You Didn't See the First Thirty Years

This is an open letter to my nieces and nephews...

More than one of you has told me, "I don't really read text messages."

Well...this isn't that kind of message.

If you're in your teens or your twenties, this is one you shouldn't skip. Uncle Jason is about to share something I wish someone had told me when I was your age.

It would be easy to look at my life today and assume I've just been lucky. It would be easy to compare where you are today to where I am now.

Please don't.

You weren't around when I was 20. Or 25. Or even 30. You didn't see me paying my dues.

Fortunately for me—and unfortunately for your ability to compare fairly—you only see the finished chapter, not the first thirty years of the story.

One advantage I have is my journals. Since 1999, I've written in one every single day. That's twenty-six years of first-hand documentation: heartbreaks, failures, mistakes, insecurities, bullying, even corporate bullying, fear, credit card debt, getting fired, disappointments, unanswered prayers, and moments when I wondered if I'd ever get ahead.

You don't see that Jason anymore.

Now you see the uncle flying First Class, staying in beautiful hotels, traveling the world, and spending money on experiences that may seem out of reach. But make no mistake—that didn't happen overnight.

Yes, I've experienced incredible blessings. Yes, I've had some good luck. And yes, I believe God has opened doors I never could have opened myself.

All of those things are true.

It's also true that there were decades of hard work, decades of building habits, decades of getting back up after setbacks, years of studying Scripture every day, praying every day, and trying—imperfectly—to become a little better than I was the day before with the help of my God.

More importantly, there were decades of doing more than what was expected.

Treat every day, every job, every relationship, and every interaction as if your life depends on it.

Because ultimately it does. It matters in ways you can't possibly begin to see at the time.

This morning I read my journal from July 2006. Every month I reread the same month from five, ten, fifteen, and twenty years ago. It's one of my favorite traditions because it reminds me where I've been.

Twenty years ago I was teaching full-time, serving as an athletic director, working full-time as the Human Resources Manager at Holiday World, and earning straight A's in graduate school at Western Kentucky University. Zero stars. Do not recommend.

That July, while most teachers were enjoying summer break, I worked nearly ninety hours in one week helping build and move into the new HR office Meanwhile, the rest of the Martin family was vacationing at Walt Disney World. I was allowed exactly three consecutive days away from work.

So I worked a full day, flew to Orlando, spent three days with the family, flew home, went straight from the airport to Holiday World, and worked another full day.

That was my life.

Today?

Today I own a travel company. I lead group tours around the world.

Ironically, I now get paid to travel. No PTO policy or school calendar or sports schedule determines my whens and my wheres.

But that was never part of the plan. I was going to be a teacher. That was the plan. Then, in 2007, God introduced a plot twist I never saw coming. I was asked to leave my teaching position. (Apparently calling seventh graders "math whores" after catching them cheating isn't considered educational best practice.)

At the time, it felt devastating. Looking back, it was one of the greatest turning points of my life.

Today I'm on a trip where my travel business is sending me around the world while my other employer is paying me to be here. If twenty-year-old Jason had read that sentence, he would've laughed. Life has a funny way of rewarding perseverance long after you think anyone is paying attention.

One of the strangest parts of getting older is seeing all the threads come together. Former students. Former employees. People I once disciplined. People I once failed.

Some of them have become clients of my travel business. When we talk, they almost never mention the difficult moments. Instead, they remember how I treated them. That taught me something.

People rarely remember every decision you made. They almost always remember how you made them feel.

So be kind.

Be fair.

Work hard.

Do more than is expected.

Not because someone is watching. Because that's the kind of person you want to become.

One more thing. Don't confuse productivity with worth. I spent much of my life believing that accomplishing more somehow made me more valuable. It doesn't.

I'm grateful for everything my work has allowed me to experience. But if I could go back and teach twenty-year-old Jason one thing, it would be this: Your worth was never determined by your job title, your paycheck, your accomplishments, or your productivity.

It never was.

Success can take many forms. Figure out what success means to you—not what social media says, not what your friends say, and not even what I say. Then pursue it with everything you've got.

And finally...

Always make time for God. Never forget that you were intentionally created by an all-knowing, all-loving God in His image. Everything else—your career, your money, your titles, your achievements—is temporary. That relationship is eternal.

I love each of you more than you probably know.

I hope one day, twenty years from now, you'll look back on your own life and realize that the hard years weren't wasted.

They were building the person you were becoming.

Love,

Uncle Jason

This isn't a travel story. But every journey has a beginning, and this is part of mine.