hard to type even now) the fact you’re successful and they’re not does not mean that you worked harder than them. It doesn’t mean you earned your spot, and they didn’t.
Knowing pain made you kind. Knowing isolation made you want to make sure no one felt like they were alone. Desperately trying to breathe life into the embers of distant, impossible dreams taught you the immeasurable power of small kindnesses and gentle words. Don’t let success take those lessons from you. They are, indeed, some of the most valuable ones you’ll ever learn.
Listen. Teach. Encourage. Lift up. Give others what you didn’t have. The dark moments you brighten will be worth more in the end than any paycheque you’ll ever earn.
PS. Call your mom more. She misses you.