passed on, not taught

I’m not old. Not even close.
But I’ve lived long enough to notice a few things.
Things I used to rush past.
Things I used to think didn’t apply to me.
Now, they catch my attention like small flickers in the corner of my eye.

This isn’t advice. It’s just what I’ve seen.
And a few things others passed on to me, quietly.

—

There is a kind of person who shows up early but never announces it.
They sit back during the noise.
They take their time.
They speak when the room needs it, not when they do.

I used to overlook people like that.

Now I try to be one.

—

I’ve failed in ways that don’t make good stories.
Quiet failures. The kind that slowly shape you without anyone noticing.

And even those failures are worth something.
So when someone is in a similar situation, I pass it on.

Not loudly, not to prove a point.
Just because someone once did the same for me.

—

I’ve learned not to complain. Not even to myself.
Not because everything’s been fine —
some of the things that shaped me were anything but.

Still, I try to pass on the gentler parts.
The ones that helped me stay open, even then.

—

Call it maturity. Or just paying attention.
Not certainty.
A kind of stillness that isn’t empty, just earned.

With time, you start to carry things differently.
Not as answers, but as lived moments.
A few mistakes you’ve made.
A few beliefs you had to let go of.
A few questions that still keep you company.

All of it, just quietly honest.

Things I’ve learned the hard way.
Things that used to feel true, but no longer do.
Things I’m still trying to figure out.

—

I’ve grown to love and admire people who don’t try to prove anything.
The ones who stay kind even when no one returns it.
The ones who are too experienced to be naive, and too open to be cynical.

I think the world needs more of them.
Or maybe we just need to notice them more.

If nothing else, I’d like to become one.
Or quietly pass along their stories to whoever’s next.