To 2023

I recently learned about the Clock of the Long Now, a 10,000 year clock built by the Long Now Foundation and funded by Jeff Bezos Expeditions. Operation began on New Years Eve 1999, to kick off the new millennium, the year 2000, and will keep time until the year 12,000 AD. The idea of a clock like this is to invoke a sense of Deep Time to the observer - the time scale that we use for distinguishing geologic epochs. The clock chimes once a year, a day is equivalent to a minute. In theory, an object such as this should inspire the contemplation of generational impact and the consideration of centuries in decision making, not days and weeks. This resonates with me today as I write another To-A-Year essay. 6 years doesn't seem very long (yet) but since I began writing down my thoughts and experiences, about life and the world, I have found myself considering the impact of that writing on a later version of me, even on my progeny. And 6 years later, the To-A-Year essay remains one of my favorite tasks. It never fails to challenge my ability to succinctly summarize and extrapolate that which is most profound. This task, part of the larger ecosystem of my writing endeavors beginning in 2018, has served to remarkably reframe my sense of time - a responsibility to "chime" once a year. I hope to continue doing it for the remainder of my life. 

At the end of last year I wrote "My hope for 2023 is to transform the learnings of 2022 and the painful growth I've undergone, into wisdom, and employ that wisdom in the decisions ahead. And ultimately to grow into a stronger, more Temperate, more Prudent, more Just individual, brother, son, friend, and partner." As I wrote last year, 2022 was an incredibly trying year. The events which transpired tested my willpower, my judgement, and my resolve. I lost whole pieces of myself in the chaos. But eventually the fires were extinguished and the seared ground was exposed, and there I lay, nothing left to lose, everything to gain. So I picked up the pieces, and this is where the story of 2023 begins. 

Joe Rogan once said that the most powerful thing a person can do is to imagine their life is a movie, and they are the main character. That movie begins right now, this moment. The opening scene is the main character at his lowest, clearly and apparently not succeeding. But this is a happy movie, with an ending that's fortunate for the main character, where he regains his confidence, rebuilds himself, rediscovers his relationships, recaptures his gratitude, recapitulates his mistakes, and finds his way to a better future. This is the hero's journey, and we can have it if we decide to. 2022 finished, standing side by side with my best friend as he married the love of his life, a reminder that despite the chaos in my own life, there was much to be grateful for in the happiness and love of those I care about. It was humbling to take the spotlight off myself and experience selfless elation for another. Shortly thereafter, I celebrated the Christmas Holiday and NYE with all the friends and family I could wish for. It was 3 weeks of bliss, piling onto the elation. The stark contrast in emotional states from just two months prior was shocking, in the best way possible. I found myself welling up often at the juxtaposition. 

As I lowered myself to see the beauty of each day, and as I focused intently on the gratitude I had for life, wins started to flow in rapidly. I had a much needed serendipitous encounter with a long term ex-girlfriend. I found a new gym that offered the opportunity for a fresh start and reignited my love of weightlifting. I learned how to ride a motorcycle and purchased one with my brother. I received an abundance of attention from beautiful women. I planned a trip to Japan with my best friends. I updated my wardrobe, changed my style, picked up new hobbies and reengaged with people whom I had lost favor with. I was succeeding at work, succeeding at my social life, succeeding at my physical life, and having meaningful connections with women who taught me more about myself. 

All the while, I kept waiting for the axe to fall. It was anxiety inducing, wondering when the day would come that I would wake up and things would take a turn for the worse. I wasn't used to prolonged periods of contentment and joy. For much of the previous decade, misfortune had been reliable in the realms of health, relationships, or familial struggle. There is much to comment on with regards to this state of mind, but for brevity, I found meaning in the prophylactic efforts of gratitude and introspection against this hypothetical impending negative future. In a separate, more private world, I decided to use that gratitude and introspection to engage with myself and others in a positive and helpful way. I completed 32 hours of study on the Old Testament. I compiled a list of resources for a young woman with Crohns disease. I allocated time to work with a professional on insecurities I was plagued by. I investigated and explored Eastern religions, connecting dots with Western religion and finding peace in their teachings. And I wrote deeply thought provoking weekly essays as part of a project called "Who are You? Who am I?" which I plan to publish as a book intentionally akin to Marcus Aurelius' Meditations. 

