A Letter From My 80-Year Old Self On My 40th Birthday

Happy 40th, kid. You made it. I’m writing from the ripe age of 80, looking back on all the chaos and clarity in our life. It’s been one hell of a ride, and I’m here, older and a bit wiser, to tell you that every damn step was worth it. All those hardships, those nights you thought you’d never see the end of, were merely chapters in the epic saga you were meant to write.

Can you believe it? Melina is 48 now, with two little ones of her own. You two are thick as thieves, and those grandkids? They’ve given life a whole new flavor.

Remember to look up from the grindstone sometimes, to see them, to laugh and live without that constant hustle shadowing you every moment.

You’ve always had a choice, George, in every moment, under every sky.

You taught your daughter that anything is possible, and damn, did you prove it. With two New York Times bestsellers under your belt and a virtual library of articles spread across the internet, you’ve made an indelible mark.

And your travels with Melina — the world laid out before you, each country a new verse in your ongoing story.

In those dark times when every shadow felt like an abyss, she was your beacon, pulling you back with her laughter and fearless leap into the future.