It started simply enough. In my line of work, I meet a lot of people every week. Recently, around the time of First Communion, I met some grandparents I’d somehow never crossed paths with before. At the same time, I’ve been a little less rigid about who I accept on social media, which has opened the door to friends of friends, siblings of friends, and even people I technically knew years ago but never really took the time to get to know.
If I’m being honest, that part sits with me. Because there are people, good people, I probably should’ve been more open to back in high school or college. Not because anything went wrong… but because nothing really went anywhere. The conversations stayed shallow. The connection never had a chance to become anything more.
That’s on me. I’ve grown since then. Slowed down a bit. Softened in the right ways. Learned how to actually see people instead of just passing through moments with them. Which is where the debate kicks in.
There’s a song by Toby Keith that always makes me smile when this thought hits: “I ain’t as good as I once was… I got a few years on me now.”
And yeah… that sucks. The truth is, there are two very different versions of me. There’s the younger me—carefree, bold, maybe a little louder than necessary. Potential to be the life of the party. Quick on my feet. Always moving. The kind of guy who could walk into a room and make an impression.
Then there’s the version of me now. Not as fast. Not as light. A few more miles on the tires. But wiser. More grounded. A lot more aware of what actually matters. A softer soul. A better listener. The kind of man who doesn’t just meet people, but has the capacity to care about them.
So here’s the question I keep circling: Which version of me would people actually want in their lives?
The fun, high-energy version? Or the slower, steadier, more intentional one? At first glance, it feels like the younger version had the advantage. He was easier to like. Easier to be around. Probably more memorable in the moment.
But the more I sit with it, the more I think that version of me was built for attention… not necessarily for connection. Attention is easy to win. Connection takes something else entirely.
The man I was back then might’ve filled a room. But I’m not sure he could’ve built something that lasted in it. The man I am now? He’s not trying to impress anyone. But he’s a whole lot more capable of showing up, staying present, and actually investing in the people in front of him. That changes everything.
So maybe the real answer is this: It’s not that I missed out on people back then. It’s that I wasn’t ready for them—and maybe they weren’t ready for me. If those connections had started earlier, there’s a good chance they would’ve stayed exactly where they began—on the surface.
Now, there’s depth available. Not because the people are different… but because I am. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to work. Maybe life doesn’t just bring people into our path randomly. It may bring them back around when we finally have the capacity to meet them properly.
So no—I’m probably not as quick as I once was. Not as sharp. Not as impressive at first glance. I’d like to think I’m something better now. More intentional. More present. More real.
If given the choice, I think I’d rather be the kind of person someone can build a friendship with… than just someone they remember meeting once. In the end, it’s not about who would’ve liked me more back then. It’s about who I’m capable of being for people now.
And that version of me? He’s finally worth getting to know.
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