My Simple Thoughts

A good friend asked me a question today. It was a question that I couldn’t find an immediate response for. It was a question that truly made me think.

“What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned since returning home?”

That’s a fine question. One of those beautiful moments where you immediately forget about what you’re doing, sink deep into thought, and let your mind and heart connect in an joint effort to begin realizing an answer.

My friend stared at me, wondering what kind of path I was silently walking along on my quest for clarity. She changed my life today. I never told her, of course. It was the hours that followed that led me to that conclusion.

“I’ve learned that the only person responsible for my joy and fulfillment is myself. That my surroundings are not what inspired me this past year, and that being on a grand adventure was not the leading factor in arriving at a most intimate understanding of myself.”

I’ve been back in Canada for three short weeks. During those three weeks, I’ve moved to a new city, I’ve joined an early-stage company as their tech lead, I’ve discovered old friends in a new place, and I’ve been excited every moment of every day.

I cannot name a single soul who would have bet on me being employed within three weeks. In fact, I can’t name anybody who would have guessed I’d be employed anytime this summer.

I wouldn’t have bet on that scenario either.

But it happened. And it happened because I don’t have every moment of every day planned. Because I let the universe guide me. Because I’m open to change and challenge and opportunity.

It’s a beautiful, comforting, awe-inspiring moment when you realize you don’t need to be on a grand adventure to be excited, to be challenged, to be driven, and to meet great people. Life itself is the grand adventure.

I will continue to iterate that planning your entire life out is not the road to happiness. Let life happen. Be excited. Be eager. Be driven.

Embrace the unknown. The most amazing thing about having no direction is this: At that exact moment, you can do anything.

Make each chapter of your life count. Many have passed, and many more are yet to arrive. Make each one as interesting and uplifting and inspiring a read as possible.

Conan O’Brian, after being an icon of late-night television for over 17 years, ended his career with a brilliant line: “If you work really hard and you’re kind, amazing things will happen.”

I would amend that incredible statement with one more all-important point: “If you work really hard and you’re kind and you have faith, amazing things will happen.”

And I stand behind that promise.

Dear Graham,

You’re 31 years old now. Or maybe 45. Or maybe you’re still 27 and you’ve already felt the need to read this letter.

I’m not sure. (But congratulations on making it this far, all the same.)

You asked me, I mean asked you, I mean you told yourself to remind yourself of a few things in the near future. I suppose that means now. And tomorrow. And every day for the rest of your life.

(You probably should have read this yesterday, too.)

Remember to encourage, appreciate, and listen.

Remember to encourage your parents. And to continually let them know that you truly appreciate the life they’ve provided for you. The opportunity. The foundation. The discipline.

Remember to appreciate each relationship you’ve had the privilege of being a part of. Each of these people taught you many lessons and encouraged you to be a better man. You never listened at the time, of course, but years later, you realized they were some of your best teachers.

Remember to always spend less time talking and more time listening. Respect others’ time by sharing your opinion only on matters in which you have actual experience or insight to offer.

And remember to never stop.

Never stop playing.

Never stop exploring.

Never stop loving.

Never stop smiling.

And remember to always be.

Always be learning.

Always be uncomfortable.

Always be striving.

Always be singing.

And always be following your heart.

(But make sure it’s leading you somewhere wholesome.)

“We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” —George Bernard Shaw

Being successful by society’s standards is simple.

Go to university. Get a degree. Get a job. Get a wife. Get a house. Get babies. Get rich. Get dead.

Being successful by God’s standards takes a little more effort.

Be humble. Be selfless. Love every person you encounter. Act out of kindness. Practice self-control. Be gentle. Be peaceful. Be joyful.

Those criteria prove to be slightly more difficult to check off a list.

I wonder what our lives would be like if we quit trying to be successful and instead tried to be peaceful. Or joyful. Or humble.

