One thing I love about my earliest adult years is that I don’t have many pictures or videos from that time. People my age are probably some of the last who can say that; everything’s recorded now.
The memories from my late teens and early twenties seem almost magical because there is no contradicting evidence.
We weren’t a bunch of sloppy drunks gathered around shoddily-constructed bonfires located way too close to combustible propane tanks and kegs; we were young and beautiful revelers of freedom kissed by God. You’ll never convince me otherwise.
There isn’t much need to take pictures when you’re going to live forever and are surrounded by the “life-long friends” you just met last semester.
While I don’t have many pictures from those years, I do have a hand-written record of my deepest thoughts and ambitions.
I started the journal because my favorite high school history teacher told me that all great men (and women) through history engaged in the sort of journalistic self-reflection that both fortify your character to meet great challenges and preserve an authentic-enough record for researchers to rely upon when writing history.
The essence of his advice was: if you want to be remembered, write your story down.
My entries were few and far between and mostly chided myself for not writing more regularly, but they also offer such an authentic window into how I felt at that time, which is why this week’s column consists mostly of two excerpts from Yester-Chris.
I could write retrospectively about my early contrasts with self-doubt and ambition or about my years-long search to find what I truly believe, but it’s more authentic coming straight from the source.
You can read an awful lot into the gap between these two entries, and I hope that you will.
The first entry is from July 10, 2001 where I’m 20-years-old, on summer break from Ithaca College, and about to start a fall “semester abroad” program in Washington, DC working in the United States Senate.
I am spending my days and evenings working as a pizza delivery driver and my free time diving deeply into both the Christian bible and the stories of America’s founding fathers.
I’m studying these subjects on my own, outside of any school requirements, for the sole purpose of finding my own identity through the twin lenses of law and morality.
On that date, I wrote:
I wonder if I’ll ever be a great man. I have always had a strong feeling that I would do something great in the world, but it could just be a lie that I allow myself to believe in order to make life easier.
If I am to be a great man, when will I start?
In High School, I always told myself that my greatness would begin in college. I’m halfway through college and have yet to do anything that even hints of potential.
Now I tell myself that it will start in Washington, or after I finish school. As more and more time passes I keep changing my expectations. When will the time be right?
I fear that I lack ambition.
People tell me that I have ambition, yet I’ve never aimed for a challenge. The people who tell me this, friends and family, all point to the few accomplishments I’ve made, but to me these are nothing. Do they over-evaluate what I’ve done or do I under-evaluate it?
It would be easy for me to listen to them and see myself as making real progress, but I would be lying to myself. My problem is a fear of failure.
All great men have taken chances. Many of them failed several times before succeeding. George Washington lost more battles than he won. Abe Lincoln lost numerous elections before becoming President… So all great men have two things in common: ambition and courage.
I have all of the ambition in the world, but I never pursue my goals. I stay awake at night thinking about the things I will someday do. But when the sun rises it chases away my courage and leaves me with hollow dreams.
I want to fail. I want something to blow up in my face and leave me shattered and defeated. I think that if I suffered a great loss, I would see that I still survived. Maybe then I wouldn’t be afraid to fail. I wonder how it feels to fail?
What’s it like to face the people that you once so loudly and proudly told of the chance you were taking? Knowing that they are thinking of how you failed, and that you couldn’t even live up to your own expectations.
It must be the most awful feeling in the world. Maybe that is why succeeding feels so good.
When I think of the chance that America took in signing the Declaration of Independence, I am overwhelmed.
What a bold and daring act for these men to do. All of them had the strength of character, the testicular fortitude that I lack. These mostly rich and powerful men should have been content to live their lives in total prosperity. Instead, they risked their lives for nothing more than an idea.
There is no reason for me not to strive for greatness. James Madison was shorter than me. Washington had worse teeth than me. And Ben Franklin was fatter than me. I am smart, witty, personable, and young. I can accomplish almost anything.
When it is all said and done and my day of judgment is at hand, I believe I will be asked one question, “You have been given many unique talents and qualities. I have given you both strengths and weaknesses. Did you live up to your potential?”
Inevitably, my answer will be no. Too much time has already passed for me to answer otherwise. But, my one true goal in life is to be able to answer: “No, but I honestly tried my hardest to use the gifts I have. While I could have done more, I refused to do less.”
I don’t need to be a great man, I don’t need to accomplish anything; but I do need to try. If it were easy, would it really be worth it?
Make freedom ring!
The next entry comes several months after I had graduated from college.
Failing to find any employment greater than that same pizza-delivery job, I took a chance on pursuing something different.
On November 30, 2003, at the age of 23, I wrote:
Last week I had the unfortunate chance to attend a young person’s funeral. It was deeply depressing, entirely moving, and eerily inspiring.
Approximately 24 hours later I held my two-month-old second cousin in my arms for the first time.
The relationship between life and death is awe-inspiring. We never really become any less fragile than that tiny infant. We also never seem to have less potential than a newborn.
I am so amazed by human capability. We can deal with such heartache, loss, and pain. We are a species that is constantly overcoming difficulties, only to find new ones and overcome them.
Right now I am sitting in the beautiful state of New Hampshire where I have been working on Senator John Edwards’ Presidential campaign for almost 2 months.
There are many things in life that I value and this campaign embodies almost all of them.
I believe in the equality of mankind.
I believe in hard work and family.
I believe in raising healthy, intelligent people who will lead mankind into peace and prosperity.
But, most importantly, I believe in offering opportunity to every person who is willing to realize their own potential.
I know that my new cousin will have healthcare, a good education, and will likely find success in life. It pains me that so many others might not.
As I held my second cousin in my arms on Thanksgiving with Chrissy’s funeral still fresh in my mind, I realized not only how fortunate I am, but once again how much potential I have.
I enjoy life. I have a lot of fun with it. But I also work hard and I’m glad that right now I believe in my work. Before the funeral, I was upset about not getting paid, having no healthcare, and my general uncertainty of the future. But I know this now: I am alive and doing good work.
I am bringing joy into my friends and families lives while working for positive changes in both America and the world. My situation might not be ideal and it may never be, but I’m gonna work like hell to make the most of what I’ve got.
I’m right where I want to be and doing what I want to do. Somehow, the funeral and child combined to remind me of exactly what I value.
I am so proud of who I am and what I’m doing. Nothing can replace that.
*September 24, 2020, started a 40-day countdown to my 40th birthday. Since I couldn’t travel to Ireland (½ of my ancestral homeland) as originally planned, I’ve committed to reflecting on a year of my life per day for each of the 40 days. Today I’m focused on my early adult years. Daily-ish reflections may be found on my Facebook Page or on the new 40 Years of Wondering page of this website.*