Last week, I met with an old friend—someone I hadn’t seen in years. He reached out, asking to meet. There was something he needed to say.
In a parking lot, he shared the journey he’s been on: one of self-discovery, accountability, and healing. He wanted to apologize for past behavior—choices made in youth, shaped by pain and addiction, that he now saw more clearly with the perspective of adulthood.
My instinct was to reassure him. You don’t owe me an apology, I told him. You were just figuring it out like the rest of us.But I could see in his eyes that this wasn’t about absolution—it was about responsibility. It was about finally facing himself and, in doing so, asking for the space to be seen not just as who he was, but as who he is becoming.
So I listened. And I’m glad I did.
Because in his words, in his honesty, in his visible struggle to wrestle meaning from the mess of his past, I saw a reflection of myself. I saw the universal story of every human trying to become whole.
We spoke candidly—about the darkness we carry, about how hard it is to forgive yourself, about how past trauma can teach you to mistrust even the people who love you most. But we also spoke about hope. About growth. About how the future is never out of reach when you decide to take ownership of your path.
At one point, he asked what he could do to return the favor. I paused, then said something simple.
Pay it forward.
Extend grace to another young person. Believe in them. Coach and mentor them. Love them enough to believe in their potential even when they can’t see it themselves.
I told him the truth: that I always believed in him. Even back when he couldn’t believe in himself. I saw something in him that I knew would one day shine through. I told him that we never judged him for the missteps of youth. At Instrument, we were building something bigger than a company. We were modeling acceptance, embracing imperfection, and trying to create a space where people could grow. We all stumble. That’s the cost of being human. But the beauty is found in what we do next.
As we hugged and parted ways, I felt a deep sense of gratitude—for the conversation, for his courage, and for the reminder it offered me.
There’s a lesson here that I think is worth sharing:
It’s never too late to believe in yourself.
And it’s never too early to believe in someone else.
Every person you encounter is carrying a story. Some are still stuck in their hardest chapter. Others are just beginning to write their comeback. You may never know the role your belief played in someone else’s redemption, but I promise—it matters.
If you’re lucky enough to have had someone believe in you, honor that by doing the same for others. Grace has a compounding effect. So does trust. And sometimes, all it takes to change a life is one person who looks at you and says, I see something in you.
I saw something in him all those years ago. I still do.
And now—finally—so does he.
Here’s what I hope you’ll take with you today: Someone believed in you. Maybe quietly. Maybe when you didn’t even notice. And now, you get the chance to pass that belief forward.
You never know the difference you can make just by telling someone, I see something in you.
If this story resonated with you, please follow me on Substack, Apple Podcasts or Spotify, and share it with someone who needs that reminder today.
I’ll be back soon with more. Until then—believe deeply, lead boldly, and keep showing up for the people who need you.
Until next time.
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