Past Tense, Present Power, Future Possibilities

July is a month when I find myself a bit more nostalgic than I normally am. Maybe it’s the long days that invite a slower pace, or maybe it’s simply because it’s my birthday month, a celebration month I share with one of my granddaughters.

But this year, it’s not just any birthday for either of us. It’s a milestone. She will be thirteen. I will be seventy. Numbers that feel both impossible and exactly right.

A friend recently suggested thinking of it as a new level rather than just an age: Kathi 7.0. It does have a certain panache, doesn’t it? But most importantly, it has brought a deeper kind of reflection, not just about where I am, but also about how I got here.

It’s as though the earlier chapters of my life have been calling out, asking to be remembered, not as a way of going back, but as a way of moving forward. And I’ve been wondering: What happens when we look back with intention? Can our memories be stepping stones rather than stumbling blocks? Can we honor what was, even the parts we might rather forget?

I believe that we can. Revisiting the past doesn’t have to mean living in it. When approached with purpose, it can become a lens of wisdom, a source of healing, and a map for where we’re meant to go next.

And even beyond that, while I love history, I also love creating it. That simple shift in perspective, allowing for both, opened something up in me. Perhaps that resonates with you, as well. We often think of history as only something behind us, but every day we are adding to our history, choice by choice, word by word. The line is ever moving.

That is the secret to celebrating both the path behind and the one ahead. The past is where I found the courage to become who I am. And while the future may be unwritten, it will be shaped by the grace I give the days I am living now.

This exploration, like so many others, started with the right questions.

 As I look back, what moments shaped me more than I realized at the time?

 The answers surprised me. They weren’t always the obvious milestones. Sometimes, it was the quieter shifts, the decision I almost didn’t make, the person I nearly didn’t call, the ordinary day that turned out to be anything but. It’s often only in hindsight that we recognize their weight, their whisper, or their wisdom.

What do I now see with more compassion, grace, or understanding?

We often misread the past, either over-glorifying or over-criticizing it. Age grants us a kind of softening. Not a weakness, but a widening. The version of me who once carried regret now carries resolve from a new perspective. The stories I used to tell with apology, I now tell with love. Seeing it clearly and kindly changes everything.

As Richard Rohr writes in his book Failing Upward, “We do not think ourselves into new ways of living; we live ourselves into new ways of thinking.”  The act of living, of enduring, failing, forgiving, and loving, changes the way we see our past. Not because the events change, but because we do.

What do I want to carry with me—and what do I want to finally set down?

That’s the gift of a milestone—it invites us to travel lighter. We get to repack our emotional suitcase and ask what still serves the journey, and what no longer does. We can close chapters without erasing them, allowing healing to coexist with grace. Making peace with the past makes the future feel possible.

In her book Bittersweet, Susan Cain reminds us, “If we don't acknowledge our own sorrows, we can end up inflicting them on others.” That line stays with me. It’s why I believe it matters what we choose to carry forward. Some things must be honored; others must be healed. And still others can simply be let go, with love.

Perhaps most importantly, though, what kind of legacy do I want to leave behind?

Legacy is something we shape every day. And it’s not about grand gestures. It’s in the way we speak, the way we show up, the way we choose to live with meaning, even in the smallest things.

I used to think legacy was something that could only be acknowledged after you were gone. However, I’ve come to realize that it is a current that continuously runs through our lives. It’s something you live out loud, even if quietly, in the way you love, serve, and stand for what matters to you.

Sandra Marinella, author of The Story You Need to Tell, writes, “Our personal narratives can limit or liberate us.” That resonates deeply because I’ve come to recognize that the genesis of our legacy lies in the stories we choose to live and the truths we choose to tell, even or especially when no one else is watching.

Ultimately, this means that our personal philosophy and perspective shape our legacy, which we live out every day. When we recognize that, looking back becomes an act of generosity, not just to ourselves, but to those who follow. When we shift the lens outward, we find stories, lessons, and truths ready to be shared. Our past can become someone else’s lifeline to a better future.

The final question then becomes: What do I want my life to say to someone else?

If this kind of reflection feels tender or uncertain, you’re not alone. Looking back requires courage. But so does living in the present and looking forward. And every lesson we carry forward becomes a seed of possibility for what’s still to come.

So, wherever you are in your story, be it turning a page, closing a chapter, or writing a new one, I hope this season invites you to look both ways with kindness. There’s wisdom in every direction.