Captain Michael: I used to think accomplishments stayed with us.
Maybe that’s because, while we’re chasing them, they seem so damn impor
I used to think accomplishments stayed with us.
Maybe that’s because, while we’re chasing them, they seem so damn important.
The promotion.
The degree.
The business deal.
The house.
The boat.
The number in the bank account.
We work for them. Sacrifice for them. Sometimes measure ourselves by them.
And then something strange happens.
We get them.
And sooner or later, they become part of the background.
I’ve had titles that once meant a great deal to me. I’ve owned things I worked years to afford. I’ve reached goals that, at the time, seemed enormous.
I’m grateful for many of them.
But very few are what I think about when I’m sitting quietly at anchor at the end of the day.
I remember people.
I remember the ones who taught me something.
The ones who trusted me.
The ones who stood beside me when things went sideways.
I remember laughter around a table far more clearly than whatever we were celebrating.
Maybe accomplishment isn’t what remains.
Maybe what remains is who we became while pursuing it—and who was there beside us along the way.
That’s worth thinking about tonight.
Captain Michael: I used to think accomplishments stayed with us. Maybe that’s because, while we’re chasing them, they seem so damn import
I used to think accomplishments stayed with us. Maybe that’s because, while we’re chasing them, they seem so damn important. The promotion. The degree. The business deal. The house. The boat. The number in the bank account. We work for them. Sacrifice for them. Sometimes measure ourselves by them. And then something strange happens. We get them. And sooner or later, they become part of the background. I’ve had titles that once meant a great deal to me. I’ve owned things I worked years to afford. I’ve reached goals that, at the time, seemed enormous. I’m grateful for many of them. But very few are what I think about when I’m sitting quietly at anchor at the end of the day. I remember people. I remember the ones who taught me something. The ones who trusted me. The ones who stood beside me when things went sideways. I remember laughter around a table far more clearly than whatever we were celebrating. Maybe accomplishment isn’t what remains. Maybe what remains is who we became while pursuing it—and who was there beside us along the way. That’s worth thinking about tonight.
I used to think accomplishments stayed with us. Maybe that’s because, while we’re chasing them, they seem so damn important. The promotion. The degree. The business deal. The house. The boat. The number in the bank account. We work for them. Sacrifice for them. Sometimes measure ourselves by them. And then something strange happens. We get them. And sooner or later, they become part of the background. I’ve had titles that once meant a great deal to me. I’ve owned things I worked years to afford. I’ve reached goals that, at the time, seemed enormous. I’m grateful for many of them. But very few are what I think about when I’m sitting quietly at anchor at the end of the day. I remember people. I remember the ones who taught me something. The ones who trusted me. The ones who stood beside me when things went sideways. I remember laughter around a table far more clearly than whatever we were celebrating. Maybe accomplishment isn’t what remains. Maybe what remains is who we became while pursuing it—and who was there beside us along the way. That’s worth thinking about tonight.