Why are you working? Is it because you don’t know what else to do? Take some time and figure it out. Better to invest the next twenty, or thirty, or forty years of your life in something you truly enjoy than in something you have no passion for.

Is it because you think money is going to make you happy? It won’t. In fact, it’s going to introduce more stress into your life because you’re going to have to spend time managing that now, too.

Is it because you’re saving your dollars for that thing you want so badly? I promise you won’t be taking that thing with you when your time is up. Or those dollars.

Quit trying to be so successful and try being happy instead. I promise you it’s a better life.

This world is full of beautiful experiences, beautiful lessons, and beautiful people.

Your city is full of amazing opportunities and incredible families.

Your home is full of influential loved ones.

Discover those experiences. Embrace those lessons. Find those people.

Less success.

More life.

Recently, I found myself stumbling. I couldn’t find the motivation to take care of myself. I was unable to concentrate. I felt incomplete and unfulfilled. I was beginning to sense stress in my life. And stress always points toward something that needs to change.

I was growing judgmental. I was lacking in thankfulness. I was becoming unproductive and angry.

It was time to hit reset.

So I put some soothing music on. Bon Iver, to be exact.

I turned a few lamps on.

I laid down and took a nap.

And the next morning, I awoke early and went for a run. And prayed. And had a coffee and read.

And just like that, my energy resurfaced. My mind was once again centered and stable. My conversations grew more real. My hostility disappeared. My smile returned.

All it took was a nap. Or a run. Or a coffee. Or a prayer.

Or maybe it just took a moment. To relax.

To say thank you.

To smile.

Reset.

I was on the wonderfully Hindu island of Bali a few months ago, located right in the middle of Indonesia, the most populated Muslim country on the planet. Enjoying a day free of obligations, I was out walking the streets, waiting for something amazing to happen.

And then it did.

I happened upon an ice cream shop maybe twenty steps ahead. (That’s not the amazing part.) It was run by a young man and his fiancé. I asked for a strawberry milkshake and told them I would be their most dependable customer for the next week. That was not a lie—I showed up faithfully, twice daily, for my sugar fix. However, more than that, I showed up to continue learning from this incredibly kind young couple.

They have little money to their name, yet they treated me to a local dinner one evening. They have only a small flat, yet they invited me over to share in the girl’s birthday festivities, complete with a meal and many cakes. They have but a single scooter, yet they allowed me to use it numerous times.

And on top of all of that, they started serving me free ice cream after only the third day.

When I left their fine town, I gave them all of the local currency I had left. “Call it a birthday present from your good friend in Canada,” I said. But it was nothing. When the conversion is 10,000 rupiahs to a single dollar, what I gave was nothing.

Just a few months earlier, I was living in the southernmost province of the Democratic Republic of Congo, whose citizens are among the poorest on Earth. One of my good friends, a local man who worked for one of the mining companies in the area, made just enough money to stay alive. That never stopped him from treating me to lunch, though. Or covering our taxis. Or arranging for us to visit neighboring villages for traditional meals.

I attempted to pay back his kindness by speaking at a few of the local English clubs where he volunteered. I provided his beers whenever we went out, but in a place where beer costs less than the barley used to produce it, that doesn’t amount to any great feat.

Just a short while before that, I found myself in La Paz, the capital of Bolivia. The free-spirited lady I lived with accepted me into both her home and family without question. I was introduced to parents, to cousins, to maids, to friends. No matter how early I attempted to rise, she would beat me to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. No matter how many places we visited, she refused to let me put petrol in her car.

“I came into this world with empty pockets, and I will leave with empty pockets.”

That’s what she told me. As if I, a spoiled middle-class kid, deserved to be on the receiving end of that kind of wisdom. That kindness.

As I departed, I placed a handwritten note neatly beneath her pillow. A note with a message of sincere gratitude contained within. It wasn’t much, but it was the most heartfelt gift I was able to offer at the time.

