That Could’ve Been You
My cousin called me last week. His voice was calm, but I knew something was wrong.
“They let me go,” he said.
Just like that.
Twenty years in a federal job. Loyalty. Long hours. Stability.
Gone with a short meeting and a box.
He’s 50.
And I could feel the silence behind his words: the kind that follows you when everything you built starts to slip away.
He didn’t yell.
He just said, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
And I felt it, because how do you start over at an age where the world expects you to have it all figured out?
He said something I’ll never forget:
“Maybe this is God’s way of making space… for what’s next.”
He’s asking hard questions. He’s remembering dreams he put on hold for decades.
He’s journaling every morning, even when he doesn’t know what to say.
He’s talking to people: not just for jobs, but for connection.
He’s reading again. Walking. Praying.
He’s reaching for old passions like singing and mentoring younger folks who are just starting their paths.
He’s learning how to rest. Really rest.
At 50, starting over looks different.
It’s not about ambition anymore.
It’s about alignment.
Peace. Integrity. Legacy.
There’s pain, yes.
But I see him now, stronger in his uncertainty than he ever was in his routine.
All I know now that his next journey will truly reflects who he is and who he’s meant to become.