There comes a point in every life when the clamor of the world fades into the background, and a quieter, more persistent voice takes its place. Not the voice of critics, not the expectations of society, but the voice of two people who, in the end, are the only ones whose opinions truly count: the child you once were and the elder you will become.
The child, still untouched by cynicism, once dreamed in the purest sense—not of wealth, not of status, but of adventure, of wonder, of becoming someone brave enough to try. The elder, no longer impressed by the hollow markers of success, sees life for what it was—a series of moments, of choices, of risks taken or avoided.
The question that remains is this: If both stood before you today, would they be proud?
The Measure of Courage
It is easy to be cautious. It is comfortable. But comfort and caution rarely build the kind of life that the younger and older versions of yourself will respect. The world has always belonged to those willing to fail.
Abraham Lincoln understood this. He failed in business, lost elections, and suffered deep personal tragedies. Yet, he endured. He once said, “I am not concerned that you have fallen—I am concerned that you arise.” And so he did, again and again, until history had no choice but to remember him.
Most of us are not destined for history books, but we are destined for something more important—our own reflection at the end of the road. What matters is whether we had the courage to try, to fail, and to try again.
The Weight of Time
The trouble with youth is that it believes time is abundant. The trouble with age is that it knows better.
Sit with the elderly long enough, and you will notice what they talk about, and, more importantly, what they don’t. They do not speak of promotions, of paychecks, of trophies gathering dust. They speak of people—of love given and received, of the small joys that made the years worth living.
Mark Twain, a man who saw enough of life to comment on it with authority, put it plainly: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did.” Regret, it seems, is rarely about the risks we took. It is about the ones we didn’t.
A Life Examined
And so, if you are searching for a compass, you need not look far. Ask yourself:
Does the child within you recognize their hero?
Does the elder within you see a life well-lived?
If both can answer yes, then you have done well. You have not merely existed; you have lived.
It was never about being perfect. It was about being present. It was about honoring the dreams of youth and granting the peace of old age.
Perhaps Robert Louis Stevenson said it best: “That man is a success who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much.”
So live, while you can. Dream, while you dare. And when the time comes, may both the child and the elder look at you with pride.
