Reading this quote moved me to imagine a long hallway with a quiet light and a blank wall stretching from one end to the other. And along that wall, every version of me stands there. Not just the polished ones. Not just the ones who figured it out. All of them.
The insecure one who second-guessed every decision.
The exhausted one who smiled in public and unraveled in private.
The overly ambitious one who thought success would fix everything.
The heartbroken one who didn’t know how to start over.
The one who almost quit.
Especially the one who almost quit.
I think about walking slowly past each of them. Not judging. Not cringing. Just seeing them clearly. The way you look at old photographs and suddenly remember what that season felt like in your chest.
There were days when I didn’t know what I was doing. When the pressure felt heavier than the faith. When comparison stole joy. When rejection felt personal. When growth felt painfully slow.
And yet… none of them gave up.
Not the version that felt behind.
Not the version that felt alone.
Not the version that failed publicly.
Not the version that questioned their worth.
They stayed.
That’s the part we rarely celebrate. We celebrate the breakthrough. The promotion. The healed relationship. The confident version standing tall today. But we don’t always honor the fragile, uncertain, barely-holding-it-together version that carried us here.
The version who kept showing up even when showing up felt humiliating.
If I could stand in that hallway, I wouldn’t give advice. I wouldn’t try to fix them. I wouldn’t warn them about what’s coming. I’d just say thank you.
Thank you for sending that email even though your hands were shaking.
Thank you for trying again after the door closed.
Thank you for staying in the room when you felt small.
Thank you for apologizing when your pride said don’t.
Thank you for choosing integrity when shortcuts were easier.
Thank you for praying when nothing seemed to move.
Thank you for getting up one more time.
There were moments when quitting would have made sense. It would have been understandable. It would have been justified. No one would have blamed you.
But you didn’t.
You kept learning. You kept adjusting. You kept believing that maybe — just maybe — this difficult chapter wasn’t the end of your story.
And because of that, I’m here.
Stronger, yes. But not just stronger. Softer in the right places. Clearer about what matters. Less interested in applause. More interested in peace. Less obsessed with proving. More focused on becoming.
The irony is, the version of me standing here today isn’t the final one either. One day, this version will be standing against that wall too. With blind spots. With flaws. With moments of doubt I can’t yet see.
And I hope that future me walks up and says the same thing.
Thank you for not giving up when you were tired.
Thank you for choosing discipline when distraction was easier.
Thank you for protecting your peace.
Thank you for growing quietly.
Thank you for staying faithful in small things.
We spend so much time wishing we could go back and fix things. But what if instead, we went back and honored things?
What if we stopped being embarrassed of who we used to be?
Every awkward season taught resilience.
Every mistake sharpened wisdom.
Every heartbreak deepened compassion.
Every delay built endurance.
Nothing was wasted.
Not the late nights.
Not the tears.
Not the silence.
Not the waiting.
All of it was construction.
So maybe tonight, instead of replaying what you could have done better, try something different. Close your eyes and picture that hallway. See the younger you. The struggling you. The hopeful you. The stubborn you. The scared you.
Walk up to them.
Look them in the eyes.
And say, “You did better than you think.”
Because the truth is, you are standing here today because someone you used to be refused to quit.
And that’s worth more gratitude than regret.
Kenrick Vaz 