I’ll see each of these people again. Very soon. And when I do, I will bless them with the very lessons they taught me.

Fast cars. Big houses. Silk suits. Gold watches. Rubbish.

Kindness. We should invest in an idea like that.

Sometimes, you spend years of your life searching for someone. That person who understands you. That person who is the perfect size for you to wrap your arms around. Completely. That person who smiles as often as you do. Maybe even more.

And then, the moment you stop looking, that girl finds you. She offers a sweet “hello.” And a little fire ignites within you. A still, small flame.

You begin to stay awake until 5:00 am every morning simply to wish her sweet dreams across the time gap.

And then you find yourself on an airplane. Just you and your butterflies.

Into the sky you go. Counting each kilometer as it passes by. One… Two… Thailand reveals itself beneath you. 3,000. 4,000. Saudi Arabia’s sands lash out as you fly over them. 13,917. Finally.

You step off the aircraft and float towards the automatic doors that offer your next great adventure. As you pass through them, you look around. Over there, a sign with your name on it.

And then you see her. Amidst the crowd of suits and tour guides, she stands out like a pillar of light.

Of course, she’s the girl who’s smiling stupidly. As if this boy just flew halfway around the world to meet her.

But he did. And his only intention was to give her a hug. And return that sweet “hello” she offered him so many days earlier.

Off to the pub you go. Holding hands on the first day, because it just feels right. You wish the butterflies would let you rest for a moment. But you sort of want them to stay as well.

And then you begin to notice things about this girl. She’s special. She has the most beautiful, piercing green eyes you’ve ever seen. Her scent is reminiscent of all things sweet. Her smile makes you wish you could bottle up certain moments forever.

And then you find yourself on an airplane. Just you and… her. Going on an adventure together, because the universe never told you not to. Spain. Tapas. Rome. Ice cream. Venice. Wine. Water. Life.

This girl twitches when she sleeps, in the cutest way possible. She teaches you even during the silent moments. She grins every time your hand finds hers, but secretly hopes you don’t notice. She makes you want to be the best person you can be. She’s your girl.

Now you’re walking along the beach, hand-in-hand. And as you embrace the setting sun, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the water. And you notice something.

You’ve got a stupid smile on your face.

And stupid smiles are the best kind.

The smiles. Oh, the smiles.

The laughter of an innocent child.

So young.

So pure.

So excited.

So angry.

So hurt.

So blessed.

So beautiful.

Whenever I think about my beloved family, my eyes well up with tears. As I write these words, I find myself sitting in a lively coffee shop in Central London. My eyes are glistening with tears of joy. Tears that just scream of love for my family.

They’d never know it, though. They’ve never seen it. I’ve kept my love for them bottled up inside for so long. In my own special, selfish way.

I simply cannot understand why God placed me in this family, specifically.

With parents who have supported me despite my stubborn nature. They never hurt me. They never forced me to study anything specific at university. They’ve always been there for me, spiritually, financially, emotionally. They would love me even if I was a nobody. And they do.

With siblings who have always provided a home for me. Always invited me over. Always accepted me. They’ve loved me all along. And they’ve got the actions to prove it.

Loving someone not by words alone, but also by actions. How interesting. I have a friend who did that once. But that was a long time ago.

With nephews and nieces who are constantly asking when Uncle Graham is coming home. If only they could understand that I want to see them so much more than they want to see me. So cute. So innocent. Growing up so quickly. One of the greatest blessings I’ve ever received has been the opportunity to play uncle to such incredible children. I cannot even fathom what being a father must feel like. I hope to one day understand.

Thinking about my family makes me cry. I miss them so much.

But I’ll see them again soon. I promised my sweet nephews and nieces that I’d knock on their door just as soon as the snow melts. And that will be happening in the very near future.

I’ll be there. To give my mother a hug that lasts for hours. To go for a motorcycle ride with my father that will change our lives. To admire my brothers and sisters as they raise their beautiful families. To play with the little ones until it just feels normal again.

