By Samuel Fitch

This is my first blog post—so I’m hoping readers will extend a little grace. I’m 44 years old at the time of writing, and lately I’ve been reflecting on the last two decades of my life. One question keeps coming to mind: Would my 24-year-old self be proud of the man I’ve become and the career I’ve chosen?

At 24, I was newly married—Jessica and I had tied the knot in 2003. We were less than a year into marriage, expecting our first child, and I was working full-time at my family’s restaurant. We hadn’t bought our first home yet, but I was riding high on love, youth, and big dreams. At the same time, I was still dealing with some self-destructive habits—drinking, gambling—trying to figure out who I wanted to be as an adult.

Fast forward twenty years, and life has taken some sharp, unexpected turns. Jessica and I have grown stronger together. We’re now parents to four incredible children—three daughters and our youngest, a son. But that early vision I had for my career didn’t quite pan out the way I imagined.