A Letter To My Younger Self

Dear Fellow Traveler,

I hope this letter finds you somewhere between reflection and hope — that gentle middle ground where we start asking the right questions about life, meaning, and contribution.

Somewhere along our journey — maybe in the thick of professional ambition, or in the hum of predictable routines — we start to feel it: the ache. It’s not loud. It doesn’t scream for attention like failure or heartbreak. It whispers. It’s the subtle void that lingers even when we’re “doing well.” It sits quietly beside our achievements and applause, asking, “Is this all there is?”

I remember encountering that question early in my own career — young, capable, and fortunate to be working with one of the world’s major telecom companies. By all appearances, I was “on track.” But something inside me was restless. I wasn’t broken, but I also wasn’t full. The soul knows when it’s hungry, even when the body is fed.

And then, without fanfare, came an invitation. A colleague introduced me to 40 Days Over 40 Smiles (4040), a grassroots volunteer initiative working in underserved schools and communities. I said yes without overthinking it. That small yes became a turning point in my story.

The truth is: service changes us.

What began as a weekend engagement soon became a lifeline. I didn’t just facilitate sessions with children; I found myself reconnecting with purpose, simplicity, and the sheer joy of giving. A year later, I left my corporate job and took a role with 4040. It was one of the boldest, most fulfilling decisions I’ve ever made.

But let me be clear — this isn’t a call to quit your job or romanticize sacrifice. This is an invitation to rediscover what makes your soul come alive. It’s about asking not just what am I doing, but who am I becoming as I do it? And perhaps most importantly: Who benefits when I show up fully?

Through service — whether at 4040, or later at my local church — I’ve learned that impact isn’t about grandeur. It’s about presence. It’s about consistently choosing others over comfort, choosing growth over ease, choosing purpose over applause.

In the trenches of volunteering, I learned how to listen. How to lead without a title. How to celebrate small wins. I learned that resilience isn’t built in boardrooms — it’s built in classrooms without whiteboards, in communities without resources, in conversations that start with “How can I help?”

But the beauty of service is that its rewards are strangely asymmetric: you show up to help others, and in doing so, you are the one most transformed.

Serving reminds us that we’re not the center of the universe — and that’s a relief. It shifts our posture from scarcity to generosity. From entitlement to gratitude. From self-preservation to self-giving.

It’s tempting in today’s culture to measure our lives by likes, promotions, or net worth. But none of these metrics account for what we’re depositing into the lives of others. None of them capture the invisible ripple effects of a kind word, a shared skill, a quiet act of love.

Serving gives us that perspective.

It teaches us that value is not in what we have, but in how we offer it. That influence is not always loud, but it is always intentional. And that fulfillment doesn’t come from chasing success, but from contributing to something greater than ourselves.

And let’s talk about greatness for a moment — because the world has redefined it in strange ways. Greatness is not about going viral. It’s not about building empires. It’s about being faithful with what you’ve been given, and choosing to serve even when it’s inconvenient. It's about carrying your cross daily, and realizing that the greatest among us are often those serving in silence.

One of my favorite scriptures says, “Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant” (Mark 10:43). Jesus didn’t just teach that — He embodied it. The King of kings knelt to wash feet. That alone reframes everything we know about leadership, legacy, and love.

So, where does that leave you and me?

It leaves us with a challenge. Not to abandon our careers or dreams, but to reimagine them as platforms for impact. To ask: How can I turn my work into worship? My skills into service? My success into seed for others?

Perhaps your gift isn’t in classrooms or on mission fields. That’s okay. Maybe it’s in your art, your spreadsheets, your ability to mentor, or your listening ear. Wherever it is — use it. Give it. Sow it. Because this world is aching for people who will trade comfort for contribution.

And don’t wait for the “perfect” time. The most meaningful service often begins with a simple yes. A willingness to show up, even when you don’t feel qualified. Trust me — the world doesn’t need more experts; it needs more servants with open hearts.

Today, as I write this letter, I’m filled with gratitude for the quiet, sacred moments I’ve spent in service. They’ve stretched me. They’ve softened me. They’ve shaped me. And most importantly, they’ve reminded me that a life of meaning isn’t built in grand gestures, but in small acts done consistently, with love.

So wherever you are — in a season of clarity or confusion, plenty or pruning — I urge you to ask:

Where can I serve? Who needs what I have? How can I show up today with open hands and an open heart?

My prayer and hope is that you will commit to doing the best you can, with what you have, to leave a space better than you found it. Because in the end, the measure of our lives won’t be in titles held, but in lives touched. Not in how high we climbed, but in how many we lifted along the way.

With purpose and peace,

Your Older Self

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