The Commitments We Keep… and the Person Waiting on the Other Side

When I was a younger man, I thought I had the rest of my life planned.

I wanted to write songs, travel, buy a motorhome, and eventually settle somewhere on the beach in Todos Santos, Baja California. After decades of working, I believed I had earned the chance to slow down and enjoy life at my own pace.

Life had other plans.

One of my closest friends had been my business partner since we were 14 years old. When he died unexpectedly, the loss reached far beyond our friendship. One of his business partners suddenly became the sole owner of a real estate development in Morelia, Mexico, a city a few hours west of Mexico City. She understood the investment but didn’t know how to handle the part of the business my friend had always managed.

I Offered to Help, in Memory of My Friend

I put my own plans aside, moved to Mexico, and took over that side of the project. My goal was simple: help build and sell a house, generate the capital needed to keep the development alive, and honor my friend’s legacy.

Then life surprised me again.

One day she mentioned that she wanted to have a baby. She wasn’t dating anyone and had been researching sperm donors. There wasn’t a romantic relationship between us. In fact, we hadn’t even kissed.

Without giving it much thought, I said, “As long as we’re working together, I’ll help you raise the baby.”

She looked at me for a moment and quietly asked, “Why don’t you father the baby?”

I was 64 years old.

Changing Gears and New Commitments

For a moment, I simply sat there. Then something my mother had told me years earlier came rushing back.

She had once said she always wished I would have a child because she had so much fun raising me. She often wondered what a son or daughter of mine would be like and whether some of my curiosity, humor, and love of life would live on in another generation.

My mother was still alive when that question was asked. Suddenly, I realized I had an opportunity to give her something she had quietly hoped for.

So I said yes.

It wasn’t a romantic decision.

It was a commitment.

A Life Measured by Commitments

Looking back, I realize my life has always been measured by commitments more than accomplishments. When I give someone my word, I keep it. I don’t walk away because something becomes difficult. I don’t abandon responsibilities because another opportunity comes along. Once I commit, I stay until the job is finished.

That commitment became the center of my life.

My music didn’t disappear during those years. It waited. Like many people, I put my dreams on the shelf because the people I loved came first. Years earlier I had carried my songs from one record company to another around Los Angeles, collecting far more rejection than encouragement. Eventually I convinced myself no one was coming to look for them anyway.

Head of a Family

So I went to work.

I paid the bills.

I kept my promises.

To support my family, I didn’t simply become a delivery driver. I started a delivery company.

The long hours, the work clothes, and the responsibility of keeping that business going became part of my identity. I stopped thinking of myself as a songwriter and began thinking of myself as the man who did whatever was necessary to take care of the people depending on him.

Years passed.

My daughter grew up.

Today she’s becoming a young woman with dreams of her own, and for the first time in nearly two decades, the commitment that shaped my everyday life has begun to change.

A father never stops being a father.

But there comes a day when raising a child becomes the privilege of watching that child build a life of her own.

That left me asking a question I hadn’t asked in a very long time. Who am I now?

Oddly enough, the answer began with a photograph.

Who Am I Now?

Recently I created several photographs to promote my music. Some showed me in vintage clothes. Others in jackets or suits. They were supposed to help introduce people to the Blue Smoke Band.

Instead, they introduced me to myself.

For years I still pictured the delivery business owner. The man in work clothes. The fellow who believed appearance didn’t matter because responsibility mattered more.

Then I looked at those photographs.

I wasn’t looking at a costume. I wasn’t pretending to be someone else. I was looking at a man I had somehow forgotten to notice.

For the first time in years, I caught myself thinking, “That’s a good-looking old man.”

Not because I had suddenly become younger. Not because the wrinkles had disappeared. But because I finally saw someone who looked exactly like the man I had spent a lifetime becoming.

Recognizing Deep Qualities in Others

That realization reminded me of something I’ve done for years. I’ve often stopped complete strangers just to compliment them.

A sharply dressed man getting out of a sports car.

A confident young man walking through a grocery store.

A runner outside a hotel who had clearly dedicated himself to staying healthy.

Every one of them smiled.

Only later did I realize I wasn’t really complimenting their clothes or appearance.

I was recognizing something deeper.

Confidence.

Presence.

Quiet dignity.

The funny thing is that I could always recognize those qualities in other people.

I just couldn’t recognize them in myself.

Living After the Commitments

Maybe many of us do that as we grow older.

We spend years taking care of children, spouses, careers, parents, and responsibilities. We become so busy serving everyone else that we stop seeing the person underneath all those roles.

Then one day the children are grown. Retirement arrives. Life changes. We look in the mirror and wonder where the years went.

Perhaps the better question is this: Who has been standing there all along?

I don’t think growing older is about trying to become 25 again. It’s about finally recognizing the person we’ve spent a lifetime becoming.

I’ve realized that I honored one of the greatest commitments of my life.

Now it’s time to honor another.

It’s time to give my music the same commitment I’ve given everything else.

The Man I’m Trying to Become

The remarkable thing is that the man I’m trying to become isn’t new at all. He’s been waiting patiently for me. I finally looked closely enough to recognize him.

I’ve included one of the photographs that inspired this article because it helped me see myself through a different lens. Perhaps it might encourage you to look at yourself a little differently as well.

I’ve also included a link to one of my songs, “I’m Done.” It isn’t there as a promotion. It’s there because the music is part of this story. It waited patiently while I honored other commitments in my life.

If you have a few minutes, I’d be honored if you’d listen.

“I’m Done”

Perhaps you’ll hear what has been waiting all those years to find its voice.

And if this article encourages you to see yourself a little differently, then maybe we’re both beginning a new chapter at exactly the right time.

Let’s Have a Conversation:

What commitments have made up your life? Have you honored every one of them? What commitment have you made to yourself at this stage?