I took a drive recently through Columbus, Georgia—where I lived for ten years during my twenties and early thirties.
I stopped at Holy Family Catholic Church, the parish I attended for nearly a decade and where I spent countless Sundays. As I sat in the sanctuary, something unexpected happened: I realized I didn’t remember the inside of the church. Not the layout. Certainly not the details. Not much of anything.
At first, that bothered me.
How could I have attended Mass there for years and not remember what it looked like? Then it hit me: We don’t really remember places; we remember what happened to us there.
As I sat quietly, memories began to surface—not of the building, but of the life I lived within those walls.
I remembered being a volunteer youth leader and working alongside another adult who became a good friend of mine. I remembered Wednesday night suppers in the parish hall. (These included a keg of beer for adults.) I remembered my Catholic faith growing deeper and more personal in this place.
As I drove through the town, I remembered buying my first house in 1981 and later buying a second one and then a third. I drove by all three. I wasn’t thinking about property values or curb appeal. I was thinking about the young man who once walked through those front doors full of hopes, ambitions, and uncertainty.
I remembered my years at IBM and my time as president of the downtown Kiwanis Club. I remembered discovering a voice I didn’t know I had at Toastmasters. Looking back, those meetings were the foundation for a lifetime of speaking, coaching, and facilitating leadership groups.
I remembered training for marathons, cycling through Pine Mountain, and participating in the Bike Ride Across Georgia (BRAG). I drove past Columbus Country Club and smiled.
Nothing about any of this seemed extraordinary at the time, but, together, it formed the life I live today. Those ten years helped shape me as:
- A man
- A son
- A husband
- A leader
- A sales professional
- A manager
- A person of faith
There’s a complement to my personal journey in my work life. And in yours, too, I’ll bet.
Many executive leaders spend their careers racing toward the next goal, the next challenge, the next chapter. We focus on outcomes, revenue, promotions, market share, growth, and we rarely stop long enough to honor the path we took to get where we are.
Because long before we became the leaders we are today, there were places, people, organizations, churches, mentors, and experiences quietly forming us into who we would become.
And sometimes the greatest gift we can give ourselves is to pause and simply be grateful—for the lessons, the friendships, the growth. For the opportunities to become who we are.
That’s exactly what Columbus gave me. As I prepared to leave that town, I felt no sadness or loss or emptiness. Instead, I felt gratitude.
Gratitude for a season that wasn’t perfect but was deeply important. Gratitude for my time there and how it formed me into the person I am today.
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