You Have Foresight. Use It.
When knowing "too much" is actually your secret upper hand
I found myself in a couple of conversations lately where I realized that experience can be synonymous with foresight.
I am often scared of knowing too much before anyone else - credit my mom’s early death with that one. It’s taken years, decades to get here, but I actually think that foresight doesn’t have to be something scary. It can be a superpower.
I’ve struggled to believe in the power of foresight because, in my age group, it’s always felt like a burden I had to carry. I knew more about death than any other 5th grader in my class. For years, I had too much context on things that people my age didn’t experience until much later in life. But now, I’m an adult in rooms where my experience helps lay a gentler path forward for those who are just starting their journey, especially with grief.
It’s a strange new place to operate from.
For instance, I have this amazing college student mentee in my life who also lost her mom when she was young. We talk regularly, and all of this stuff that once made me feel singled out is what she turns to me for. I know about death anniversaries and birthdays and life transitions and random days when the missing them doesn’t make sense, but it’s still real.
All the stuff I know that made me feel like too much is now the exact right amount.
Beyond my friendship with her, I’ve come to see foresight as one of the most useful creative tools in my career. It acts as my true north — I know what to write about or how to write about something because often I can think about what I would have found useful at different points in my life.
My first book is a middle-grade novel for any kid who knows what it’s like to go back to school after something BIG happens in your family and you now have to tell other kids about it. You’re different, but don’t want to be treated differently, but also don’t want to be ignored either.
It’s true that foresight can feel like too much power and like you are powerless, at the same time. And if you fight it, you can end up feeling exhausted instead of fulfilled; if you don’t, you land in a softer, more intentional place.
I find this to be true every time I sit down to write for Substack. Or when I think about all the times I hated knowing my way around a hospital system, but all the times my friends’ lives were easier because I did. Or countless other moments that prove that our life experiences were always meant to inform or support our next steps, or those we love.
When you honor that perspective and foresight, your hard-learned lessons soften into wisdom. You’re less critical of how you navigated it and more grateful that you even did. You don’t judge your past self as harshly because all of a sudden, they’re the reason you know how to turn on the lights as you go.
Arriving at that softness isn’t a guarantee, but it is something we can constantly strive for. And it makes for a stronger you, more intentional relationships, or a good story.
When I’m not writing books or essays, I help brands and creators tell their stories in a way that feels human and intentional. If that sounds like something you need, you can reach out here.
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