I had a conversation over dinner recently that’s stayed with me. A fellow guest, now thriving in her career as a CEO, recounted an awkward encounter she’d had. A senior gentleman, meaning no harm, casually mentioned that her grandmother used to clean for his family. It was a strange comment — maybe intended as a connection, maybe just an idle recollection — but to her, it landed as demeaning.
I could see why.
That comment sparked something in me. It reminded me of my own grandmother, who spent her life cleaning houses and cooking for wealthy families in Michigan. She worked endlessly, quietly, without complaint. As a young boy, I used to go with her on jobs — not to work, just to be with her. I was fascinated by how other people lived. The size of their homes, the food in their pantries, the things they had that we didn’t. It was like stepping into another universe. And even then, I knew: we came from a different world.
But my grandmother never seemed bitter about the difference. She just kept working. She took pride in what she did. And in doing so, she gave me something I didn’t understand fully until much later: humility, perspective, and a work ethic that would shape my life.
As I listened to this woman describe her reaction to that moment — her discomfort, the way it surfaced her past — I told her I was proud of her. And as I reflected later, I realized I was proud of myself, too.
No one can ever quite understand another person’s baseline for growth. We all contain multitudes — hopes, fears, hidden shames, and invisible scars. And yet, we have a tendency to look at others and assume it must have been easier for them. We compare our insides to their outsides and forget that we are all carrying something.
After 50 years, I’ve come to a simple but profound conclusion: life is easy for no one. Some just hide their struggle better than others.
In fact, one of the great ironies of life is that the more you overcome, the more people assume you had it easy. The cleaner your story looks from the outside, the more invisible your uphill climb becomes. That’s one of the quiet burdens of being human.
But here’s the invitation I want to offer: let’s stop assuming. Let’s stop measuring each other’s lives in shallow snapshots. Let’s remember that everyone comes from somewhere — and often, from something hard. Let’s extend grace. Let’s lead with empathy. Let’s acknowledge that there’s no single version of success and no one path to happiness.
And let’s also say thank you. To the grandmothers, the laborers, the unsung heroes who gave us a foundation to rise from. My grandmother never got a headline or a title, but she modeled strength in its purest form. Her hands were weathered by work, but they lifted me into a better future. I carry that with me every day.
Wherever you came from, whatever you’ve had to overcome — I’m proud of you.
We’re all just fellow travelers on this strange, beautiful journey of being human. Let’s try to honor that in one another.
If this story reminded you of someone who helped shape you—maybe a grandparent, a parent, a mentor—take a moment today to honor that. Say thank you. Pay it forward.
And if this episode spoke to you, I’d love for you to follow the show on Substack, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. I post new reflections almost every weekday, each grounded in something real—something meant to help you live a more purposeful, powerful life.
Until next time—honor your roots, carry them forward, and lead with grace.
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