Just like in the song "When it rains it pours" by Luke Combs, I too found myself joyfully surprised at the good fortune I was having. Before I knew it I was judging the Miss South Carolina competition, getting phone numbers from girls at the gym and the bar, receiving accolades at work, riding my motorcycle to pool parties, and wandering around the streets of Japan dumbfounded at what my life had become. And I began losing touch with the gratitude which had propelled me to that position of opulence. In retrospect, this was the climax of my movie-year metaphor - the hero's temporary fall - when I got in over my head with relationships, success, and status. I started experiencing consequences from some of the more irresponsible actions I had taken. I realized I had been less than cautious with people's feelings. And I had developed a certain self image which was corroding the humility that activated good fortunate in the first place. And shortly thereafter, I was presented with an opportunity to grow once more. 

I returned home in October. Home has always served as a reset for me, a place where I can hibernate and reengage with the parts of me I lose touch with in my more social life in Charlotte. I tended to the wound on my forehead where I had cancer removed weeks prior. I introspected on the expeditious and careless actions I had taken with females. And I nursed a dying cat, my first cat, whom I brought home at 16. When you are caring for a dying animal, attempting to make the right decision for when to sentence that animal to its final breath, there is no room for self aggrandizing, no room for self pity and no room for selfishness. And when that day arrived, I killed the boy, and let the man be born. I will be forever grateful to God that I was allowed the opportunity to be there for her last breaths, by my own hand and by my own volition - to contend with death, to exercise discretion and compassion, and to be responsible for life. 

Reflecting now on my statement from the end of 2022, the phrasing around transforming the learnings into wisdom for the decisions in 2023 is what sticks out to me. The great Teddy Atlas said that "regret is a solitary sentence." I think wisdom opposes regret. Wisdom is the optimal outcome of experience, knowledge, discernment, and choice. I do not regret the failures of 2022, I do not regret the mistakes of 2023, and I do not regret the journey of my life en aggregate. In 2023, I can say without a shadow of a doubt, that I did my best to incorporate what I have learned and become an all around better individual. Every year for the past 6 years I have tried to summarize the year into two simple phrases, what I did, and what I learned.

2018: Graduation, transition to work, surgery | Embrace change and accept that suffering is real
2019: Living life on the road in Detroit and Seattle | Remember what matters most, people
2020: North Carolina, finding normalcy amidst COVID | Seek joy and routine to create positivity
2021: Make a leap of faith, AWS, Charlotte | Creating the setup is everything for a young man
2022: Taisse, breakdown, questioning | The deadwood must burn off painfully
2023: Rebirth, discovery, Quinn 2.0 | When life is going well, be grateful

It's amazing to me the steady pace of growth that continues to be present with each passing year. 2023 was no exception. It was undoubtly the best year of my life in the last 6 years and perhaps even the last decade. The ripest fruit continues to fall from the trees of cultivated relationships - my parents, my siblings, my friends, my colleagues, my mentors. I've found an immense and seemingly inexhaustible wellspring of meaning from search for wisdom, for which I'm unquantifiably grateful. And no matter the setbacks, mistakes, and missteps the moral compass which guides me, and the vision I have for the future continue to become clearer with each passing year.

The coming year will be complicated. There is much on the horizon to contend with: finding a wife, choosing the next phase of my career, helping aging parents, striving for financial freedom, navigating a national election, and maintaining friendships with those now in marriages. But I feel prepared. No matter what misfortune befalls me or what good fortune may burgeon, I will do my best to honor the wisdom I have obtained thus far and earn new wisdom through an alignment with my core values: temperance, prudence, justice and fortitude. 

In 2024 my goal is to find a lasting balance between Peace and Progress. To continue to think long term, and act for the good of the long term future. To achieve steady and meaningful advancement. But to do it with a unequivocal, unwavering sense of gratitude for each passing day. To live in the present, to engage with individuals and moments with intention. If I am capable of achieving this, with all its prerequisite determination, necessary tenacity, and daily labor, I truly believe that life, both mine and those that I care about, has no upper bound.