Blast From The Past: Twenty Questions, Part IV

For the past few weeks I’ve been revisiting an old journal, re-examining a list of twenty self-reflection questions I first answered over a decade ago—and what started as an exercise in mindful personal growth has slowly become much more. March was a hard month for me, with a book deadline looming, multiple instances of the flu, a knee injury, an ear infection, and a PTSD flare-up that made it hard some days just to get out of bed.

To top it all off, my oldest daughter moved out again, which is an emotional storm of its own: on the up side, I'm thrilled to see her set off on her next adventures (and absolutely ecstatic to have my office back), but on the down side, I'm not exactly thrilled with the timing or the process.

Either way, this was a great time to look back, take stock of my own personal growth, and seek more intentional gratitude and perspective. Throughout this series, I've mentioned how my original answers to these questions made me smile, because there are parts of me now that aren't that different from the woman I was then...but looking back has also helped me see how life experience shapes wisdom.

The last decade of my life hasn't been an easy one, and while I like to think I've spent it building better habits, becoming a better person, and learning from the past, the truth is, intentional living is more than just emotional self awareness or finding meaning in life's challenges. And while understanding your younger self is valuable—especially in terms of self compassion and developing emotional maturity—real growth only shows up when life lessons change us for the better.

Because insight doesn't change things on its own, and perspective is meaningless without practice.

If you haven't seen them, feel free to check parts one, two, and three for the first fifteen of these questions—and if you'd like to answer them for yourself, you can find the complete list here!

16. How can I keep myself absolutely safe?

This is one of those answers that hasn't changed. The first time I answered this, I wrote about safety as an illusion—and the pursuit of it as a self-imposed limitation. Because the thing is, we're never really totally safe. Right now I'm sitting alone in my house, windows closed, doors locked. I'm on the couch with my laptop. But the tree outside could fall through the building and crush me. The boogie-man could break in and get me. I could take a sip of water, swallow it wrong, and drown.

So, should I live in a bubble in order to stay safe? Never engage with a friend because they might not last forever? Never eat a grape, just to be sure I won't choke? Never try, to protect myself from failure?

In Finding Nemo, Marlin was a traumatized and overprotective father whose fear was suffocating his son. Nemo ran away, got himself fishnapped, and Marlin's worst nightmare became his reality. But as he grieved this new trauma, he said, "I promised I'd never let anything happen to him."

His friend Dory responded with, "Well, you can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him." And you know what? She was right.

17. Where should I break the rules?

I remember struggling with this question when I first answered it, because whether it's the nature of my personality or the result of a traumatic childhood, I've always been a rule-follower. I believed then—just as much as I believe now—that rules and boundaries are necessary. They give us behavioral guidelines, setting a common standard that has helped humanity survive since the beginning of time. Don't cheat, don't steal, don't lie, don't kill. Be kind, be patient, be compassionate. Work hard, wait your turn, share generously with others.

Boundaries are not bad, selfish, hateful, or mean. They set the line between my space and yours, my time and yours, my responsibilities and yours. Can we help each other? Yes. Should we care about the people and the world around us? Yes. In an ideal world, the rules would be clear, the boundaries would be respected, and "no" would be a complete sentence all by itself.

But rules have protective purpose too, and even if we don't always understand them fully, I've found that they're usually in place for good reason.

18. So, say I lived in that fabulous house in Tuscany, with untold wealth, a gorgeous, adoring mate, and a full staff of servants...then what?

This is one of the questions that shows how life perspective changes over time, not because my answer today is vastly different from my answer a decade ago, but because it's richer and more nuanced. In my original answer, I wrote about celebrating that I'd "made it." About investing financially and planning ahead, to protect my partner and my descendants from the poverty I grew up in. About protecting my sense of security. And yes, about providing for others.

None of those things have changed, and if I woke up rich tomorrow, those are the things I'd look to first—but now, the dreams are more specific. I want to open a real-life Safe House, like the one in my Freedom Series. I want to call random schools and pay off all the overdue lunch money. I want to buy an apartment building or small hotel (or school or church or mall) and renovate it, turn it into its own little village, and then invite the people I love most to live there. I want to feed the hungry, house the homeless, give hope to the hurting.

Because money is nice, but it takes more than money to leave something valuable behind.

19. Are my thoughts hurting or healing?

I loved this question the first time I answered it, and I love it just as much now, but it's another one that's gotten more nuanced with time. A decade ago, my focus was on protecting the people around me—words can be a dangerous weapon indeed, especially when paired with quick wit, brutal honesty, and lack of fear. When I was younger, I carried a sharp tongue like the Sparth axe of my ancestors, and while I rarely said things I didn't mean, I was proud of my ability to eviscerate an adversary without ever needing to touch them.

I've always been gifted with words, and while that gift creates beautiful novels with deep wells of emotion, the Bible wasn't lying when it said, "Life and death are in the power of the tongue."

Over the years, I learned to be more careful. More intentional. And when I struggled to keep my mouth shut, I wrote letters instead. In those letters, I gave myself permission to pour everything out with complete honesty, venting frustrations, betrayals, heartbreak, and sometimes even love. Those letters allowed me space to say what could not be stifled. Shredding them allowed me to protect and preserve peace.

These days, I'm learning to apply that same care to myself: if I wouldn't allow someone to say something to my best friend without throwing hands, then I'm not allowed to think it to myself, either.

20. Really truly: is this what I want to be doing?

Surprise: this is another one that hasn't changed. Not even a little bit. Because no matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing, no matter what my life looks like...writing and storytelling will always be my sanctuary. Writing is where introspective journaling gave me encouragement during difficult seasons. It's where a notebook and a pen became the only safe place for reflecting on life lessons learned in brutal adversity. Stories taught me the beauty of growth through struggle, and my greatest childhood heroes were book characters becoming stronger through experience, whether they wanted to or not.

I love that as a writer, God has given me a way to pay it forward. To share stories that illustrate the depth and complexity of what it means to be human. To write characters readers can relate to and root for. To use my gift not as a cutting weapon, but as a healing balm.

It's all I've ever wanted to do.

*****

Looking back at these questions has reminded me that personal growth rarely happens in the dramatic ways we expect. We think of transformation as a turning point—a big decision, a bold realization, some life-altering moment that clearly divides who we were from who we become. And when we answer questions like these, it's easy to overthink the process and look for perfect answers.

But it's not about finding and writing the perfect answer. What matters is the way those answers evolve, because those changes are a record of growth. Our responses to questions like these can help us see the patterns in ourselves and our lives. They help us recognize our habits and redesign our perspectives.

When I read the original answers I wrote so long ago, I don't see a younger version of me who had things figured out, but I do see someone paying attention. The woman I was back then was already asking the right questions—trying to understand purpose and identity, faith and gratitude, time and intentionality—and the woman I am today exists because life has taught the woman I was to live those answers fully.

Maybe that's why I love exercises like this so much. Because as entertaining as they might seem on the surface, they remind us that growth is a process and not a destination. That it's okay if the answers change, it's okay if they don't, and sometimes the most powerful thing to do is keep asking questions in the first place. Because in those answers, we discover new ways to...

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