I Knew It Before. Now I Know It.

A good friend and coaching colleague of mine, Brett Caldwell, sent me a text last week after I filled him in on how I was doing and where I was in my recovery. He reminded me that for years I’ve intentionally walked and run miles without technology so I could spend that time in my own thoughts. Then he asked me this: “If you have 6 more weeks, what thinking can you do that will create something absolutely fucking amazing?!?!”

That question stayed with me.

I decided that for the next six weeks, I’m going to give myself one question each week to think about on my walks and throughout the day. No technology. No trying to force an answer. Just a question, miles of thinking, and whatever comes up. I’ll journal along the way and see where it takes me.

This was my first question:

What do I know now that I could not have known before all of this happened?

I knew life was short, time mattered, my health mattered. I knew the people I love mattered more than almost anything else, and I knew I was going to die someday. But knowing something and living it are two completely different things!

Cancer, radiation, chemo, and losing my natural voice changed what all of that means to me.

I know now how extraordinary the ordinary really is. Talking, breathing, eating, walking, sleeping, laughing. Saying … I love you. Waking up and getting another day. These are things I spent most of my life barely thinking about, and now I understand how freaking incredible they are.

I know now that being alive and really living are two different things! I couldn’t control what cancer did to my body, but I can still choose how I meet each day. I’m learning that strength doesn’t always look like fighting harder. Sometimes it looks like being scared, crying, accepting help, resting, letting people love you, and getting up again tomorrow.

And I know now that the people in my life matter more than almost everything we spend our lives measuring. Titles, money, accomplishments, production, recognition, all of it looks different when you’re fighting for the opportunity to simply be here.

Maybe the biggest thing I know now is something I thought I already knew … someday isn’t promised.

I’ve spent years asking people to write a future they’re excited to live. Now I know what it feels like to fight for the opportunity to live one.

I lost my natural voice through all of this, but somehow I’m learning to understand my voice better than I ever have. When I get it back, I want to use it for the things that actually matter. I want to love harder, live bigger, appreciate the ordinary, and make whatever time I have count.

Maybe that’s what I understand differently about The 10-Year Letter now too. We write ten years into the future to get clear about the life we want to live, but the real opportunity is what that clarity changes today. How we live. Who we love. What we appreciate. What we stop putting off. What we decide deserves our time.

I’ve asked thousands of people to think about where they’ll be ten years from now. Maybe there’s another question worth asking along the way.

What do you know today that you once only thought you knew?

I knew all of this before. Now I know it!

Write a future you’re excited to live.

Cheers!