And then keep playing.

The sun is high in the sky. Directly above my head, threatening to turn my pasty, white skin against me. Ducking into a local cafe to wait out the heat of the day only makes sense. And so my friend and I do exactly that.

This is Cambodia. What the hell else is a person meant to do?

“Food, gentlemen?”

“A couple of milk shakes, please. And can you make them happy?”

The local man cocks his head sideways. Then he smirks at us, in a very sly manner.

“Happy for you, yes boss.”

I’ve never been high before, but lately, I’ve been wondering what all the fuss is about. Why are teenagers the world over spending years of their lives smoking weed? Why did some of my university mates rant and rave about the blissful feeling of being high? Why is marijuana, as a mind-altering substance, illegal, when alcohol, also a mind-altering substance, is not?

Why? Why? Why?

“Here’s your shake, sir.”

There’s no mistaking the green bits floating around inside that glass. There’s no mistaking the scent as you sniff one of those stems. This just might be an experience after all. I just might learn what all the fuss is about.

And so we enjoy our drinks.

But we feel nothing. So we order another one.

Still nothing.

“Here’s your bill, boss.”

Disappointed, we venture off to a local fish spa and dangle our feet inside the tank. The “doctor fish” swim over and begin nibbling at the dead skin we’ve accumulated from walking around these small towns, agenda-free.

Still nothing.

One hour goes by. Then another. Now a cute Australian girl is sitting beside me, her accent so thick I can barely understand what she’s saying. And all of a sudden, halfway through one of her thoughts, I grasp for the bench I’m sitting on. I swear gravity just shifted and tried to throw me into the fish tank.

Who is this girl? And what on earth is she talking about?

I turn to my friend. “I think my feet are clean. We should probably walk.”

So we walk for what feels like hours. Ten minutes later, we arrive back at our hotel room. And we sit. And stare. At fucking nothing.

“So what should we do?”

“Well, right now we’re sitting here being high. I guess we could go find something to eat.”

We leave the hotel and walk. Forever. A million faces pass me by and I’m more lost than I’ve ever been before. Feeling afraid of never finding our way home, we decide to turn back. We look up and realize we’re standing right in front of the hotel.

So we try again. Try to take on this world. Try to find food. This time, we make it all the way to the end of the block. But this town is scary, I think. So, once again, we walk back to our hotel. Every concrete slab in the sidewalk is tilting as I press my feet against them. People are staring. Surely the police are coming by now.

Two days later, I’m sober. The world makes sense again. Finally.

We went and saw Angkor Wat while high. I felt like we walked around those glorious temples for days. We were gone three hours.

Every conversation I had was in slow motion. I could express a thought, wait a moment to see how it sounded, and then run after the words and steal them back, if necessary.

For 48 hours, I was a stupid, fucking pothead. Being high made me paranoid. Being high made me useless. Everything was a task. I fell asleep three times while trying to decide if brushing my teeth one morning was really worth the trouble.

That was two weeks ago. That was frightening.

My name is Graham, and I will never get high again. Ever.

Today, I cried.

I wasn’t sad. Or scared. Or in pain.

But today, I cried.

These tears could only be traced to positive beginnings. They appeared the same as all tears do, but as they traced their delicate path down my unshaven face, they found themselves trickling over a smile before falling gracefully to the stones beneath my feet.

Today, of all days, I cried.

The Chinese girl stared at me. She silently wondered what terrible thing could have happened to me. She had more tattoos than bare skin. I’ll remember her.

Today, I awoke to so many blessings, I cried.

An email from somebody important to me. Reminding me there are good people in my life.

A text from someone I just haven’t met yet, though I feel like I’ve known them my whole life.

A note from a friend of days gone by. Telling me that my smile often makes her smile.

An invitation from new friends, signed “with love and affection.” We became family on day one.

Today, I smiled.

Because I’m alive.

