January 3 (Twenty-Nine Before)

"Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness...Those who guard their lips preserve their lives, but those who speak rashly will come to ruin" King solomon

Twenty-nine years. It’s enough time to write a book, build an empire, or gather an anthology of experiences—some enlightening, others heartbreaking. As I reflect on the past, I find myself grappling with the weight of what I’ve achieved, the mistakes I’ve made, and the moments that shaped me. It’s not all triumphs and smiles. I would be lying if I said gratitude was my sole companion on this journey. Anger, sadness, discontentment, and a creeping indifference to what lies ahead are just as present.

Adulthood, I’ve come to realize, is a paradox. You’re expected to navigate the complexities of life with resilience, to “suck it up” and move forward as though the struggles of existence can be effortlessly chest-thumped away. Yet, as someone deeply entrenched in philosophy and logic, I cannot ignore the bitter truth: life and death are not opposites—they are intricately intertwined. They share the inevitability of a ticking clock, differentiated only by timing. This realization often leads me to a profound yet unsettling question: If today were my last, what would my regrets be? What would I cling to as truly important? I suspect the things we struggle to prioritize now would, in the face of finality, become glaringly simple.

I have lived at both extremes of life’s spectrum. I have known poverty—raw and unforgiving. I’ve been in situations where the uncertainty of my next meal gnawed at me like an unrelenting predator. I’ve also known humiliation: being labeled “dumb,” the proverbial bottom of the barrel. I remember the sting when my uncle suggested to my father that I’d be better off as a roadside mechanic and should be sent to a car garage for apprenticeship. I can’t entirely blame him. I was a hopeless student at the time, seemingly destined for mediocrity.

Life, however, is full of contradictions. That same boy, deemed unworthy of academic promise, would one day experience the quiet triumph of being the smartest person in a room full of brilliant minds. Yet, as I stood on that intellectual pedestal, I discovered another harsh truth: Knowledge without wealth is often invisible. Without money, no matter how wise or learned you are, the world has a way of reducing you to insignificance. Even now, with more financial stability than I’ve ever had—last year being my most lucrative year yet—I still find myself asking: What is life about? Is it about making more money? Starting a family? Chasing a better job? Planning a vacation? Or, for those of us in certain parts of the world, sacrificing ourselves for the nation?

Photo by bill wegener on Unsplash

I don’t have an answer. But I do have a lesson for my younger self: Life is an unending cocktail—a mix of joy and pain, victory and defeat. You must sip wisely, for it will always be served with a straw. God never promised us a life free of struggle. The narrative sold by prosperity preachers, that fasting, seed-sowing, and relentless prayers will guarantee wealth, is a cruel fallacy. Money doesn’t fall from heaven. It is the result of solving problems, rendering services, or creating value. While miracles exist, they are rare exceptions. Betting your life on them is not just impractical—it’s reckless.

Dear younger me, let me tell you this: Forget the constructs of religion and follow Jesus. Seek Him for who He is, not for what He can give. Know Him personally. Do not outsource your life’s purpose to supernatural intervention when God has already equipped you with the tools to thrive. I’ve fallen prey to hustler pastors who promised that sowing financial seeds would miraculously end my family’s struggles. It didn’t. What I’ve learned is this: Go to God for God, not for money. True joy lies in serving others—regardless of their religion, ethnicity, or background. It’s the small acts of kindness that bring meaning. My tears of joy didn’t come from boarding my first flight or achieving professional milestones. They came from seeing my family content and happy. Do not lose sight of this. Know that helping people is what gives you true satisfaction, and not the number of books, articles you have written.

At twenty-nine, I now understand that life’s story rarely makes sense while you’re living it. The puzzle pieces only begin to fit when you look back, but even then, clarity is fleeting. My father’s pride in me, my brother’s admiration, and my sisters’ reliance on me are treasures I wouldn’t trade for the world. These relationships are the anchors that keep me grounded when everything else feels uncertain. I have never liked birthdays. They feel forced, a spotlight I’d rather avoid. But maybe, just maybe, twenty-nine isn’t so bad. My father’s words, “I am proud of you,” echo in my mind, and I’ve learned to find pride in myself.

To my younger self, I say this: Read voraciously. Let them call you a nerd or a weirdo. Knowledge is power, and it will pay off. Cry when you need to. Don’t bottle it up. Vulnerability is strength. Embrace your ideas of feminism. Fight for equity, justice, and freedom—not just for your sisters but for all who deserve more than the world currently offers. Live fully. Place no limits on yourself because, in truth, there are none. Try them all, like you have dabbled most religions. If it’s beautiful, praiseworthy, good, try it out.

January 3 may not be a reset button, but it’s a reminder: Life is short, and we know nothing yet. But we’re here for as long as it takes to fulfill our purpose – purpose isn’t tomorrow, it’s what you do today. So, as I step into twenty-nine, I’ll strive to live boldly, love deeply, and pursue meaning with unwavering resolve. Twenty-nine looks good on you, David. And this is just the beginning. Live before you die!