Uncertainty is the birthplace of possibility

We're only limited in this life by two things: our worry, and our regret.

If you’re reading this, let me first start off by saying, thank you.
Welcome to the inside of my mind, and just as deeply, my heart.

Every piece I upload to this portal will offer a glimpse of who I was in the moment I wrote it — a portrait of the present me.

My goal with this Substack is simple: to build an archive of the many versions of my thoughts that exist at any given time — and to inspire anyone reading to do the same.

Let’s begin.

It’s 2004. In a pre-kindergarten classroom at the Basilica School of St. Paul, a chubby, mexi-wasian pipsqueak is learning cursive. His teacher, Mrs. Roberson, swings by his desk, compliments his near-unreadable handwriting, and leaves him with a wink and a smile. Joy spills across the child’s face like sunlight - he starts to dream about all of the other people he can help smile through spilling ink, and his thoughts, onto paper.

I was 4 years old when I fell in love with the art of writing.

The funny part is that I didn’t even know what I was writing. I just knew that something felt right about being able to make someone else’s day better by simply putting my pencil to work. The ability to love what I was doing, even without understanding it fully, is what I believe made me such a happy toddler.

Fast forward 20 years into the future, and I lost touch with who that kid was.
His unconditional kindness, his spirit, his dreams.

That version of me felt like an after-thought, like a memory that was only to be remembered when people asked about him.

When life moves fast, do your best to slow down.

Remember when you started high school, and couldn’t stop hearing all of those
old-head teachers and principals of yours saying this one line (or a derivative of it):
“These next 4 years are going to fly by, and life only ever gets faster”

Most of us would often scoff and brush off the comment :
“yeah, yeah. whatever”

Then, time starts to work it’s magic.
4 years of high school felt more like 2.
4 years of University felt more like 1.

Turns out, those old-heads couldn’t have been more right.
Father time doesn’t stop for ANYONE.
He does however, slow down for the ones crazy enough to choose to feel time instead of just see time.

Here’s what I mean by that:

Calendars were invented for the purpose(s) of measuring and organizing our time.
Humans wanted to see what their next week, month, and year looked like.
The coordination aspect of calendars is amazing and should be revered, as it usually is.

Where calendars have failed us though, is the fact that we can’t ever live in one moment of time as if it were our last. There’s always going to be a next time-slot filled with another event that we have to keep in the back of our mind.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely admire folks who are insanely organized and have schedules that would make the inventor of time-blocking proud.
I take all of the lessons I can from these people, and my own calendar arrangement has improved tremendously from observing their tendencies.

These time management gurus are experts at seeing their schedule, and knowing exactly what is to come for their weeks, months, and even years.

As the calendar year passes us by though, we ultimately always look back and say to ourselves: “How did all of that time just, disappear?”

I’ll tell you how.

It disappeared right in front of our very eyes, day after day, because we chose to only see time. Days started to feel like minutes, weeks like days, and before we knew it, an entire year zoomed past us like a Ferrari racing a Mazda.

I know, it sounds completely backwards. Why wouldn’t you want to see your time so that you can measure up how you’ve spent one day or week versus another?
It’s clear that we should set ourselves up properly to see how our time is utilized, but how we feel in our time is just as, if not more important than the former.

Direction was meant to be felt, not seen.

Describing how to feel time is a complex and intricate task, but since I am a person of those same attributes, here’s my take on it:

I like to compare feeling and seeing time to that of geographical direction.

In our modern era of technology, humans can simply input an address, or the name of whichever destination we seek, and instantly see the route to get there with the likes of Apple Maps, Google Maps, and all of the other widely-accessible GPS applications.

Before this generation of smart-technology though, we only had the four cardinal directions (North, East, South, and West), our compasses, and our instincts.

