What do you want to thank your past self for?

I want to thank my past self for knowing—far too young—that we enter this world alone, and we leave it the same way. That sobering truth landed early, like a secret whispered into my bones, long before I could really grasp what it meant. But I understood enough: if I was the only one guaranteed to live with my choices, then I’d better be someone I could live with.

So I started building a self I could stand beside.

I began collecting mantras the way other kids collected stickers or song lyrics. I tucked them into the corners of my mind and let them shape the scaffolding of who I was becoming. Even now, they remain—etched into the foundation of me.

The smallest good deed is greater than the grandest good intention.
This one came from a dusty poster in our family doctor’s office, of all places. It clung to me. Good intentions are easy. Grand, even. But a kind word, a held door, a small gesture—that’s action. That’s substance. That’s legacy. And those tiniest good deeds? They stack. They become the architecture of a life spent choosing to add good into the world, brick by brick.

Everything counts or nothing counts.
I can’t tell you which book it came from—Michael Connelly, maybe—but I remember the line like gospel. If the small things matter, then everything matters. Not in a way that’s punishing, but in a way that calls us to awareness. Integrity isn’t about the big, sweeping gestures—it’s who you are when no one’s watching. Every choice reflects who we are. Every one. Or none of them do.

The best thing you can do is the right thing. The second best is the wrong thing. The worst thing you can do is nothing.
This one came from a bad movie with a sharp truth buried in its core. I never cared for the gore, just the gut-punch of that sentiment. Action matters. Even if you stumble. Even if you get it wrong. The world doesn’t change through silence. Inaction never saved anyone. Choosing—even imperfectly—is better than standing still and hoping someone else will make the call.

These weren’t just ideas. They became rules I wrote into the spine of who I am. My past self picked them up like breadcrumbs, proof that even then, she was looking for a way through. For a way to become someone she could live with. Someone we could be proud of.

I’m grateful to her—for the collecting. For the choosing. For the stubborn, quiet conviction to build a life based on doing better, trying harder, and always showing up. For us.

I’m proud of her. I’m proud of me.

We built this together.

Peace, Love, and Inspiration,
~Britt Wolfe💚