When I was in my late teens, something happened that, at the time, didn’t seem like a defining moment. But over the years, it quietly hitched a ride in the back of my mind — and stuck around way longer than it should have.
Unfortunately, the circumstances at the time forced my parents to sell their dream home.
And this wasn’t just any house. They bought the land years earlier, spent countless hours sketching out designs, obsessing over details, imagining every corner of what would become their perfect home. It was built with heart, sweat, and a shared vision. And for a time, that dream was our everyday reality.
Then the economy went a little sideways. My dad’s business was holding steady, but a few of his investments weren’t. Costs were rising, and after a lot of tough conversations, they realized they had to let the house go. Financially, it was the right move. But emotionally? It was crushing — especially for my mom. That house wasn’t just a place to live; it was her sanctuary. Watching her pack up that dream and walk away from it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever seen.
And something shifted inside me. I made a quiet but firm promise to myself:
That will never happen to me. I will never put my family through that.
And just like that, I picked up an oversized suitcase of fear — and started carrying it everywhere I went.
For over three decades, I lugged that baggage around. It sat with me in meetings, whispered in my ear during big decisions, and prodded me to keep pushing when I probably should’ve slowed down. And to be fair, early on in my career, that fear worked. It kept me focused, hungry, careful. It was like a weird little motivator — powered entirely by anxiety and unresolved childhood trauma (fun, right?).
But over time, that motivation turned into a weight. It stopped being helpful. It didn’t make me sharper — it just made me tired. Fear had overstayed its welcome, and I was still dragging it along like it had front-row seats in the theater of my life.
Then, not long ago, I started to unpack it.
I had a deep conversation with a coach — the kind of person who listens quietly and then says something that blows up decades of internal wiring in just one sentence. After that, I talked to my brother. And what he said really stuck:
“You’re not Mom and Dad.”
“You’ve learned from their decisions — those lessons are already part of how you operate.”
“You’re not heading down that same path… so why are you acting like you are?”
Fair point. Good point. Really great point.
Because once I really sat with it, I realized how absurd it was. I’d been carrying around someone else’s trauma — someone else’s story — and letting it steer my own. For over thirty years.
And here’s the kicker: my parents? They bounced back. They built another house. Life moved on. It might not have been their original dream home, but they made it work — and they were okay. Meanwhile, I’m over here treating their 1990s financial pivot like it’s my ghost of Christmas future.
That’s when it hit me: this wasn’t just baggage anymore — it was unnecessary baggage.
We all carry things from our past. Some of it helps us grow. Some of it teaches us. But some of it? Some of it just takes up space. It slows us down. It clouds our decisions. It whispers in the wrong direction.
So here’s my question for you:
What baggage are you carrying that no longer serves you?
Maybe it’s a mistake you made a decade ago.
Maybe it’s a story someone told you about who you are — that you’ve never stopped believing.
Maybe it’s a fear, like mine, that you picked up during a tough season and forgot to put down.
Whatever it is… is it helping you?
Or is it just taking up valuable mental real estate?
You don’t have to toss everything. But maybe — just maybe — it’s time to crack open the suitcase. Keep the stuff that still serves you. Let the rest go.
As for me, I’m not claiming I’ve shed all my old baggage. But I’m traveling a little lighter these days — and I’ve gotta say, it feels pretty good.
See you next week,
Brent, your Rivr Guide