Because I’m loved.

Because I don’t need to figure this life out to appreciate it.

Because the bird perched on the chair next to mine has been singing to me since I sat down. He was born to sing.

Today, as if ordained by some higher power, I smiled.

It’s no different than any other day. Yet it’s the most amazing one yet.

Today.

My name is Graham and I am no longer a product of society.

I’m not even sure where I fit in anymore.

My parents continually remind me that they’re proud of me. Proud of what? I’m become a disconnected hippie with a desire to do anything but follow the rules. I have no formal job. No money. No significant other. Their next set of grandchildren may very well be adopted. Or make-believe.

I’ve forgotten how to be normal. And I’m quite proud of that fact. Because life is too short to be normal.

I awoke this morning and found myself in Bali. And so I ran along the beach. As I ran, I found myself reflecting on 5 very specific thoughts.

1. Happiness is relative. And unimportant.

The most common piece of advice I receive from people is the ever-popular “do what makes you happy.”

No.

Who cares if you’re happy? Happiness is fleeting. I know you feel great today because that girl you like sent you a flirty text. Or because you just got promoted. Or because you finally went to the gym. But I know for a fact that when you wake up to cloudy skies tomorrow, you’re going to start complaining again.

Quit trying to be so happy and just be. Find something a little more absolute to derive your so-called happiness from. Put yourself in a position where the world cannot drag you down.

2. Life is short.

I’m 27 years old. Not married. Not a father. Not employed by any acceptable means. Not a homeowner. Barely a pants-owner.

But know this: I’m joyful, grateful, and excited to be alive every single day. Life is too short to not do what you want every single day. And if what you want isn’t aligning with traits like honesty, humility, generosity, and selflessness, then I pray you find a new well to fish your desires out of.

3. The world is small.

“I’ve always wanted to see the pyramids. What a feat of architecture!”

So go see them. Open Google Maps, notice they’re on the same planet as you, get on a plane, and go. This week. Go.

“I want to see Machu Picchu before they close it down to the public.”

That’s great! Here are the steps you need to follow to make this happen: Get on a plane. And go.

“I wish I could live in this place or that place for a year. Just to see what it’s like.”

For the love of all that is holy, go! I promise if you keep making choices out of fear and responsibility, you will die full of regrets with a very average amount of money in your bank account.

There is nowhere you cannot fly in less than a single day. Take advantage of that fact.

Go.

4. People are lost.

I’ve met countless people who are sleeping their way around the world.

I’m met countless people who are in love with money.

I’ve met countless people who have no idea who they are.

It doesn’t matter who I meet on this journey. If I’m able to get them talking, I quickly discover they’re just as lost as me. And you. And everyone.

Humans need to be rescued.

5. I’m spoiled rotten.

I have every opportunity in this life. I have a financial safety net called my family. I have a physical safety net called my health. I have a logical safety net called my education. I have a spiritual safety net called my faith. As much as I claim to live on the edge, I know I cannot hit rock bottom. I cannot be left behind.

And as such, I am spoiled.

If I run out of money, I know people who will fly me home. And employ me.

If I grow terribly ill, I know I have insurance that will likely pay for the cure.

If I have no place to live when I return home, I know I have family and friends who will take me in.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve any of this. I don’t know why I live in the lap of luxury while some of my friends are unsure of where their next meal will come from.

Give up your pursuit of happiness and simply be content where you are.

Accept that life is fleeting and live each day without regret.

Realize how connected this world is and go explore it. Start small. Turn your cell phone off this weekend and drive to the mountains. Camp. Ski. Sing. Smile.

Understand that nobody is absolutely sure what they’re doing on this good, green planet, and accept them as the searching soul they are. And work through this life together.

Be grateful for the opportunities you’ve been given. You didn’t get to where you are today alone. There have been numerous people who have helped you along the way. Thank them. Today.

My name is Graham and I am a product of the compassionate people around me.