The early pioneers of exploration didn’t need to see the whole route.
They trusted their tools, their surroundings, and their sense of direction.
Learning to enjoy the moment, as they discovered new territory with each step.
By feeling their way forward, they were able to reach locations that no-one could have ever even imagined, creating new pieces of an undrawn map.

What a blessing it is to not have a clear path forward.

Apply this original directional principle to your time, and you receive an entirely contrasting way to spend your minutes, one that almost slows down moments to be enjoyed wholeheartedly - the way it’s supposed to be.

This mindset shift transforms your minutes.
It doesn’t rush the moment — it deepens it.
Suddenly, time doesn’t slip by unnoticed.
It stretches. It breathes. It allows you to breathe.
Hazy memory transforms into timeless memories.
Time then becomes something you live, not just something you track.

Worrying is like worshipping your problems.

When a calendar time slot is running behind, having to make a choice between one activity or another puts a significant pressure on us to make sure we pick the right option.

Worrying about what’s next in our calendars, our timelines, and our lives is what we often do best.
Regretting that we didn’t spend our precious hours properly is what often haunts us most.

Worry and regret are the two pests that infest the mind when one can only see their time. Both are mental and emotional parasites that can quite literally, kill you —
In a slow burn kind of way.

Truth is, none of us have infinite amounts of time, and as cliché as that sounds to the guy writing this — I’ve learned time and time again that keeping my mind and spirit on being grateful for the day at hand is the only gift I can give myself 24/7, 365.

Like so many other twenty-something-year-olds, I often find myself questioning my existence — both in the past and the future.

These questions flood my heart on a daily basis:

What if it was all for nothing?
Why did I waste my time?
Where will I end up?
Who will I be when it’s all said and done?

All of these unopened doors are intimidating at first.
But here’s how I have learned to re-frame them:

What if my mistakes are the keys to my wisdom?
Why was that season important for me?
What discoveries lie ahead?
Who will I become if I don’t quit?

Reimagine those ominous entrances into welcoming portals of opportunity.

The greatest consequence of trying to see into the unknown future, or rewrite a complicated past, is that we lose the ability to feel the blissfulness of the irreplaceable present.

Not all those who wander are lost.

When an artist paints an original piece, do they see the entire painting before they brush their first stroke?

When a musician begins composing a song, do they hear the final mix before they write their first bar?

We don’t have accurate visual maps of our lives.
We only have direction, and the ability to feel that we are going exactly where we’re meant to be.

When you can feel time, it’s like direction.
Both were meant to be roamed.

You just dive in head-first, and each time you turn your head back, you’ll feel accomplished that you can see exactly how far you’ve come.
Be proud that you’ve made it closer to your destination, wherever that may be.

That chubby kid learning cursive didn’t need to know the future to feel alive.
Uncertainty didn’t bother him, it fueled him.
He just wanted to spread joy.

Every day I try to remind myself:
I’m going through all of these trials not only for him, but with him.
On the days I feel most lost, I find myself reconnecting with 4-year-old Nathan.

I’ve come to realize he isn’t an afterthought at all — he’s just instinctual.
He rises to the occasion when I need him most.
It’s on me to be intentional with when I should choose to let him guide me.
To remember that he’d be proud of how far we’ve come.
When I think about who he was, it helps me realize who I can still be.

After all, undefined paths make for the best stories to tell, because they’re truly original.

It’s as if God designed these uncharted environments to be breeding grounds for creativity, and authenticity.

So I encourage you to be fueled by faith, not fear.
Drift off the known path from time to time.
Write heartfelt letters to your younger self.
See — and feel — just how un-limited life can be.

Because sometimes, the journey is the destination.

The unknown is a beautiful place.

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If you’ve made it this far, I just want to say: You’re real.

Hopefully everything I’ve covered to this point has made some sort of sense to you, or at least opened your perspective to a relatable concept.

If not, my only hope is that this hasn’t been a waste of your time.

If you do believe that you’ve gained nothing from this, please feel free to leave me some hate in the comments section. ;)