Why this session? Why this name?
me at 2 having a good smile
One of my favorite questions to ask people – usually over coffee, or while we’re walking aimlessly with nowhere urgent to be – is this: If you weren’t doing what you’re doing right now, what would you be doing instead? Not in a backup-plan kind of way, but more like… what other versions of you exist inside your imagination? What unlived lives do you sometimes dream about?
If you had asked me ten years ago what I’d be doing today, I would’ve given you a different answer. Probably something serious and carefully rehearsed – research, policy, innovation, maybe a whiteboard full of equations or a spreadsheet of strategies. And yet, when I strip everything down to its core, when I ask myself what really matters, the answer is always the same: I just want to pass something meaningful on.
That’s what education means to me – not just in the formal sense of classrooms and textbooks, but in the way knowledge shapes lives, opens doors, and bridges generations. Whether through writing, teaching, or even sharing insights over a long dinner with friends, I believe that passing on what we learn is one of the most powerful things we can do. Life moves fast, the world evolves, and without education – whether academic or experiential – it’s easy to be left behind.
Maybe that’s why I care so much about young people. Children, students, dreamers with wide eyes and big questions. I look at them and I see possibility. Not in the abstract sense, but in the deeply personal one. I see stories not yet written, mistakes not yet made, and futures not yet decided. I see what they could build, if given the tools.
And I also see what happens when they’re not given those tools…
Children aren’t just the future of their families; they are the future of entire nations. What we teach them today determines the kind of world they will build tomorrow. If we guide them well, if we equip them with curiosity, wisdom, and the ability to think critically, they may not only find their own paths but also lead us one day, shaping a future better than we can imagine. Education isn’t just about knowing facts – it’s about preparing the next generation to face challenges we haven’t even seen yet. And that, more than anything, is why I feel so strongly about learning, teaching, and passing down the lessons that matter.
Maybe this instinct comes from my own childhood. Growing up, I was the kind of kid who liked sitting quietly and listening to the stories of older people – family, teachers, even strangers on long flights. I spent the earliest years of my life mostly with my grandparents. I was fascinated by the way their pasts felt like little time capsules, full of roads not taken and lessons learned the hard way. And as I got older, I realized that the stories we leave behind, whether spoken or written, are some of the most enduring parts of who we are.
That’s where this blog comes in. The world is loud, fast, and sometimes a little overwhelming. We spend so much time scrolling, reacting, and keeping up that we rarely pause to reflect on why we do what we do, or what we actually want out of life. I wanted to create a quiet corner – both for myself and for anyone who stumbles across this – where I could collect thoughts, lessons, and reflections that I hope will still matter years from now.
As for the title, Dear My Future Kids – well, it’s both literal and metaphorical. One day, if I’m lucky enough to have children, I’d love for them to know who I was at this age – not just the polished, grown-up version of me they might meet later, but the person who made mistakes, had questions, and was figuring things out in real time. But beyond that, it’s also for anyone who might resonate with the idea that we are all, in some way, students of life. We all have people who came before us – parents, mentors, historical figures – who left behind lessons that shaped us. And we, in turn, will leave something behind for those who come next.
This blog isn’t meant to be a manifesto or a guidebook. I don’t have all the answers – not even close. But if something here sparks a new thought, offers comfort, or just reminds you that you’re not alone in trying to make sense of it all, then that’s enough for me. Here’s to the messy, beautiful, confusing process of learning, growing, and living.
