(On life, relationships, and the roads no one maps out)

25 Days Early, 25 Years In

Technically, this letter is ahead of schedule.

I started my career on June 26, 2000 — which makes this post 25 days early. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in these 25 years, it’s this: waiting for the “right time” is often just a polite way of procrastinating.

So here we are — 25 days short, but 25 years deep.

Twenty-five years of learning that careers aren’t ladders, relationships aren’t contracts, and life doesn’t come with user manuals (just fine print you only notice after the damage is done).

This isn’t a success story or a cautionary tale. It’s a timestamp — a reflection on the relationships I built, the ones that drifted, the paths I wandered off from, and why I wouldn’t change that for a more “efficient” version of life.

So here’s a letter to my 20-year-old self — who was full of questions, impatience, and just enough madness to believe life didn’t have to follow a template.

Dear 20-year-old me,

You’re impatient. That’s fine. You’ve got more curiosity than caution, and a brain buzzing with possibilities. That’s not just fine — that’s fuel. But let’s talk before you speed off into every direction at once.

First, the good news.

You won’t regret choosing the road less templated.
You’ll zig when the world says zag. You’ll do things “off-syllabus.” You’ll build a life more like a mosaic than a ladder. You’ll dive into business, birds, snakes (like seriously, dude), stand-up comedy, magic tricks, and about ten other things people will call “hobbies,” not realizing they’re all portals to purpose.

Some days, you’ll feel like a misfit. But misfits make the best storytellers — because we live the stories we tell.

Now for the tougher bits.

1. Relationships don’t come with warranties.

In your 20s, you’ll imagine friendships like old oak trees — rooted, weatherproof, and built to last. Some will be. Others will be more like campfires: warm, intense, and short-lived. They’ll teach you just as much. Don’t mourn their fading — honour their glow.

The people who promise to always be around? Some will vanish when the winds change. And others, whom you barely noticed, will show up at 2 AM when you need them most. Learn to tell the difference without becoming cynical.

Also — and you’ll hate hearing this — sometimes you’ll be the one who didn’t show up. Own that too.

2. Business is personal. And that’s okay.

You’ll hear this a lot: “Don’t mix friendship and business.” You’ll ignore it. Thank god.
Because while others optimized for margins, you optimized for trust. You’ll walk away from deals that feel wrong and stay in partnerships that feel right, even when the numbers don’t. It’ll sting sometimes, sure. But it will build something harder to measure — and more important to protect — your integrity.

Some people will see your approach as naive. A few will try to exploit it. Many will remember it long after they forget your credentials. And a handful will become your people — not clients, not contacts — but fellow travelers.

Choose them. Invest in them. They’re the real compound interest.

3. You’ll outgrow some dreams — and that’s not failure.

There will be goals that once lit you up but later feel like carrying someone else’s luggage. Let them go. The destination changes when the traveller does.

Careers will morph. Relationships will evolve. Even your definition of success will shapeshift every few years (mostly in chunks of 5 years). Don’t fear this. What’s scarier is clinging to a version of yourself you no longer recognize just to keep someone else comfortable.

4. Don’t underestimate your weird mix.

One day, someone will ask: “So, what do you actually do?”
And you’ll pause — because there’s no straigh-forward answer for it.
And that’s your gift.

You’ll learn to stitch together the disparate — to find the thread between birdwatching and branding, between comedy and conservation, between people and purpose. The world doesn’t reward generalists at first glance. But it remembers those who can translate across worlds.

5. Love will teach you the longest lessons.

You’ll love deeply — not just romantically, but in friendships, work, and causes. Some of those loves will change form or end altogether. And you’ll grieve. You’ll wonder if you gave too much, trusted too easily, forgave too quickly.

You did. You will again. That’s who you are.

Eventually, you’ll stop looking at life as a series of transactions. You’ll start seeing it as a series of echoes — what you give returns in unexpected ways. Maybe not from the same people. But it returns.

So, here’s what I want you to remember:

Keep learning things no one asked you to learn.
Keep showing up even when there’s no audience.
Keep choosing people over profits, questions over answers, and curiosity over conformity.

You’ll stumble, drift, burn out, bounce back, recalibrate — sometimes all in one year. But what you’re building isn’t a career. You are designing your life.

And it’ll be yours.

– Your future me (who still hasn’t figured it all out but is having a darn good time).