Seasons and Horizons

“You know your life is changing when the things you once tried to outgrow become the things you’re most grateful to have kept.”

When I was growing up, I was Richie.

That was it.

My parents called me Richie. My aunts and uncles called me Richie. My cousins called me Richie. The families across the street knew me as Richie. The friends I grew up with knew me as Richie.

The people who knew me first didn’t know a polished version of me.

They simply knew me.

As I got older, though, something changed.

“Richie” began to sound childish.

I thought maturity meant becoming someone a little more refined, a little more professional, a little more impressive.

For a while I became Richard.

Then I became Rich.

I never really questioned why. I just assumed that growing up meant leaving “Richie” behind.

Years passed.

I built a career. I became a husband, then later a father. Life brought success, failures, joys, disappointments, lessons, and more than a few scars.

Somewhere along the way, I realized something I wish I had understood much sooner.

I never wasn’t Richie.

Changing what people called me never changed who I was.

It didn’t make me wiser.

It didn’t make me more valuable.

It didn’t make me more deserving of respect.

I wasn’t trying to become someone different.

I was trying to become a better version of the same person.

And there is a world of difference between those two things.

A few days ago I found myself thinking about some of the people who still call me Richie.

Not everyone does.

But the ones who have known me since I was little still do.

When they say it, I don’t hear a nickname.

I hear history.

I hear acceptance.

I hear people who knew me before I ever thought I had something to prove.

That simple word reminds me that I never had to invent someone else in order to become the man I hoped to be.

I’ve even wondered how often, in wanting to be loved, I presented the version of myself I thought was easiest to love.

Maybe some of the deepest relationships in our lives begin only when we stop polishing ourselves long enough to let another person know who is actually there.

That’s the kind of relationship I hope to have one day.

Not one where someone admires the image.

One where she knows the real man.

These days I spend my free time hiking mountains, exploring places I’ve never seen, writing stories, discovering history, and looking for God’s fingerprints in ordinary moments.

Those aren’t hobbies I’ve adopted to create an image.

They’re simply pieces of who I’ve always been.

I’m finally comfortable allowing them to exist.

As I prepare for the next chapter God has for me, I don’t feel the same pressure to become someone more impressive.

I want to keep growing.

I want to become wiser.

Kinder.

More faithful.

More genuine.

But I no longer believe growth requires leaving behind the person God created me to be.

Sometimes maturity isn’t about becoming somebody new.

Sometimes it’s simply about becoming more comfortable with who you’ve been all along.

I never wasn’t Richie.

And for the first time in my life…

I think I’m finally grateful for that.

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Reflection

Is there a part of yourself you’ve spent years trying to polish because you thought it wasn’t quite enough?

Who are the people in your life who still know you—not your accomplishments, your titles, or the image you present—but the person you’ve been all along?

Maybe becoming who we’re meant to be isn’t about becoming somebody new.

Maybe it’s about finally becoming comfortable with who we’ve been all along.