Perhaps, I have changed

For a very long time, I kept thinking I needed something more.

Another job.

Another project.

Another achievement.

A little more money.

Another title I could mention when someone asked, and feel a little pride inside.

When I was young, I was drawn to so many things.

If I liked something, I did it.

If I wanted something, I worked for it.

Some things took years of throwing myself into them before they were finally mine. There were days I worked until I lost track of time, stretches when all I knew was how to keep moving forward. I kept thinking that someday, when the things I wanted began falling into place, surely I would be happy.

But strangely, often as soon as I had something, I barely gave myself time to enjoy it.

I would look at it for a moment, then turn my eyes to something else.

Like standing before a house I had just finished building, but instead of moving in, being too busy wondering when I could build the one next door.

Back then, I didn't understand.

Looking back now, perhaps it wasn't that what I had wasn't good enough.

It was that I hadn't yet learned how to stay with a moment of joy.

It's a little funny that now, when some things have become harder to attain, I'm finally beginning to appreciate what I have.

Even finishing a small task makes me happy.

A plan I thought would never work, finally moving forward a little.

A day when work doesn't go all that smoothly, but something good still happens.

A conversation that stays with me after I get home.

Once, I might have taken these things for granted.

Not anymore.

Now I tend to pause a little longer.

Sometimes just to look at what has happened and think:

“Yes, that's something to be happy about too.”

I don't quite understand why I've changed this way.

Perhaps the longer we travel, the more we realize that not everything will come around again.

Some opportunities pass, and that's that.

Some people walk beside us for a while, then we each go our own way.

Some days seem so ordinary, until we look back and realize they are the days we miss most.

And some children still fit snugly in their mother's arms today, only to walk into class carrying their own backpacks tomorrow.

Time doesn't ask whether we're ready.

It just goes on.

Lately, when I talk to people, I no longer find conversations about titles or status as interesting as I once did.

Once, I might have paid attention.

Who was a director.

Who owned a business.

Who worked where.

Who held what position.

When I hear these things now, I still respect them, but deep down they no longer seem quite so important.

A title, after all, is only a name attached to a role.

Today we are one person.

Tomorrow we might be someone else.

A company can grow, and in time it too can change.

A project can be talked about everywhere, until one day no one mentions it anymore.

Even things we once thought were so important can, a few years later, look like no more than a tiny dot along a long road.

I don't think success is hollow.

I'm only beginning to feel that the prestige of success is hollow.

What we have truly lived through is another matter.

Perhaps that's why I'm more drawn to small moments now.

An ordinary morning.

A meal with everyone at the table.

Work that feels useful.

A companion still sitting beside me after all we've been through.

A child calling out “Dad.”

These things have no nameplates.

No certificates.

No one applauds.

Yet strangely, the older I get, the more weight they seem to carry.

There are achievements I once thought I would remember all my life, yet now I sometimes have to make an effort to recall the day they happened.

But some very small things I remember clearly.

I remember the light that day.

I remember who stood beside me.

I remember something someone said.

I remember how I felt.

Perhaps it's because an achievement only says that I accomplished something. A beautiful moment says that I was truly alive, right there.

I think I still have ambition.

I still want to do what I believe is right.

I still want to build things that are useful.

There are still things I haven't managed to do, and I still want to try.

I just no longer want to run so fast that I forget the road I'm on.

I want to look back someday and remember more than what I achieved.

I want to remember where I laughed.

Who I sat beside.

Who I loved.

The days that were ordinary, but so beautiful.

And a time when I didn't need to become someone else.

When being myself was enough.

Perhaps I've changed.

Or perhaps I'm simply learning anew something I didn't understand when I was young.

That life doesn't always need something more to become meaningful.

Sometimes, all we need is to stop for a moment.

Look around.

Look at what is here beside us.

And realize...

Oh, I have more to treasure than I ever thought.